FESTIVAL DIARY:Would Kinsale Arts Week's more risque events prove too hot to handle for this writer, asks GEMMA TIPTON.
JULY 15TH is St Swithun’s day, and whatever the weather is doing around the rest of the country, it’s sunny in Kinsale. According to legend, this means there’ll be sunshine for the next 40 days and 40 nights. I don’t know whether this is true, but what is certain is that sunshine, on any day, brings out the skimpy clothes. All around town, little skirts and tiny tops appear, with an overall effect that is colourful and care-free, rather than louche and lascivious.
If I have sex on the brain, it's because of the day that's in it – not St Swithun's day, but a day when two potentially raunchy events are on my cultural agenda : Midsummerand Boutique Burlesque.The Arts Week programme mentions "explicit sexual language and swearing" for the former, and "some nudity" for the other, so that's us warned.
Midsummeris brilliant. It's a Scottish production, from the Traverse Theatre Company and, yes, there's plenty of swearing, as a mismatched couple drink themselves into foolish situations, sing songs, roll around on a bed, get tied up in a bondage session (that goes awry) and ultimately make all of us in the audience believe, as the sign in Edinburgh's car park says, that change is possible.
So great is Midsummerthat I'm disinclined to go to Boutique Burlesque. I have mixed feelings about burlesque, or, more accurately, I have mixed feelings about how we think of burlesque today. In the same way that an invitation to fancy dress means different things to different people (some will dig out old Garda uniforms or bits of pantomime horses; others will use the occasion to wear as little as possible), burlesque has many interpretations.
Initially it was satirical: back in the 14th century, The Canterbury Taleswere considered burlesque; and by the 19th century, burlesque had entered the music halls, with a mixture of opera and satirical songs. Burlesque was a little bit transgressive, a little bit naughty, and lots of fun; it was all about turning conventions on their heads. Some cabaret came in from the French, the Americans added striptease; today, what we have is entirely confused.
So when the Boutique Burlesquetickets say "Burlesque-themed costume optional", I'm stuck. I'm guessing they mean corsets (for the ladies), but as I neglected to pack mine, I settle for a nice dress.
Inside the function room at Actons, it's more like a friendly wedding than a den of iniquity. A band is playing jazzy dance music, and the crowd (some in corsets, some in frocks, and others – mainly the men – in shirts and trousers) dance enthusiastically, while more sit around at tables. We've arrived late, as Midsummerwent on longer than I'd thought, so I ask if I've missed the debauchery. I'd hate to have only caught its aftermath. "It's been lovely," a girl tells me. "There was dancing with chairs, and then they taught us to dance, and now we're all dancing again," she says.
On the dance floor, there is a mix of locals, visitors and, peppered throughout, like exotic blooms in an unexpected setting, members of the Boutique Burlesque troupe, who lead the way in giving their all on the dance floor. It works unexpectedly well, as everyone is dancing like nobody’s watching.
Boutique Burlesquecomes from a Cork company, which organises a variety of themed entertainments, and this is one of their most popular. One of its dancers tells me that it's different everywhere they put it on. I ask whether they tone it down for some parts of Ireland, but she can't hear me over the music. As she's wearing a T-shirt under her little polka-dot dress, I don't think they're planning to ratchet up the levels of sin tonight.
I leave around midnight and come away with the sense that just a little whiff of the different is enough to let people let go and have a brilliant time. Not vice, just nice, and that’s enough for me.
