I Need a Small Favour…

Writing related moments, for me, are often a bit like buses. There may not be one for quite a while and then a bunch of them will come along all at once.

As the dust settles on, what was for me, an extraordinary 6 weeks of theatre creativity and fun, something new arises.

But, before that, one final word of gratitude and joy to all the cast and production team on ‘Dance Night’, ‘Conception, Pregnancy and Bert’, and ‘Two for a Tenor’. An endeavour that culminated in packed houses, standing ovations, champagne corks off-stage, shots in Coady’s, and Jim Finan singing ‘One More for the Road’ down the back bar. I mean, what more could anyone possibly want?

Thank you all.

x

And now, I need a little something from you, Dear Reader, if I can possibly get it. There’s no money involved, so breathe easy on that front.

My friend, and creative conspirator, Richard Keaney, has made a short film from one of my short stories and, this weekend, for the first time, in the middle of its festival run, it is available for free public viewing at the TMFF Film Festival website. 

It’s only twelve minutes long but it doesn’t waste much of its run time and I would love you to see it. The link to it is just below but before you race to it, there’s one important thing. Even if you don’t have time right now to watch the whole film, if you had a moment to click over there and give the film 5 stars at the top of the webpage, that would be great. 

Extra Note - One or two kind people have accidentally given us 1 star by thinking you just click on any star to get into the voting. But the star you click on first is the vote you give. I think it's necessary to click straight onto the fifth star, if voting. It all registers alarmingly quickly. Thanks. 

This may seem underhand and, yes, by golly, it’s kind of is. But all it will do is allow Richard’s film to progress to the next stage of viewership in the festival and, at this point in the life of this little film, getting eyes on it is one of the great challenges. I would very much appreciate your help with this. Thanks.

Here’s the link to the film. Click Here. The image at the top will get you there too. It’s all high-tech stuff, this.

Then, having done that, and if you have time to view it (pump it up to full screen and turn the sound up) I would genuinely like to hear what you think of it. It’s rather a tricky little narrative structure. Does it engage? Does it get its story across clearly and in a diverting way? These are script questions and I’m a script guy. I thrive on feedback, and I definitely don’t need 5 stars for this part of the exercise. Hit me with it. Right between the eyes. I can take it.

I am really very proud of the film. Richard is a talented director, with an array of successful shorts and documentaries under his belt and an encyclopedic knowledge of the medium inside of his beardy head. For this project, he shanghaied the wonderfully visionary cinematographer Rafael de Almeida, who I think has done a splendid job. Actors Liam Gaffney, Patrick Austin and Claire Blennerhassett are all brilliant, the location work is spot-on, and my little story is served very well by the entire team. Go and have a look (and give it five stars, no matter what you think.)

As a story, Joey had a rather interesting genesis. I was on a bus to Dublin, in 2014, with an orchestra of teens who were heading to play National Concert Hall in front of the President of Ireland. I was hauling Sam’s drums, a very very important role. We stopped at the Applegreen Motorway Services Station, a place I had never stopped at before. I stepped off the bus (much as Joey does in the film) and stopped in amazement. Two simultaneous thoughts arrived. The first, I’ve just said it, was ‘This is amazing’ and, hot on its heels, that old familiar tingly feeling in the back of your head that signals there’s a story around here somewhere. I worked out that story in my head on the last hour into Dublin and wrote it the next day and posted it on this blog. It’s back there somewhere still. But watch the film instead. It tells it better.

I’m thanking people again but I have to express my gratitude to my good friend, Richard Keaney, for always reading my stupid scripts and, on two occasions now, actually assembling a team and pushing an amazing project right through to fruition. He deserves to sail past me into superstardom and I can’t wait for that day to come.

What’s next, Richard?

See, I had this idea…

This is It

People of a certain vintage, like me, will not have forgotten the Bugs Bunny Show which was a feature of our undersized televisions back in the day.

It always started with an opening theme song. Bugs and Daffy marched onstage with their canes and straw boater hats (Bugs’ hat had holes in it for his ears to stick through). Immediately they would launch into their well-known vaudeville-like song-and-dance routine.

The lyrics were pretty memorable:

Overture, curtains, lights
This is it, the night of nights
No more rehearsing and nursing a part
We know every part by heart

Overture, curtains, lights
This is it, you'll hit the heights
And oh what heights we’ll hit
On with the show this is it

In more recent years, the song tends to remind me of Ethel Merman belting out ‘You’ll be Swell, You’ll be Great’ as she performs ‘Everything’s Coming up Roses’ from ‘Gypsy’. On a less informed note, I have never-once been able to look at Michael Flatley dancing without thinking of Bugs Bunny.

I saw somebody on Twitter this week referring to Bugs’ and Daffy’s routine. He said that there is hardly a better description available of the feeling one gets when you are involved in a show and the rehearsals are largely all done, and it is finally time for the show to go on.

That’s where we’re at this week. On Thursday and Friday, at The Linenhall Arts Centre, our three plays will go on.

Our time in the lovely Scouts Den is all done. Our invaluable borrowed moments in the theatre are just about over too, though we still have Tech and Dress to complete.

All that will be left, by Thursday at teatime, will be to light it up, get into the glad rags, and get it done.

It’s a bit nerve-racking, for sure, but the upcoming evenings of Thursday and Friday of this week is why we do it. It’s why we turn up in twilight rooms, when we could be at home watching Eastenders or out having a nice stroll. It's why we scour the town for props and learn silly lines untl they are coming out of our ears.

We get to put on a show.

All through this weekend, people have been coming up to me and saying, “We’ll see you Thursday”, or “We’ll see you Friday night.” They may not see me. I’ll be in a darkened control room sweating over music and lighting cues. But that’s not what they mean. They may not entirely know it, but they mean they will see the show, and, in that way, they will see me. I appreciate that people will come out and pay good money to see what we might do. I appreciate very much the people who have come out over the past weeks and months to do it with me. You guys rock my world.

I keep saying it but, dammit, it’s true.

I’m a lucky duck…

…or perhaps a lucky bunny.

Take your pick.

 

There are still some tickets available at www.the linenhall.com or on 094 90 23733 but please don’t leave it too late to grab 'em.

Feeling Writery

Have I ever had a moment where I felt this writery before? I’m not sure that I have.

Sure, there’s been moments where I’ve managed to feel like an actual writer, as opposed to a person who works full time and who writes when they can. I’ve always had too much respect for the professional writer to call myself one. Although you can do that if you want, I won’t mind. I’m a writer, I know I am, but while I spend the majority of my week doing other things, I’ll never be able to shout it out with much confidence.

But this Sunday morning, I feel quite writery.

It’s a nice feeling.

Why so, Ken? Why do you feel writery now as opposed to some other random time? 

Well, thank you for your question, Ken, you can sit down again now. It ain’t rocket science. It’s just simply that there are quite a lot of writery things going on right now and that tends to make me feel writery. You follow?

Take the upcoming two week period. We’re in rehearsal with three of my plays. We covered that last week. Yesterday, I spent a lovely three hours with my good friend Paul Soye, both of us with our metaphorical Fighting Words caps on, working with a bunch of talented teens on their upcoming plays. From there, straight into a rehearsal for Two for a Tenor with Donna, Vivienne, Eamon, and Brendan, where I had the rare experience of laughing until I cried. Today, at one, we have a rehearsal of ‘Conception, Pregnancy, and Bert, with the three busiest actors in that play, Katie, Matthew, and Charlie. On Friday I was on the radio talking about the plays. Me… on the radio. Who’d have thunk it? This week there will be three separate rehearsal sessions, four if we can make Saturday work. It’s not easy, there’s a cast of fourteen across all three plays and everybody has their own lives and responsibilities to constantly corral.

Incidentially, if you'd like to come see the plays, pre-booking is highly recommended and you can do it here. 

Then, as if all that weren’t enough, the wonderful Wild Atlantic Words week is about to kick off here in Castlebar. On Wednesday, I get to present the Poem and a Pint evening, which is one of my favourite moments of any given year and then, to round off the working week, there’s this. I get to introduce my good friend Sally Rooney for her in-person reading from ‘Intermezzo’ in the Festival Dome. I’ve never previously been involved in an event which was booked out in forty seconds. It's quite something. I’m understandably very excited about this, and there have been many happy moments spent over the last few months where I mulled over what on Earth I might say. I think I’ve got it largely figured out now so that’s a bit of a relief.

So, hey, I think, overall, it’s forgivable if I feel a bit writerly.

I hope, when it’s all over, in a few weeks’ time, the memory of all this fun and excitement will stay with me and drive me on to complete my next writing thing. So that I can perhaps get to experience some more of this very good stuff in the coming years.

Thanks to everyone who continues to put their faith in me to deliver on these enviable responsibilities.

I’m not sure how I’ll do. I never really am. I can only promise that I will try my very best.

And that I will love the trying.