Reviews

A look at what is happening in the world of the arts.

Frongoch

Town Hall Theatre, Galway

After the Easter Rising, 2,000 Irishmen were interned in Frongoch Prison Camp in Wales. Tensions soon arose between the prison authorities and the internees, leading to hunger strikes, a parliamentary inquiry and, ultimately, to the apparent suicide of the prison's doctor.

As dramatised by Ifor Ap Glyn with Mícheál Ó Conghaile, this North Wales Stage production tells us as much about our present as the past. It's an informative, entertaining piece of theatre, which invites us to consider the changing political relationships on these islands - dramatising Wales's admiration for the success of Irish sovereignty, Ireland's admiration for the strength of the Welsh language, and England's confusion about its role within a devolving Britain. And Frongoch has broader resonances too, reminding us of Long Kesh in some scenes, and Guantanamo Bay in others.

Early scenes must carry a lot of exposition but, despite the resulting loss of dramatic tension, the play succeeds because of the humane portrayal of its three central characters: Irish internee Malone (Caoimhín Ó Conghaile), British officer Bevan (Michael Atkinson), and the Welsh Dr Peters (Richard Eylfyn).

This dynamic - the good-natured prisoner, the foul-tempered guard, and the sympathetic outsider - is very familiar, but it's presented here without recourse to cliché. Instead we're given a moving exploration of these men's conflicting feelings about duty, self-sacrifice, and loyalty to their fellows.

Where the show excels is in its staging style. For some companies, the need to present this story in English, Irish, and Welsh would have been treated like a problem to be overcome. Here live translation is instead integrated into a hugely impressive multimedia set, that blends pre-recorded performances by a cast of 12 with music and projections.

The theatricality of this approach, as presented by director Ian Rowlands and his crew, makes this play delightful to watch - adding a layer of humour and inventiveness that never overshadows the play's subject matter.

Brilliantly staged and thought-provoking, Frongoch thus presents an irresistible model of how theatre might cross linguistic barriers in this country.

At An Chultúrlann, Belfast, Mar 18-19; Project Arts Centre, Dublin, Mar 21-26

Patrick Lonergan

Jimmy Eat World

The Olympia, Dublin

Three years ago, on the bustling maternity ward of rock's sub-genres, it was necessary to define "emo" as a breakneck but passionately sincere variety of punk. Such is the shelf life of fads, however, that today it's necessary to remind people.

Jimmy Eat World, a clean-cut bunch with a more-is-more mentality where amperage is concerned, were appointed flag-bearers of the genre, but the Arizona quartet had been around for a while before it. If their turbo-charged and commendably sweaty performance in the Olympia is anything to go by, they'll also be around for long after it.

On record, their metal techniques and sturdy pop hooks provide a constant invitation to crank up the volume. Should you come away from a Jimmy Eat World album without tinnitus, you haven't really been listening. So when frontman Jim Adkins begins their Dublin show with a solo, acoustic version of Kill, it comes as a wry introduction. From the muscular punch of Lucky Denver Mint on, however, there's no stopping them. "Salt, sweat, sugar on the asphalt," cries Adkins over drilling beats; "our hearts littering the topsoil." Twinned guitars lock together in a hard step, the chorus rings out with a clenched harmony.

The band has an unusually keen feel for melody, yet the frantic, splenetic assault of their style often obscures it. It's as though a portrait artist of considerable focus had committed instead to spray-can graffiti. There's something smudged, then, in the metaphors of Futures - perhaps pop-punk's first ode to the stock market. But the strained-tendon sincerity of Work, The Middle and Pain all achieve a direct, dirty exhilaration, like a motorcycle ride viewed through a mud-splattered visor.

The only drawback to this constant urgency is that a slow-building Drugs or Me is quickly abandoned for something with an instant rush. Adrenaline is dangerously addictive, of course, but louder isn't always better.

Peter Crawley