Caryl Churchill’s Theatre of the Antropocene: Far Away by Corcadorca

So, last night I attended Cocadorca’s Far Away, a promenade performance held on Spike Island in Cork – an event that includes a ferry trip from Cobh to the island and back again.

I don’t want to write too much about the performance itself because I saw a preview of it (and in any case don’t want the remarks below to be misunderstood as any kind of a review). But I will say that it’s my favourite of the plays I’ve seen so far this year, that the acting from Judith Roddy, Pauline McLynn and Manus Halligan was excellent, and that we’re unlikely to see better design anywhere in Ireland this year than the lighting, sound and costumes presented here by Paul Keogan, Aedín Cosgrove, Mel Mercier and Lisa Zagone. So, yes, I would recommend it.

The play has been done at least once in Ireland before, in a production by Jimmy Fay’s Bedrock in 2004. I didn’t see it (to my regret) but at the time it was received in the context of the post-9/11 geopolitical landscape of the war in Iraq, Abu Ghraib prison, and so on.

Those interpretations remain valid but seeing the play in an open air setting strongly reinforced my sense of how Churchill’s work is so influenced by environmental concerns: that her critiques of patriarchy, imperialism and capitalism often come together to underscore the extent to which power and consumption are destroying our planet.

This concern is developed in the three-part structure of the play. In the first part, a child glimpses an act of apparently senseless violence, but is enabled to go back to sleep by being told a comforting story about what she’s seen – a story that she’s a little too willing to believe. In the second part, the child is older and we begin to understand how that violence has a political aspect to it, how whole sections of her society are imprisoned and then executed. By the play’s conclusion, the society has broken down completely, and the characters are embroiled in a war that encompasses not just all of the world’s nations but all living (and many non-living) things. Participants in the war include elephants, crocodiles, grass, and even light. “Who’s going to mobilise darkness and silence?” asks the protagonist, and it’s a question that is at once funny and haunting. As so often happens with Churchill, we are presented with an absurd situation that so closely mirrors our own society that it exposes the arbitrary nature of everything that we believe to be “the way things are”.

In seeing this idea playing out across three acts, I was reminded of the structure of Sarah Kane’s Blasted, in which an act of sexual violence in a Leeds hotel room is shown to lead to the horrors of the Yugoslav civil wars – a link that Kane once described as analogous to that between the seed and the tree. Churchill gives us an act of violence that was glimpsed, covered up, and all too quickly forgotten, and she shows how that wilful suppression leads ultimately to a tolerance of totalitarianism. But she pushes her analysis one step further than Kane did by showing how human violence inevitably takes in all living things.

Churchill’s work has long sought to present the way in which human actions change the environment (and vice versa). It’s an idea present in earlier plays such as The Skriker and Fen, for example. But I think Far Away can be seen as a fine example of a theatre of the anthropocene, as a dramatization of the idea that our actions have to be thought of in environmental contexts at all times.

And this is important because theatre does not often (or, to be more precise, does not often enough) place human actions in their broader ecological contexts. In this context, I recently read an important new book by the novelist Amitav Ghosh, called The Great Derangement. It is a series of essays about the representation of climate change in literary fiction, in which Ghosh asks why there are so few examples of literary novels on that subject.

The argument he puts forward (and I’m simplifying it, badly) is that the conventions of the realist novel were established in such a way as to present people mainly in social settings, so that the environment appeared as a context or backdrop but rarely as something that was inherently connected to human life. As a result of that link between realism and the social (rather than the environmental), the novelists who have chosen to write about climate change often have to do so in non-realistic forms, especially science fiction. This in turn contributes to a problem within our culture whereby human-made climate change is an article of faith rather than a proven fact: our conception of what is believable is too narrow to include climate change and thus there are many people out there who choose not to believe in it. This, Ghosh shows, represents a failure of the imagination, not just by readers but by novelists too. We need everyone on the planet to be able to imagine climate change as a reality – and we need them to be able to do that now.

What is true for the realist novel is also true for realistic plays. Our theatre presents people in natural settings, but the sense of deep and intimate connection between human action and the environment is relatively rare. Yes, there are exceptions, and a growing number of them (Ella Hickson’s Oil is especially worth looking at  in this context). But if we think it’s a problem that whole swathes of the population can simply opt out of believing in climate change, then we have to consider the extent to which our modes of theatre-making are part of the problem.

Well, to use a cliché, Churchill’s play is part of the solution. Yes, it could be described as science fiction – in the way that some work by Margaret Atwood is, and even things like the Hunger Games films are relevant here too. But its immediacy was reinforced by the choice of site. And this is one of the things that makes Corcadorca’s production not just exciting but important.

Staging a play on an island is not a new thing, of course: Druid have been doing it in Ireland for a long time, and indeed Corcadorca have done it before too. And it’s a great idea, first because in the case of inhabited islands it’s important for theatre companies to engage with those communities – and secondly because the island is such a potent theatrical metaphor (as shown in everything from The Tempest to Friel’s Gentle Island to Greig’s Outlying Islands).

But what is important here is that so much of this experience is shaped by an engagement with the natural setting: the sea that we pass over on the ferry, the gradual movement from light to darkness as the play continues, the grass we have to walk through in the play’s second act, the shift from warmth to chilliness as night falls in, and the starlight that gradually emerges as the play continues. Thus, when at the end of the play Judith Roddy’s characters talks about being seen by birds, her words have a greater immediacy from the fact that, minutes before, the audience would have witnessed starlings swooping around them. The built environment is important here too: not just the fortress/prison that we watch the action in, but also nearby settings – such as Cobh in the distance or wind turbines swishing nearby. We’re also conscious of technology: a light that you might think is a planet slowly becoming visible in the night sky turns out to be the late flight into Cork Airport from Heathrow, for example.

I don’t want to get too carried away with emphasising the link here (not least because I spent seven hours in a car getting to and from the production…) but if Far Away’s first production in Ireland allowed us to talk about how theatre could respond to the war in Iraq, its revival now affords an opportunity to think about our theatre in the anthropocene. What kinds of stories can we tell? How should we tell them? And, as Corcadorca have long shown, where we tell our stories matters too – how can we use our theatre to show people how human life is shaped by environment (and vice versa) – and how can we use it to ensure that people in our society form a better understanding of the distinctions between knowledge and belief? One of the reasons we have so awfully failed to tackle climate change is because it’s possible for people to opt not to believe something that is true – a clear sign of cultural crisis at all times in human history. Our theatre has a role in doing something about this; Far Away offers a good example of what can be achieved.

In the meantime, it’s also just worth noting how good it is to see Churchill performed in an Irish setting  again – with her dialogue performed in Irish accents (with no detectable changes to the script). Churchill is presented fairly regularly here: she’s been performed at the Abbey and by Rough Magic, Prime Cut, Bedrock, and others too. But she’s not really well known, and I’d imagine there are probably many regular Irish theatre-goers who have never seen one of her plays. Given her status in world theatre, we really don’t know her well enough. Michael Colgan’s Gate showed us with successive festivals for Beckett and Pinter that audiences are willing to engage with experimental work when it’s presented in accessible contexts. Wouldn’t it be great if someone did the same for Churchill here?

 

Cobh as seen from Spike Island shortly before Far Away began

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Eight Irish Dramatists Discuss Irish Playwriting Today

I’m just back from the Synge Summer School in Rathdrum in Wicklow. I’ve been directing that event since 2008 and because this was my last year in charge I decided to invite eight Irish dramatists to come and speak about Irish playwriting today. So we heard from Stuart Carolan, Deirdre Kinahan, Mark O’Rowe, Owen McCafferty, Marina Carr, Dermot Bolger, Declan Hughes and Enda Walsh. Rita Ann Higgins also attended and while she is better known as a poet, she has also written plays. And we went to see Colin Murphy’s Guaranteed! and heard him and Gavin Kostick speaking about it afterwards.

This is something we’ve always done at the Synge School: although most of the talks are by academics, during my time as director we’ve also had occasional interviews/readings with Sebastian Barry, Una McKevitt, Colm Toibin, Joseph O’Connor, Bernard Farrell, Louise Lowe, Pat McCabe, Christina Reid, Billy Roche and Conor McPherson.

But this year I thought there would be some value in dispensing with the academic perspective altogether and hearing only from the writers.

In programming the event I was motivated by some of the thoughts expressed elsewhere in this blog: a feeling that if Irish playwriting is not exactly in crisis, nor is it as healthy as it used to be. I wanted to find out how Irish dramatists see matters – and I wanted to give people an opportunity to focus on the excellence of contemporary Irish drama: something we don’t really give enough attention to these days.

We heard a huge amount about each writer’s career, and Irish theatre generally, so I don’t want to go into too much detail here. But there were some general patterns that I found interesting.

I should make clear from the outset that all opinions below are my own and unless explicitly stated otherwise are not those of the writers or participants. I also should state that the comments below are based on my memory of events over the last few days, and may therefore be subject to correction. But leaving those health warnings aside, I hope the observations below might be of interest.

On Getting Started

We heard a lot from the writers about how they got started as playwrights.

I was struck by the fact that for some, the ‘lucky break’ arose because of fortuitous personal contacts: Stuart Carolan was able to give his first play Defender of the Faith to Noel Pearson, for example – while Owen McCafferty gave his first play to Martin Lynch, who was running a workshop that one of Owen’s relatives was attending.

Mark O’Rowe spoke about how he went around from one theatre company to another, pushing copies of his script into letter boxes. “I didn’t even get rejection letters from most of them,” he said – but Fishamble replied and told him they wanted to do his play.

Deirdre Kinahan, Enda Walsh and Declan Hughes had to do things for themselves: Kinahan and Hughes had set up companies and gradually began to write their own work; Walsh likewise was working with Corcadorca and gravitated towards writing. And Dermot Bolger has done an enormous amount to foster new writing of all kinds in Ireland, as a publisher and commentator.

I was also very interested in what writers had to say about learning how to write. Hughes, for instance, spoke about how he had spent a number of years directing and performing – first in Players at Trinity and then with his own company Rough Magic. A conversation with Declan Donellan at the Dublin Theatre Festival inspired him to write an adaptation of Woman in White and that in turn gave him the confidence to write I Can’t Get Started.

Hughes’s talk underlined  for me the value of having great international plays in the Irish repertoire: he spoke about how his work on the “Howards and Davids” (Brenton, Barker, Hare and Edgar) in the early 1980s fed into his own development as a playwright.

In contrast, Enda Walsh spoke about how in his early years he would produce short bursts of writing for Corcadorca – sometimes as much as one piece a week, each lasting maybe five or ten minutes. The company would stage these short plays and would then come back out on stage and talk to their audience about what they had done and how they could improve. Walsh said that he found people stopping him on the streets in Cork to give him notes. So what was crucial here was the freedom to experiment. I asked Walsh how he found an audience for such work. “We gave away tickets,” he explained – pushing them through letter-boxes, giving them out in nightclubs, and so on.

The overall point here is that no-one will ever succeed by sitting around and waiting for the phone to ring. This will be obvious to everyone who works in the theatre but is perhaps not sufficiently well appreciated outside the sector. I was constantly struck by how many of these writers had to go out and carve out opportunities for themselves before the Irish theatre ‘took them in’, so to speak.

On Transitioning

We had quite a bit of discussion about how playwrights’ careers develop over time.

Declan Hughes and Dermot Bolger both spoke about times in their lives when, for various reasons, they felt that they’d had enough of writing plays; both went off to do other things but have since resumed writing drama.

Enda Walsh spoke about how his own career had distinct phases. Bedbound in 2000 marked a new development, as did Walworth Farce in 2006. He’s working on a new play at the moment, he says – and that too represents a new direction.

Likewise, Mark O’Rowe told us about his forthcoming work, saying that although he is very proud of his last play Terminus, his new play is a significant step forward.

We found ourselves spending a surprising amount of time discussing the business of how playwrights transition into new periods in their writing life. An example given by one of the participants is Conor McPherson’s play The Veil, which was greeted with disappointment and some bafflement when it appeared at the National in London in 2011. The comment was that the play was actually very good – it just didn’t seem like a typical Conor McPherson play, so audiences (or perhaps critics and PR people) didn’t seem to know what to make of it.

The problem here is that many Irish writers became well known for a particular kind of play – and have since found themselves encountering negative or indifferent reactions when they’ve tried to move into new areas, as McPherson did with The Veil. We’re in a bizarre situation where we criticise playwrights who keep doing the same things, but then ignore their work when they try new things.

Marina Carr was especially interesting on this subject. She became famous for her five midlands plays The Mai, Portia Coughlan, By the Bog of Cats, On Raftery’s Hill and Ariel. Yet she decided after Ariel appeared in 2002 that she didn’t want to write any more plays set in the midlands: she needed to do things differently. Her subsequent plays have not always been well received, partly because (I think) of audience expectation and partly because of other problems such as direction (and this is my opinion, not hers).

Listening to Carr reading from On Raftery’s Hill and then Marble, I was very struck by the continuities in her career rather than the disjunctions: the humour, her focus on power, the way she treats familial relationships, the way she creates brilliant scenes that display women in conflict with each other… and so on. If we look beneath the surface of Carr’s plays – beyond the midlands accent, for instance – there is a very clear trajectory in which important themes are being developed. We just haven’t been paying attention to those themes up to now.

Owen McCafferty was also very interesting on career development. He pointed out that, especially in the north, there is great support for the discovery of new plays. But he also called for more support for playwrights across their career.

This proved a recurrent theme: it’s often said that it’s easier to have a first play staged in Ireland than a second play. But hardest of all, perhaps, is getting a tenth or eleventh play staged. Carr spoke about the difficulty of having new work produced in Ireland – and we also considered the case of Frank McGuinness, whose last five original plays have all premiered abroad.

The overall suggestion was that it’s becoming increasingly difficult to have a career as a playwright in Ireland.

On Directing and Being In Control

Another recurrent strand was the desirability of having control over one’s work. Mark O’Rowe and Enda Walsh have both been directing their own work, and both spoke about the value of directing the first production of their own plays (something that Conor McPherson does as well).

Marina Carr also said that she’d love to direct her own plays – and indeed other people’s plays (she’d love to direct Tennessee Williams and some of the Greek tragedies, she said).

Other writers discussed their relationships with directors: Deirdre Kinahan spoke warmly about David Horan, for instance, as Dermot Bolger did about Ray Yeates. And Owen McCafferty said that although he has directed his own plays, he values the objectivity brought to the process by a director.

Stuart Carolan was very interesting here too. He acts as Executive Producer of Love/Hate, and it was very clear from listening to him that that show is good precisely because he’s given the freedom to do things his own way.

But we also heard other stories during the School about the frustrations of having one’s work interfered with or dismissed, often by people who are not themselves working from an artistic perspective  – such as TV and film executives,  critics, and others.

One good example of this issue was the use of music. Stuart Carolan and Declan Hughes both spoke about how important music is for their work – how the choice of a particular song is essential for the communication of a particular set of sensations or emotions. Other writers spoke about how their choice of music is often treated as a kind of ‘optional extra’ which directors are sometimes inclined to ignore or overlook.

In general, the old view that writers shouldn’t direct their own plays was fairly thoroughly dismissed during the School. As someone put it, just because Brian Friel got a hard time when he did it in 1997 doesn’t mean it should never be done. Someone else made the great point that Conor McPherson had been directing his own plays with success for years – but when The Veil appeared, critics immediately said that the production showed why playwrights shouldn’t direct their own work. The general feeling was that there are benefits to having writers direct their own work.

On Devising

As I’ve mentioned elsewhere in this blog, there is a view around at present that there is a clash between devising and playwriting. Over the course of the four days, we saw evidence of a much more nuanced approach to that subject. Both Kinahan and Walsh spoke about how they began their careers by doing work that would now be seen as devising, for instance. And in general at the School there was respect for devising as a process of making theatre (though of course there was some dissent too).

On this subject, the overall point I took away is that devising is like any other kind of theatre – some of it is good, and some of it is bad. The writers all spoke about the need to be rigorous in their own work: it takes up to two years to write a play because there’s a need to be very precise and detailed with language, and so on. We’re all aware of devised work that meets those kinds of rigorous standards (and, as you’d expect, Louise Lowe’s name was cited a few times in that context).

So just as there are some conventional plays that need more work, that aren’t ready when they go on, and that could have been more rigorous, the same is also true about some devised work. We just need to have more good work in Ireland, I think (and again this is not a criticism of anything currently being done and is my own opinion).

Kinahan put it well when she said that there doesn’t have to be a clash between playwriting and devising, but there could be more mutual respect.

A Playwright’s Theatre and the Audience

Many of the writers spoke about the need for a theatre in Ireland that would be dedicated exclusively to the regular production of new work, and not just by new playwrights. Of course people admire the work being done by Theatre Upstairs – and I kept hearing people talk about how important Fishamble have been for them at various times in their career. And there was also some appreciative discussion of the new writing that has been emerging from the Abbey/Peacock in recent years.

But we don’t quite have anything like the Royal Court  or the Traverse – a high-profile and well resourced theatre (or theatre company) that would produce 10-12 new plays in Ireland every year, by a mix of established and emerging voices. So it’s important to say that no-one was criticising the existing provision in this area, but we were all just expressing the wish that we had something a bit more intensive.

Many people present at the School (not necessarily the writers) expressed their doubts about whether such a theatre might be viable – the fear seems to exist that there isn’t a big enough audience for new plays out there.

I wonder if that’s true. I am of course aware that new plays represent a risk for theatres and that this is in many ways not a great time for theatres to be taking risks. And I’m aware of examples of new plays that have not done well either critically or commercially. But if an audience trusts a theatre – as they do the Royal Court and the Traverse – they are more prepared to take the risk, I think. It’s easy for me to say that, I know, but perhaps more can be done here.

As I write above, no-one was being critical of existing provision, but there was a wish that we could find a way to do more for new playwriting in Ireland, so that established playwrights can actually make a living out of their writing over a longer period of time.

On Adaptations

Also notable is that so many theatres are now mitigating risk by commissioning adaptations. Many of the writers spoke about how they’re being commissioned to adapt novels – or to change existing works of art into something else (quite a lot of musicals seem to be in the works).

Other Issues…

We spoke a lot about the status of women dramatists in Ireland (improving but still much more to be done), of the importance of London as an outlet for the production of Irish plays, of the impact of Hollywood cinema and new American TV, about the importance of good storytelling, and much more. I might try to write more about some of these during the weeks ahead. And my hope is that others present might also do some blogging… Ciara O’Dowd has already posted a great entry here which has some thoughts on Dermot Bolger and Stuart Carolan’s contributions.

What Next?

All of the people we heard from were honest about the difficulties writers encounter, from financial to artistic to practical challenges. But all of them spoke about their work in progress with a lot of optimism and positivity.

Stuart Carolan, for instance, was very exciting on the future of Love/Hate (but when pressed to tell us what has happened to Darren he wouldn’t say anything!). Deirdre Kinahan told us about a play that she’s writing which is trying to do something I’ve seen in the cinema before but never on stage. And every other playwright had interesting things to say about their forthcoming work.

I left Rathdrum feeling very excited about the coming years: if every play that we heard about is produced in Ireland during the next 18 months, we could be in for a really great period of new writing – perhaps one that could push us back towards the spirit of that mini-Golden Age from 1995 to 2003.

But there are challenges too, the biggest of which is that it’s getting harder for playwrights to have a career.

I find myself wondering if perhaps we need to slightly refocus our priorities  in Irish theatre. I know how important it is to find and nurture new voices. But are we doing enough to nurture our established writers – to help them to develop, to move on, to keep writing? This isn’t an either/or – we can do both, of course. And again, I’m not criticising anyone who’s involved in doing this work at present – but perhaps there’s a need for a more systemic (that is, system-wide) consideration of playwriting.

It was an amazing experience to share a space with eight extraordinarily talented writers at the Synge School: they are all doing great things, and can continue to do great things. We just need to find new and better ways of letting them get on with it.