Roland Jaquarello: high drama and low intrigue in Irish theatre

After nearly 50 years working in Irish theatre and broadcasting, I thought that I should write a memoir. I didn’t want it to be another obsequious recalling of how everybody was wonderful or a trashy exposure of the failings of Irish stars. I was more interested in giving an insight into the politics of various institutions and how I developed during such turbulent times.

My entry into Ireland was through Derry where I attended Magee University College . Having failed to get into Durham University, I ended up in Ulster. One flame-haired English student of the day regaled: “something always brings me back to Magee”. And indeed it did because Derry in the ’60s was a warm, welcoming place which pinned great hopes on Magee becoming a university, especially as the city had high levels of unemployment. Unfortunately , through sectarianism, such aspirations died and this naive young Englishmen observed the seeds of the Troubles.

My degree course at Magee was a passport to Trinity College. Trinity in the ’60s was a wonderful place. Its outer conservative shell preserving its inbuilt creative anarchy. It seemed that we were all studying BA Pleasure but thankfully, due to an inbuilt academic rigour and some brilliant, if eccentric lecturers, there was also academic success. I managed to inveigle myself into Players and direct several plays there. One of these involved a gay kiss, which led to a visit from the Garda but mercifully no ensuing tabloid publicity!

A motley group from TCD and UCD decided to put on a season of plays in Players during the summer holidays of my final year. This led to my first professional production at the old Eblana, a theatre situated in the basement of Busaras, next to the toilets. I now had a launching pad. These were happy days as I learned my trade under the tutelage of many good professionals. After having some success working with the likes of Frank Kelly, Donal McCann and Milo O’Shea, I was on my way. In those days, Dublin theatre had no shortage of characters and most of them assembled at Groomes opposite the Gate, nominally a hotel, but better known as a late-night watering hole. Here politicians, actors and artists caroused with abandon into the early hours.

In the ’70s, there weren’t that many directors in Dublin so my ascent in a small, tightly-knit community was rapid. When I became a director at the Abbey I was initially delighted, only later to be embroiled in politics that would have made The Godfather a vicarage tea party. Although I managed to do some good work there, I’ve never worked before or since in a theatre with such a tsunami of negativity. Lelia Doolan was the artistic director but her progressive ideas were often sabotaged because life contracts had given the Players Council far too much power. Also the idea of a woman being in charge seemed to be a problem for some . What’s more there was Bloody Sunday and a rapid deterioration in Anglo-Irish relations. Some at the Abbey didn’t want an Englishman on the staff anyway. My position became difficult and my contract wasn’t renewed. “You’ll be better off somewhere else,” said Lelia, when giving me the news.

A return to London led me directing Colm Meaney in Heno Magee’s Hatchet. This success led to the formation of my company Green Fields and Far Away. Supported by the Arts Council of GB, it toured the UK with Irish plays at a time when the IRA were instigating their bombing campaign. It was arduous and exhilarating. There were rows, love affairs, drink, some drugs ( which I never witnessed!) – a sort of theatrical rock ‘n’ roll. We performed classics and new plays in repertoire to audiences largely unfamiliar with Irish work. Despite the political tensions , the response was very positive.

Liam Neeson was in the cast of one tour but mysteriously backed out before we took to the road. The core of the company were a band of regulars who produced excellent work in many plays. Unfortunately, times became more difficult and Green Fields closed after 13 productions in four years. The Thatcher era had arrived.

I had already worked at the Lyric Belfast and so when I became artistic director in the late ’80s, I was familiar with its intransigent board, later nicknamed by one hack as “the politburo”. Still, these custodians did give me the opportunity to develop the repertoire, produce new plays and expand audiences. Directing Arthur Miller’s After The Fall, Tennessee Williams’s Cat On A Hot Tin Roof and Eugene O’Neill’s The Iceman Cometh plus several new Irish plays was a wonderful experience. Unfortunately, despite considerable success, following a fracas about a visit to the Norwegian National Theatre, the politburo didn’t renew my contract and my three-year tenure was over.

In the late ’90s I became Senior Producer Radio Drama BBC N Ireland. It took me time to handle the intimacy of radio and its different rhythm. This was the BBC era of rationalisation when producers became subject to the whims of commissioning editors , who cherry-picked what was offered to them. If you didn’t get sufficient commissions for your department, there was a big hole in your budget. Still, such demanding pressures were countered by working with many good writers including Brian Friel, Sebastian Barry and Tom Murphy. I also produced documentaries on Van Morrison (whose lawyer threatened to sue me!), Joni Mitchell and Marlon Brando. This involved working with presenters Marianne Faithfull, Mary Black and Val Kilmer. However, when the drama department went bi media, I went freelance. Thankfully it wasn’t long before I was working on other Irish plays, written by the redoubtable John Arden.

This is a just a snapshot of my book, which traces my own personal and professional development through a combination of insight and anecdote, analysis and humour. In short, it’s one Englishman’s unique Irish story.

Memories Of Development: My Times In Irish Theatre And Broadcasting by Roland Jaquarello is published by The Liffey Press at €17.95