The Irish Take Broadway
Brian Friel has been writing significant and respected plays ever since he captured the hearts and funnybones of the public with Philadelphia, Here I Come!, his first international success, in 1968. But it is with his latest, Dancing at Lughnasa, that he achieved the kind of success that leaves even him awed. For two years now it has been a steady hit in Dublin, London, and New York, and, having already been translated into several languages, is well on its way to conquer the bookshelves, the theatres, and minds of the world.
Dancing at Lughnasa, which is more than a little autobiographical, is the story of the five unmarried Mundy sisters in the mythical Ballybeg in County Donegal (based on the real-life Glenties), but which Friel’s several plays have firmly imprinted on the map of the world. These sisters vary considerably in age and disposition. Kate, at 40 the eldest and the only wage-earner, is a schoolteacher and the embodiment of common sense; Maggie, 38, is the housekeeper and family wit; Agnes, 35, is the saddest and bitterest—it is she who must look after Rose, 32, who is sweet but mentally not quite there. Agnes and Rose earn piddling sums with their knitting. Chris, 26, is the prettiest, wildest, and most lyrical sister. She is also the devoted mother of little Michael, her illegitimate son by Gerry, a decent but feckless Welsh traveling salesman who occasionally pops in with unrealistic marriage proposals to Chris.
Chrissy will dance with him— they’re both beautiful ballroom dancers– but not marry him.
Besides Gerry, the men are Father Jack, the only Mundy brother, who has just come back from years as a missionary in Africa, somewhat unhinged but lovable for all his befuddled-ness; and Michael. Michael, the play’s narrator, is a man of indeterminate age, looking back at the summer of 1936, the time of the play, which is the way we see and hear him. But he is also, as the sisters see him and speak to him (though invisible and inaudible to us), the small boy that Michael—-or Brian Friel— was then. The sisters are desperately poor, having as their only luxury a beat-up old radio, the Marconi, the voice of the lares and penates of the Mundy household. The spirit of the Mundys is indomitable, best expressed in Chrissy’s unquenchable thirst for life. The play embodies the Mundy-or Friel-soul with shattering immediacy; it is heart-warming, heartbreaking, and full of hearty humor.
One afternoon over tea I had the opportunity to chat with the five actresses who opened in the play on Broadway, though most of them had also acted their roles in Dublin and London. They struck me as five of the finest women and actresses I had met in many years as a drama critic, film critic, and lover of women. Two days later I also had a most enjoyable talk with Patrick Mason, who directed Lughnasa in Dublin, London, and New York. Here is the gist of the conversations.
Editor’s Note: This article was originally published in the March 1992 issue of Irish America. ♦
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