The Spinning Heart, Smock Alley

Light, darkness and shadow are at the fore in this adaptation of Donal Ryan's novel. The former through the choice of white chairs and picket fences, against the darker tones of the black floor and the deep brown wood-chips. The presence of wood-chips, is for me, for some reason, a memory trigger of celtic tiger days. I do not know why, but they seemed to be everywhere at the time. As well as decking. The picket fences give that wholesome 'American Dream' idea to it; everything is alright. But of course it isn't. For this is a small village in post-boom Ireland. The crash is depicted at the outset; the ten actors enter and, in slow motion, tumble to the ground in shadow and dull lighting, while the sound of a storm erupting is heard. It pretty well sums it all up.

Once we were building houses and building like nobodies business. I remember one person in the late 90s saying how they felt Dublin was like a little New York. Cranes dotted the skyline, you could rent helicopters if you wanted, not to mention the winter holidays 'on the piste' (there was a play set on such a piste back in the day as well - it played the Tivoli). There were pots of cash. Or as Bobby (Killian Coyle), the builder, remembers he was clearing a grand a week. Or Brian, (Ethan Dillon) whose school teacher told him that he should go to college as he has a keen eye and not to be tempted by the high wages of the construction industry, as it won't last, doesn't listen. And unlike Bobby, who is patching up the poorly finished, and empty, houses, he is off to Australia, a popular destination for those taking a year out in those early tiger days, is going to look for work and a future. For all twenty characters the boom has busted. Ghost estates are the order of the day. Realtín (Caoimhe Mulcahy) lives with her son in one, the only occupied house in the block. 

In all of this there are two mysteries that binds them together. Like Ryan's novel, where the story is told from the viewpoint of each character, the same occurs here. Some characters being talked about appear alongside, reinforcing them in our minds. The mysteries are secondary to the characters' tales, with problems going back in years, to familial relationships, especially father-son type. Some characters wander about aimlessly, like Vasya (Gordon Quigley) and Rory (Matthew O'Brien), unemployed and nothing to do. The others are caught in a village ravaged by the economy contracting at a vicious rate, while Kate (Caoimhe Mulcahy) can see a time again, due to a number of maternity leaves on the way at the local office, when she will have to turn people away from her creche (although she is saving money by giving the impression she might smoke a cigarette, instead going to light one up again and again, but never doing so, that made it all look a little repetitious).

There is a sense of numbness in the characters and tones; an other worldliness embodied between monologues as the fences and chairs are moved in a choreographed style. Never rushed. All the way through the other actors remain on stage, watching, listening, moving closer to others - the valley of the squinting windows ideas. It prevents the actors being alone on stage, while heightening the sense of a tightly knit village. The place where rumours and stories live and move around, or perhaps 'alternative facts'.

Originally conceived by director Paul Brennan as a showcase for his Gaiety School students of 2015, it is indeed that - a showcase. All characters are played by ten actors - each playing two (to save you doing the maths). All bring something different to their parts: some are playing younger, some play older. Matthew O'Brien as Jim, gives a great sense of character and age in the first sentence, really taking control of the stage and character in his monologue. More light and shadows emerge through Shane O'Regan's creation of Timmy, and then Seanie, who is falling into his own despair. Not to mention the sinister presence of Bobby's father, played by Gerry Howard. 

There is humour in the story, helped by the visual aspect of the characters. While Eoin Lennon's lighting gives us a brightness when there is anger on the stage, and almost confines the characters and brings them reluctantly together. In the absence of set walls, the lighting takes over. I would have liked Sinead Fox's singing less held back, as she has obviously got a fine singing voice, but then, this is something that tends to happen in productions, rather than letting the moment shine. The crowd moving around her is a lovely touch, something Brennan does with ease throughout, and adds to the atmosphere. In all, it is a great showcase for actors, and a simple and effective way of bringing the novel to life.