Tomás Mac Anna was a visionary of theatre; a colossus who who nurtured a generation of Irish theatremakers, remembers his friend and former colleague JOE DOWLING
SHORTLY AFTER the new Abbey opened in 1966, Tomás Mac Anna articulated his ambitions for the theatre in an Irish Times interview: “I look forward to a theatre which will never settle down. It will be a place of youth and excitement. It’ll never settle down to a humdrum succession of play upon play. In fact, I earnestly look forward to a theatre with fresh young vital audiences in Gaelic and English, rioting at least once a month.”
While he never achieved his ambition of a monthly disturbance, he caused the only riot in modern Abbey history. In September 1970, his satirical revue about the emerging troubles in Northern Ireland, A State of Chassis, led to an orchestrated invasion of the stage by journalist and activist Eamon McCann. Mac Anna, with a combination of Yeatsian hauteur and the skills he learned as a footballer in Dundalk, tackled him sternly and quieted the protesting audience with a Byron quote: "And if I laugh at any mortal thing, 'Tis that I may not weep."
While that show can happily be consigned to the dustbin of history, the youth and excitement of Mac Anna’s time at the Abbey helped shape a whole generation of Irish theatre artists.
I was very fortunate to be among the chosen, to have the opportunity to work closely with him for many years and to learn my craft from a genuine visionary of the theatre.
Tomás Mac Anna was an imposing figure to those of us who joined the Abbey in the late 1960s. As he strode along the top corridor like the colossus he truly was, he seemed remote and severe. But that first impression belied a warmth and a sense of humour that became evident once he welcomed you into his company.
He was the towering figure in Irish theatre and with productions such as Behan's Borstal Boyand Patrick Kavanagh's Tarry Flynn, he created an excitement about our National Theatre that had been sorely lacking for many years. To those used to the naturalistic fodder of Abbey plays about spoiled priests, sad spinster aunts and the inevitable letter from America, these open, vibrant, expressionistic productions were both a welcome change and a harbinger of possibility and adventure.
When he returned from the huge international success he achieved with Borstal Boyon Broadway in 1970, he became director of the Peacock Theatre and it was there that I saw his enormous skill as a director and administrator. He asked me to be his assistant and thus began a mentorship that led to my becoming artistic director of the Abbey some eight years later. But those years in the Peacock were extraordinary in the richness of the repertoire, the genuine encouragement he gave to young artists and the subversive way he undermined the decisions of "the upstairs crowd", as he called the then Abbey leadership.
He once said that he liked to think of theatre as "something revolutionary" and with productions such as The Plebeians Rehearse the Uprisingand Ulysses in Nighttown, he created a unique atmosphere in the little jewelbox theatre and he attracted those "fresh young vital audiences" for each production.
With almost reckless faith in my abilities, he cast me as the lead in both productions. It was exhilarating and life changing to work closely with him. As a director, he was a martinet in some ways and completely indulgent in others. He always mapped out the physical life of the production with military precision. I can still hear his voice with its insistent tone – “there is no problem, you will all come in from the left”. And any objection was met with a curt but affectionate “drop dead”. But he encouraged the actor to explore and find the character before he would give the most detailed advice.
He had a genuine belief in young artists and took immense joy in watching all of his protegees succeed. While his own family was naturally the centre of his existence, many of us in the theatre felt like an alternative family and we had the protection of a pater familias whose advice and wisdom were invaluable.
Tomás Mac Anna both preceded and succeeded me as artistic director of the Abbey. His second term as artistic leader was not nearly as inventive or groundbreaking as his earlier time or as his time in the Peacock.
The years from 1973-1978 were depressing ones in Irish life and the shortage of government funding was keenly felt. I also believe that, as a natural rebel, he was more creative and energetic when he had to overcome resistance to his ideas. In the late-1960s, with his personal sense of optimism, self-confidence and rebelliousness, Mac Anna was the ideal person to oversee the transition from the moribund days of the Queens to the new theatre with its difficult stage and its fortress-like appearance.
He used his well-developed guile to get things past a board mired in the traditions of a former age. In the Peacock, he was the master of what he regarded as a theatrical guerrilla movement against the powers-that-be in the Abbey. Once he had slayed all the giants, his energies seemed less powerful. The major achievement of that time was the embrace of the later O’Casey plays. He did a great service to Irish theatre in ensuring that the full canon of our great dramatist was given space in the National Theatre.
My departure from the Abbey in 1985 was an acrimonious and messy business and our friendship was a casualty of that difficult time. I felt that he had betrayed me and I know that he felt I was acting hastily. It took some time for the wounds to heal but, in typical fashion, he maintained a regular correspondence in his unique handwriting and gave me the best advice possible when he urged me not to allow my deep unhappiness to define the rest of my life.
As he so aptly put it, “Don’t become the Noel Browne of the Irish theatre.” I recognised the allusion and it jolted me out of a deep funk.
Theatre is an ephemeral art. What is created tonight will not exist tomorrow and, of all theatre artists, directors are the most invisible. Few people under 40 have seen a Mac Anna production and that makes me very sad.
Fintan O’Toole is correct in describing his place in Irish theatre as a transitional figure. But for those of us who loved him and who owe our careers to him, he is much more than that.
He will always be the unforgettable friend and mentor who believed in us and who was not afraid to trust us. A noble legacy.
Joe Dowling is artistic director of the Guthrie Theatre, Minneapolis
