Brendan Courtney
The award-winning presenter is back with a new show, this time about his mam, Nuala. Darragh MacManus gets the inside track from the man himself
Brendan Courtney’s 2017 documentary, We Need to Talk About Dad, showed another side to the fashion designer more often associated with the fluffier side of TV entertainment. The show, in which he opened up about the emotional and financial crisis his family faced in caring for his increasingly frail father, had a big impact on viewers, many of whom were facing similar struggles as carers. Brendan followed that show with This Crowded House (the second series is currently running on RTÉ), which examines the family effects of the country’s accommodation problem. Now comes We Need to Talk About Mam, which offers what he describes as “a personal insight to a universal issue: how much responsibility do we need to take for our ageing parents?” Brendan’s mother Nuala is in her 70s, facing a tough new life alone, as an elderly widow in a country which seems to avoid joined up thinking about the coming demographic shock of a large increase in the number of aged citizens.
Brendan talks about the documentary, his family’s own story, and how having “your own place and a decent job” is no guarantee of a financially secure old age.
Was it difficult for you to make this film on a personal level?
It was. I’m very proud of the documentary but it was hard to make. People asked me that about my Dad’s documentary too, but that was easier because the process we went through was out of our control. His illness determined the timeline and what we did. When the cameras came around, I was used to them but my family weren’t, so it was actually a lovely distraction from the awful things we were dealing with. This programme was very different. You know that line about never working with animals and children? I’m going to add in ‘or your parents.’ My Mam is my friend now, in my adulthood, a strong and determined woman. But it was challenging for me, to be honest.
Was it hard for your siblings too?
Not so much, in that they weren’t really around. My sisters have children, my brother is young, and unfortunately my sister Deborah also got lung cancer diagnosed around the time my father died, eight weeks after my best friend died. 2017 was pretty much an annus horribilis, as they say, although Deborah is on the other side of treatment now, back driving, hair grown back, on holiday with her kids. Anyway, it was pretty much down to me.
What’s the main thrust of the programme?
It’s looking at the narrative of my family but also examining what can we do to prepare for older age, if anything? I felt that would be an interesting, crusading type of film I’d love to make. Then, when it was about a family member, it got complicated.
We don’t think enough about getting older…
In Ireland, no. In America they do plan; the minute they graduate, they start thinking about their pension. I suppose we’re a traditionally poor country, only wealthy in the last 20 years or whatever. Our parents lunged from birthday to birthday, Christmas to Christmas, just trying to get us out the door, to survive. They didn’t plan childbearing, so why would they plan old age? God looked after everything.
But my generation, in my mid-40s, is starting to think differently. We realise we’re all living longer, healthier lives, but the financial back-up isn’t there. Neither is the housing. It’s an interesting point for my generation; looking ahead but with little planning done so far.
Tell us about the situation with your own mother…
We’re looking at her third stage of life, you might say. She’s found herself a single woman in her 70s, which is a scary place to be. We’re very supportive but I can understand her fear. She’s a dynamic woman but she’s kind of stuck now: between mourning and a desire to move on. There have been some gentle nudges from us, but they’re a proud generation and find it hard to ask for help.
While my parents bought their own house, paid off their mortgage, had good jobs and private pensions – even in that position, my mother is trapped. There’s nowhere in her area for her to downsize to. She has a big family home but there’s nowhere in Tallaght she can move to.
Is a retirement community a possible solution to this problem?
Yes, something like McAuley Place in Naas could be the answer. A woman
called Margharita Solan started it 12 or 13 years ago. She had a vision for this disused convent, got funding and turned it into one- and two-bedroom independent living units, all wheelchair-accessible. Gated, on a river, it has its own gallery and café. It’s right beside the church and the town, so it’s very accessible and they can all walk to the post office. When the doctor comes on Tuesday, he can see 50 people in one go.
It’s supported living, not an old folks’ home. It’s amazing, very activity-based. I’m launching their calendar in November, which the artists at the gallery all get together to do, to raise money for the venue. McAuley Place is absolutely the kind of place I’d like to go. I had this idea to ask the Catholic Church to donate disused mother and child homes and convents, to turn them into living spaces for old people – wouldn’t that be brilliant?
Your film about your father really struck a chord with the public…why do you think that was?
Yeah, it was very successful because it touched a lot of hearts on the subject of older care. In one way, that generation’s lack of planning for old age, leaving it to your kids, is a bit selfish. Especially for someone like my sisters, who have children, they just wouldn’t have the time if anything happened. Not every family has an amazing, successful gay son to step in! Older people need to be told, ‘Sorry, but it’s your life, you need to plan for this.’ Especially when they’re not sick and have all their faculties. Family members are forced into being carers out of obligation, rather than desire. If there was a bit more planning, both parents and children might have a better life.
That said, I’m not in my 70s. When I get there, I don’t know how I’ll feel, whether I’ll be frightened. It’s a different time and frame of mind. And my mother has had a lot of loss in her life. So it’s about trying to delicately encourage older people to think about it. Have the conversation: if anything happens, what would you like?
We’re all the same, though, in failing to plan for the future…
It’s the human condition. You think, I’ll never get old. Yes, you will! And if you’re lucky enough to get old, you should have a plan. I’ve looked around my apartment and thought, ‘I can’t grow old here. It’s not suitable.’ So I have to think about when I will change my living space. Obviously, you can’t plan for everything, but what you can do is try to have some assurances, such as facilities that suit an older life. Are you near what you want to be near? Will you have a door wide enough for a wheelchair?
Then there’s finance. Up to making this, I always thought finding your own place and having a decent job was enough of a plan. Turns out it’s not. The state pension might be gone by the time I’m 65. And if you’re self-employed like me, you won’t have a PAYE one. So what’s going to happen? Will you be homeless, or trapped in a house because you can’t downsize? And there are going to be ten times as many elderly, and ten times fewer people paying for everything.
If you’re lucky enough to get old, you should have a plan