Dancing at Lughnasa, a review

Dancing at Lughnasa, a review

Movie review

Written by Brian Friel, whom Wikipedia describes as one of Ireland’s greatest living dramatists, likened to an “Irish Chekhov.” These are pretty big pants to fill. It was made into a film in 1998 where Meryl Streep, though superb with accents and can carry almost any part, was cast in the lead role—perhaps not a choice that would be made today. #intheirvoice

It is a play: about nothing. Five unmarried sisters trying to survive in County Donegal in 1936—just prior to World War II in which they did not fight. Brian Friel drew from his memory to write several what has been termed memory plays about a made-up place: Ballybeg.

Also from Wiki: A memory play is a play in which a lead character narrates the events of the play, which are drawn from the character's memory. The term was coined by playwright Tennessee Williams, describing his work The Glass Menagerie.

These can be a little tricky as the play prologue is voiced by a now-grown Michael, son of one of the sisters, a single mother. It is, therefore, Michael’s memory—but there were many scenes in which he was not present. So still figuring out how this all works. Some of the reconstructed dialogue must be from stories told by his aunties from their perspective—so not all from his memory.

Tennessee William’s defined memory plays as such:

The scene is memory and is therefore non-realistic. Memory takes a lot of poetic license. It omits some details; others are exaggerated, according to the emotional value of the articles it touches, for memory is seated predominantly in the heart. The interior is therefore rather dim and poetic.

In his first few lines Tom Wingfield declares:

The play is memory. Being a memory play, it is dimly lighted, it is sentimental, it is not realistic. In memory everything seems to happen to music. That explains the fiddle in the wings. I am the narrator of the play, and also a character in it. The other characters are my mother Amanda, my sister Laura and a gentleman caller who appears in the final scenes.

Memory is cast in low lights with fiddles in the wings. For James Baldwin there would be a jazz quintet, improvising, playing at the side, the back of the club. Different authors write from their own music that stirs the flames of memory.

In a manuscript I’m preparing for publication I’ve written about memory and bicycling—two things that combine in my mind—about the playlist from which we emote:

From Frances Willard and Me: A Cycling Memoir:

For every ride I create a playlist. There are always songs that stand out and become the touchstone for that particular tour. On my JOGLE (John O'Gorats to Land's End) Shakira’s Zootopia song, “Try Everything” resounded with me.

I won’t give up, no I won’t give in

Till I reach the end

And then I'll start again

***

I wanna try even though I could fail

I won’t give up, no I won’t give in

Till I reach the end

Yeah—this pretty much sums it up. Fall down, get back up.

At age fifteen, on one of those “Stupid Kid” bike trips where I left home with . . . nothing—I remember continually hearing over and over inside my head Steppenwolf’s “Born to be Wild.”

Head out on the highway

Lookin’ for adventure

And whatever comes our way

Yeah Darlin’ go make it happen

Take the world in a love embrace

***

Like a true nature’s child

We were born, born to be wild

We can climb so high

I never wanna die