Reviews

Irish Times writers review Billy Joel at Croke Park and Cré na Cille at An Taibhdhearc in Galway

Billy Joel  at Croke Park, Dublin

In his teenage years, America's foremost balladeer of blue-collar experience divided his time between his piano and the boxing ring.

The ivories won out, of course, but on the last show of his greatest hits tour, the pugilist side of Billy Joel had not entirely disappeared.

It's there in his mock-pugnacious relationship with the audience, glowering at his wristwatch while latecomers trickle into Croke Park.

It rings through in his "never take things lying down" response to criticism, here huffily replying to Irish Times journalist Tony Clayton-Lea's confession that, should the writer never hear any of Joel's songs again, he wouldn't lose any sleep: "Well, I won't lose any sleep either."

But Billy Joel's fighting spirit lingers longest in his music; both in the left hooks of his lyrics and the pummelling of his chords.

None of this heavy-handed, quasi-sporting analogy should be seen to justify schlepping Joel in Croke Park, however, an unsympathetic venue which distorts everything that enters it into a sonic brawl.

An attendance of 47,000 (just over half of Croker's capacity) seems to make sense of the booking, but, banished to the faraway crannies of the stadium where his songs reach us with the speed and clarity of a rumour, even Joel's most ardent fans must wonder if the sacrifice has been worth it.

Between the hits (My Life, Uptown Girl and Movin' Out) and the filler (Everybody Loves You Now, Zanzibar), the small image on the video screens that most resembles Joel appears to be enjoying itself tremendously, committing to each song as though the music was fresh and urgent.

It is neither; a sound bivouacked in an era when rock rarely met a sax solo it didn't like; where a roadie summoned onstage to perform AC/DC's Highway to Hell even sounds like progress.

Torn between the battering 20th-century chronicle, We Didn't Start the Fire, and the lighters-in-the-air ballad, Piano Man, one wondered if this bruising, overblown, punched-up encounter was the worst way to hear Joel - or the only way. Peter Crawley

Cré na Cille at An Taibhdhearc, Galway

Máirtín Ó Cadhain's earliest attempts at professional writing were in drama. He later moved to other forms of writing, but his affinity with theatre is particularly evident in his masterpiece, the 1949 novel Cré na Cille.

One of the great Irish novels of the 20th century, Cré na Cille is set in a Galway graveyard where the dead chatter amongst themselves - seeking news of the living, retelling their life-stories, and renewing old rivalries and resentments.

The text often reads like a playscript or libretto, with long sequences of dialogue appearing without narrative description. Readers thus form their understanding of character through attention to the tone, pitch, and language of each individual's statements.

This doesn't mean that the novel can easily be transposed to the theatre, however. There is a risk of being too literal in making Ó Cadhain's chorus of disembodied voices physically real; and there's also the old theatrical problem of presenting dead characters in a way that's dramatically interesting. Nevertheless, Macdara Ó Fátharta's adaptation, directed by Darach Mac Con Iomaire, impressively makes the move from page to stage.

Central to this success is a memorable performance by Bríd Ní Neachtain in the lead role of Caitríona Pháidín. Caitríona is a remarkable theatrical creation, a dead woman whose ongoing bitterness towards her sister Nell makes her seem more animated than many of the living. Ní Neachtain is supported by an excellent ensemble, who perform their roles with subtlety and humour.

Also important is the coherence of the production's aesthetic, with set design, costume, and lighting combining impressively.

The action is set in a cavernous space, with characters appearing from alcoves to interact with Caitríona, before slowly drifting back into the dimly lit set - reminding us that these people are gradually merging with the graveyard clay.

This haunting aesthetic, together with script and performance, makes Cré na Cille wonderfully evocative - and a faithful re-imagining of an important novel. Patrick Lonergan

(Run concluded)