ICD, Cork
The Playboy of the Western World
Waterfront Hall, Belfast
- Jane Coyle
An exotic stranger arrives unannounced into a remote, sleepy community. He ensnares the passions and hearts of the locals, then up and goes, leaving behind a trail of destruction, seen and unseen. It is a familiar theme, but few versions can rival the rich poetry, the vividly assured characterisation and the sharp division between comedy and tragedy of Synge's great play, in which he lays bare the moral dilemma between "a callous story and a dirty deed" - Christie Mahon's real and imagined attempts on his father's life.
Visually, this is rather a stylish affair, with Chistato Yoshimi's set and mellow lighting transforming the peeling walls of Michael James's (John Hewitt) run down shebeen into burnished bronze rather than shabby plaster. But there is little sense of its proximity to the stormy seas and silvery beaches of Co Mayo, until the sound track of the famous donkey race suddenly jolts us into that essential realisation.
In Seamus John Allen, director Zöe Seaton has found the perfect Christie Mahon. He arrives looking for all the world like the original village idiot, stupidly- brushed hair, silly grin, squeaky voice and waving a wattle switch in dilettante fashion. But once safely installed in Pegeen Mike's affections, with his feet under the table, he is transformed into a slick ladies' man, whose lithe physicality and smooth talking has the mountain girls - even Lynda Gough's curiously chic, worldly wise Widow Quinn - weak at the knees.
Abigail McGibbon is a strong, no-nonsense match for him and the steely fluency of her performance should make her final declaration of loss terribly hard to bear. Yet, in spite of - or perhaps because of - its speed and physicality, this production misses some vital moments of drama and poetry, while Pegeen and Christie's wooing scene tears at the heart simply by virtue of its still tenderness. But Allen's twinkling presence will be an abiding memory, going as suddenly as he came, off romancing his way along another road to another place.
Playing at Riverbank Arts Centre, Newbridge, Co Kildare, tomorrow and An Grianán Theatre, Letterkenny, Co Donegal from March 6th to 8th
Bog Feature
- Michael Seaver
The landscape of contemporary dance is predominantly urban, frequently dilapidated cityscapes. If you were to look for a rural corollary for this you would probably choose a bog, which combines a desolate environment with clear imprints of history.
Irish choreographers have often looked to the desolation of the boglands, engaging in issues such as morphic resonance in Cathy O'Kennedy's Morphic Fields or otherworldliness in Michael Keegan Dolan's Fragile. In Bog Feature Nick Bryson takes a far more literal approach, and is unashamed in advocating the importance of boglands.
Along with Ursula Chapman he moves among scraps of peat on the stage creating a sense of space with faraway gazes. Even on a small stage they never give a sense of devouring the space, and while engaging with weight and line in their bodies, they always seem small within the frame of the stage. Video projections of an interview and footage of boglands contextualise the movement, but the dancers are only ever live on stage and never actually feature within the boglands.
In Down by the Docks, choreographer and dancer Anna Gilpin, places herself in a nighttime city and easily articulates isolation, as she confines movements to arms and torso. At the beginning, a small handheld torch spills red light on her legs as she glides across the stage, with obvious references to seedier aspects of the environment. She almost ignores the audience and only allows us to observe, never fully to participate.
The least successful work was And Then He Flies, a Butoh-inspired solo by Ambra Bergamasco that began with slow concentrated movement but soon abandoned it in favour of some pretty obvious acting.
Miguel Trápaga
St Ann's Church, Dawson St, Dublin
- Martin Adams
Cinco canciones populares catalanas - Llobet. Homenaje a Taárrega - Turina. Sonata - Leo Brouwer. Sonata - Palacios. Rondena - de la Maza. Zapateado - de la Maza
The guitar recital by Miguel Trápaga epitomised how a sophisticated player can get the most out of a specialist repertoire. The programme consisted of 20th century music, most of it descended from Spanish folk traditions.
This was polished playing, without ego, with little impression of technical struggle, and with one clear priority - delivering characterful, shapely accounts of each piece. Trápaga is one of those musicians who draws the listener into the world he is creating, a world tinted with subtle colours, in which the guitar's range of tone is used with unfailing aptness, and in which the timing of events makes everything seem like a fresh discovery. The combination of high-art and folksy evocation was impeccably balanced.
The most interesting music came in two full-length sonatas. One, by Antonio José Martínez Palacios was an intriguing, neo-classical exploration of tradition Spanish idioms. But best of all was the 1990 sonata by the Cuban Leo Brouwer. Its three character-piece movements draw on stylistic ideas from earlier composers to create a fascinating blend of contemporary and historical writing for the guitar.
