Dancing to drive away the darkness
Contrary to what its title may promise, Brian Friel’s Dancing at Lughnasa isn’t a musical. There also isn’t much dancing.
Audiences expecting a footloose night at the Shaw Festival’s Royal George Theatre may want to brush up on their Friel — he didn’t do feel-gooders.
In keeping with their recent Friel productions, the Shaw’s take on this modern Irish classic — one of the last original plays he wrote before dying in 2015 — rarely offers joy without some ominous sign of what’s to come. As if every smile comes with a price.
It’s manifested by a wonky radio cherished by the five Mundy sisters in their cottage near Ballybeg, Ireland. It randomly conks out, abruptly ending whatever bit of musical bliss it coughs up. Indeed, at one point in Act 1 all five women of the house let their hair down and dance with the passion and happiness life seems to deny them, only for the song to suddenly stop. They stand there, suddenly self-conscious and let down, yet again, by their lot in life.
The sisters are all unmarried, though the youngest, Christina
(Sarena Parmar), has a sevenyear-old son named Michael we never see. Instead, we see the adult version, played by Patrick Galligan, recounting that summer of 1936 through hazy and somewhat selective memories. The final summer before the family was broken apart.
Being the ’30s and being Ireland, the women are barely scraping by. Strict Catholic Kate (Fiona Byrne) is the oldest and fills the parent role, working as a teacher to keep things afloat. Free-spirited Maggie (Tara Rosling) does the cooking and keeps the mood light, though she yearns for a better life upon hearing about the success of an old friend. The withdrawn Agnes (Claire Jullien) knits gloves to help with the finances, while taking on responsibility for Rose (Diana Donnelly), who is basically a child because of a developmental disability.
Christina, meanwhile, is left constantly heartbroken by the scattered visits of her son’s father Gerry (Kristopher Bowman), a travelling salesman promising a future she’ll never see.
That summer also sees the return of the sisters’ elder brother Jack (Peter Millard), a priest who spent 25 years as a missionary in Uganda. He is suffering malaria and can barely remember their names, but it soon becomes obvious why he was sent home: He has gone ‘native’ and neglected his Catholicism.
His return is supposed to be a joyous event, but it instead kickstarts the household’s downfall. After word of his eccentric new attitude spreads, Kate catches wind she may lose her job at her school. Meanwhile, a new knitwear factory will render the gloves Agnes makes obsolete.
Much like the radio they’ve named ‘Marconi,’ their lives sputter in and out. And no one can fix it.
It’s a strong group director Krista Jackson is working with, helping us endure the play’s unrelenting sadness (if you saw Friel’s Faith Healer at Shaw four years ago, you know to expect). Much like the sisters themselves, you’ll wish they could hit pause and dance more often, if only to relieve the drudgery.