Tyrone Guthrie, review of Philadelphia Here I Come [in print]: When one says that Brian Friel is a born playwright, what does it mean? If means that meaning is implicit between the lines of the text; in silences; in what people are thinking and doing far more than in what they are saying; in the music as much as in the meaning of a phrase. If you want to know what makes a born playwright, read the scene in this play between Gareth and his old schoolmaster [...]. Further: the humour, compassion and poetry which pour out of him with the spontaneity of a birds song. (Quoted in Sam Hanna Bell, Theatre, in Michael Longley, Causeway: The Arts in Ulster, NI Arts Council 1971, p.89.) Note also that Guthrie held that indigenous drama was a valuable element in both national development and international understanding, that art springs from the soil, that to be authentic was important in speech and action, not just on the stage but always and everywhere. (Acc. George OBrien, Brian Friel, G&M 1989, p.2; cited in Stella McCuskar, Emigration, Love & Relationships: Themes in the Work of Brian Friel, UUC UG Diss. 2002.)
Ginete Verstraete, Brian Friels Drama and the Limits of Language, in Joris Duytschaever and Geert Lernout, eds., History and Violence in Anglo-Irish Literature [Conference of 9 April 1986; Costerus Ser. Vol. 71] (Amsterdam: Rodopi 1988), pp.85-96: The crisis of the word in Friels art cannot be separated from the problem of identity in Irish culture and by extension, from the sense of alienation in modern society ... It is a position of sceptical realism that results from his being a Catholic dramatist in Northern Ireland writing in the English language ... That is why the author strikes the reader as primarily interrogating the features determining Irish culture without offering clear-cut answers. Showing what is wrong, he demythologises some of the traditional illusions and forces us into a critical interpretation of the present ... like Joyce ... allowing language its genuine freedom. [quotes Friel, as infra.] (p.96.) [ top ] Richard Kearney: Brian Friels plays in the eighties have become increasingly concerned with the problems of language, so much so that they constitute not just a theatre of language but a theatre about language. (Transitions, 1988, p.123.) [Cont.]
[ top ] Seamus Deane, Preface to Brian Friel, Selected Plays (London: Faber & Faber 1984), writes: [the stories] reveal the necessity of illusion in a society which distorts psychic life [11]; recurrent failures of the political imagination in Ireland. [12] the problem of temperament, an enhanced feature of people who are bedevilled by failure and compensate for it by making out of their own instability a mode of behaviour in which volatility becomes a virtue. [12] Irish temperament and Irish talk has a deep relationship to Irish desolation and the sense of failure. [12] Although the different kinds of pressure forcing them to leave their homeland are interconnected, the ultimate perception is that fidelity to the native place is a lethal form of nostalgia, an emotion which must be overcome if they are quite simply to grow up. [13] Brian Friels work registers a characteristic and irreversible development in modern Ireland. [13] (Cont.)
[ top ] George OBrien, Brian Friel (Dublin: Gill & Macmillan 1989): The willingness exhibited by Friels protagonists to extend themselves in either thought or deed suggests the capacity to find the outsider in themselves, to inhabit a more natural and more complete edition of themselves than their restrictive, border-haunted society can tolerate. (p.24.) Further: [T]he illusion of their survival is more humanising than the reality of their execution. Friels theatre privileges the illusion in order that the humanising option be kept alive (p.79). [Cont.]
[ top ] Richard Pine, Friel and Irelands Drama (London: Routledge 1990): Friel establishes those tenuous relationships and uncertainties in order to show a mans enemies shall be they of his own household, that the external world is not as dangerous or as precious as the inner, because it holds neither the same threats nor penalties nor the same hope of reconciliation. Thus a future-oriented love is inevitably at risk, while a retrospective love must live with all the failures of ecstasy. (Ibid., p.86; both the foregoing cited in Stella McCuskar, Emigration, Love & Relationships: Themes in the Work of Brian Friel, UG diss., UUC 2002.) Further [poss. of Dancing at Lughnasa: It is a most triumphant rewriting of his early work and stands in a peculiarly ironic, almost parodic relationship to Philadelphia Here I Come!, of which it is both the subversion and the fulfillment. (Friel and Irelands Drama, 1990, p.20). Richard Pine, The Diviner: The Art of Brian Friel [2nd rev. edn.] (Dublin: UCD Press 2000): Some may find it ironical that a writer who has questioned the nature and status of authority both in society (The Freedom of the City) and in the theatre (Living Quarters) should, as an author, insist on immutability of the text. If the playwright is God, then the director is his high priest, but for Friel to have referred to the work of the director as a bogus profession and to his function as a lollipop man - carrying the actors from text to performance in safety and by a recognised route - is to deny the shamanistic or divining role of the director. To have decided to take matters into his own hands in personally directing Molly Sweeney and Give Me Your Answer, Do! is to see god dispensing with his high priest and taking on that function himself. Friel has been criticised for this decision and there can be no doubt, watching Patrick Mason initiating the actors - and the playwright himself - into the ritualistic nature of the text during early rehearsals of Wonderful Tennessee that it is a necessary function closely related to that of the author. / This decision may have been occasioned by what Fintan OToole perceives as a loss of faith in the theatre on Friels part, in particular seeing Making History as a hesitant move into unknown territory where the concept of failure was no longer counterbalanced by some mysterious faith. While I would not agree with the latter aspect of his commentary, it is clear that Friel does share at least in part in what OToole calls a crisis of faith in what the theatre can achieve - something something which has been evident in his work to some critics at least since his early years. (p.330.)
Richard Pine, Friels Irish Russians, in The Cambridge Companion to Brian Friel, ed. Anthony Roche (Cambridge UP 2006), pp.104-16. What are the chief characteristics persuading us that, in the words of the Irish writer George Moore in 1991, Ireland is a little Russia (Hail & Farewell, Gerrards Cross: Colin Smythe 1976, p.124-35)? There are the sociological and political givens, such as prevalence of famine in bother countries and the comparability of the emancipation of the Catholic serfs in Ireland in 1832 and that of their Rusian counterparts in 1861. Behind them lies a psychological terrain of hope and longing, despair, deferral, unease, wonder, sadness, exhaustion and irony. As Emma Polatskaya has writter, it is Russians inner state [which] shapes peoples individual destinies, and this Russian soul - in the nineteenth century, at least - had much in common with Irishness, not least in the dramatists sudden awareness of a wasted life! where Turgenev had writte of russian as that immense and sombre figure motionless and masked like the Sphinx, , Friel [107] has referred to the inbred claustrophic Ireland, and the romantic ideal we call Kathleen. Quotes Friel: individuals, isolated, separated, sick and disillusioned with their inheritance, existing in the void created by their rejection, waiting without hope for a new social struture tat will being meaning to their lives [...] [When the modern dramatist] depicts man as lost, grouping, confuse,d anxious,, disillusioned, he is expressing the secret and half-formed thoughts in all our hearts. (The Theatre of Hope and Despair [1967], in Christopher Murray, Brian Friel, p.21-23.) [For further remarks on the Russian writers by Friel, see under Quotations - as infra.]
[ top ] Roy Foster, Varieties of Irishness, in Cultural Traditions in Northern Ireland: Varieties of Irishness, ed. Maurna Crozier [Proceedings of the Cultural Traditions Cultural Traditions Group Conference] (Belfast: IIS 1989): Speaking of disingenuous argument in the notion that we Irish are more influenced by Europe than by England, Foster writes, it was briefly, for obvious reasons, very popular in the Republic in the early 1970s, but had a much longer pedigree. It is satirised gently (I think) in Brian Friels Translations, where the hedge schoolmaster tells the English surveyor: Wordsworth? ... no. Im afraid were not familiar with your literature, Lieutenant. We feel closer to the warm mediterranean. We tend to overlook your island. / This is serious self-delusion. (Foster, p.15, citing Friel, Translations, Faber, 1981, p.49.)
Desmond Fennell, The Last Years of the Gaelteacht, in The Crane Bag: Journal of Irish Studies, 5, 2 (1981), rep. in The Crane Bag Book of Irish Studies (1982), pp.839-42: In Brian Friels play Translations, he dramatises the alienating effect on Gaelic speaking people of the Gaelic place names being translated into English, or anglicised, by the Ordnance Survey in the nineteenth century. In fact his was only a superficially alienating experience because the Gaelic speakers continued to use the original Gaelic names, at least for the places in their own immediate localities. Something much more alienating happens when the spoken language changes to English, for them a whole network of local place-names dissolves in a collective amnesia. (p.839.) Paddy Woodworth, Fact and Fiction and Friel in Fortnight, 350 (April 1992), p.35: A fact, Friel told the BBC in 1972, is something that happened to me or something I experienced. It can also be something I thought happened to me, something I thought I experienced. Or indeed an autobiographical fact can be pure fiction, and no less true or reliable for that. He has two birth certificates, both registered Bernard Patrick Friel (Jan 9th & 10th 1929), but his name was registered at baptism as Brian Patrick OFriel. Perhaps Im twins, he wrote to Richard Pine. (See Pine, Brian Friel and Irelands Drama, q.p.; here p.35.)
Patrick Mason, Everyone [in Friels drama] seems on the verge of a major statement and its never quite made, and yet of course it has been made but not in the way that you think. (Interview, Sunday Tribune 27 June 1993, Sect. B, p.5.) Robert Welch, Changing States: Transformations in Modern Irish Writing (London: Routledge 1993), #145;Coda: Seers and Dancers, pp.285-89: #145;[...] When I saw Brian Friels Dancing at Lughnasa in the Phoenix Theatre in London in the summer of 1990, I came out during the interval to the bar almost unable to control my feelings. Tears were in my eyes. Something magnificent was taking place, had taken place, in the flour dance of the women in the first Act. [...] In spite of all difficulties - uncertainty about income, an illegitimate child, a retarded girl, a priest returned from the missions who has gone native and become deranged - the women dance. They are not, all the time, victims of their culture. Something exists whereby people can get outside their history, their given, fated narratives. [...&c.; ending with the swapping of hats between Gerry and Jack: #145;They have changed places. End.]
[ top ] Bridget OToole, review of Alan Peacock, ed., The Achievement of Brian Friel (1993), in Books Ireland (Nov. 1993), quotes Seamus Deane (Brian Friel, The Name of the Game): It is in Ballybeg that Hardy realises that it is the relation between the gift and the world that is at the root of the whole problem. He was not born to put the maimed world to rights. His art is not a therapy. Sean Connolly (Translating History: Brian Friel and the Irish Past): [the ahistorical treatment of Mabel Bagenal is part of an attempt to] advertise ... his liberation from the constraints of the historical record [and to] reinforce the plays satirical treatment of the pretensions of history, by means of a subtle practical joke at the expense of the hapless academic fact checker Seamus Heaney (For Liberation, Brian Friel and the Use of Memory): [on St. Columba in The Enemy Within:] Donegal memory is something that the character re-enters not in order to avoid the present but because he wishes to fortify himself so as to deal with the present in a more competent way. Robert Welch (Isnt It Your Job to Translate?: Brian Friels Languages): Friel distrusts the story-teller, the maker of fictions, the word-spinner. Thomas Kilroy (Theatrical Text and Literary Text): It is arguable that Friel discovered the extraordinary narrative tone of the later work - grieving and elegiac, but also lyrical and marmoreal - in the narratives of Living Quarters. Richard York [on Friels Russian plays after Chekhov and Turgenev]: leisurely concern for making relationships manifest, they are manifest in expressions of anxiety, of affection, of insistence; delaying manoeuvres, indirect elicitations. Being together matters, not just sharing information (Brian Friels Russia); Terence Brown (Have We a Context? Self and Society in the Theatre of Brian Friel; p.200-01) [on the sisters in Dancing at Lughnasa]: Their dance is the dance of the misplaced, of proud, gifted, bravely energetic women whose lives are misshapen by an Irish society that will as it changes, destroy the life they have struggled to achieve. Also Fintan OToole [as infra]; and see Table of Contents in Criticism, supra.)
Fintan OToole, Marking Time, from Making History to Dancing at Lughnasa, in Alan Peacock, ed., The Achievement of Brian Friel (Gerrards Cross: Colin Smythe 1993): It is always Ballybeg. It is, in Translations, Making History and Dancing at Lughnasa, the August of the year ... Basic situations recur, regardless of the time in history. Gar ODonnell [in Philadephia ...], Manus in Translations and Rose in Dancing at Lughnasa are all trapped into the same escape from Ballybeg. The christening of Nellie Ruadhs baby at the start of Translations in 1833 is repeated in the comic christening of the radio at the start of Lughnasa in 1936 and in the eternal, placeless present of Faith Healer which begins with Frank Hardys act of naming. And in each case, even this act of naming, of christening, does not really set time in order by marking a proper commencement. What is christened or inaugurated is already dying, Nellie Ruadhs baby will soon be waked; the baptised radio will hover between life and death throughout the play; the places named by Frank Hardy are all those dying Welsh villages. History changes nothing. [...] Brian Friel does not write history plays, but plays that mock history. He looks for a time that is outside history, a personal time, the time of our lives. (p.202.) Deane calls Friel a writer who has faith in politics, history, and above all in the power of language, not merely to communicate but also to change them. (p.205.) [ top ] Fintan OToole, review of Molloy Sweeney, Second Opinion [column], The Irish Times (27 Sept. 1994): It is particularly tempting to see Molly Sweeney as a pessimistic response to Seamus Heaneys The Cure at Troy. In Heaneys play, the giving up of a physical disability festering wound that Philoctetes carries as a defiant badge of his hurt - is a prelude to hope and political change. Molly Sweeney, on the other hand, poses the question of whether the giving up of a disability is not the surrendering of a whole way of understanding the world. (See full text, Library, Reviews, infra.)
Fintan OToole, review of The Home Place, in The Irish Times (3 Feb. 2005): [...] One of the pleasures of new work by an old master is the sense of retrospection. Friels writing has always been deeply embedded in theatre history, and there are obvious echoes here of Plays as diverse as The Cherry Orchard and Waiting for Godot. / But The Home Place is embedded, too, in Friels own history. It revisits both Aristocrats and Translations, and brings their disparate worlds together. The setting is virtually the same as that of Aristocrats: a Big House room opening out onto a lawn lit, by the sunshine of late August. There is the same atmosphere of a familys vigorous past slipping away into inevitable decline. David Gore (Hugh OConor), the son and heir of the landlord Christopher, is a sketchier version of Casimir in Aristocrats. / But The Home Place glances back at Translations, too. That plays arrival in Friels mythical Ballybeg of the English map-makers has its parallels here in the arrival from England of Christophers bumptious cousin Richard, who wants to take physical measurements of the locals as part of his obsession with the racist pseudo-science of anthropometrics. / [...] What makes The Home Place far, far more than a mere reprise of earlier work, though, is that it knits these two stories into one. Planter and Gael are seen to share a predicament. The central characters, Christopher and Margaret, are both, albeit in different ways, people in no-mans land, neither one thing nor the other. Christopher, part of Donegal but still regarding Kent as the home place of the title, comes to realise that he is an exile from both that memory and this fact now. (For full text, see RICORSO Library, Criticism > Reviews, infra.) [ top ] Seamus Heaney, For Liberation, Brian Friel and the Use of Memory, in Peacock, ed., Achievement of Brian Friel (1993), [F]alse memory sends the quester into the limbo of meaningless invention; but true memory gives access to the dancing place, the point of eternal renewal and confident departure. Heaney also notices the cathartic effect of Friels plays on audiences. Their elation comes from the perception of an order beyond themselves which nevertheless seems foreknown, as if something forgotten surfaced for a clear moment. Whatever they knew before that moment becomes renewed, transfigured in another pattern.
Christopher Murray, review of Volunteers, in Irish University Review Vol. 10 (1980): calls Volunteers the play Mr Friel had to write after The Freedom of the City, an excoriation of the Southern establishment. (q.p.)
Rhoda Koenig, The Literary Review (Sept.1992) [the green shoots that flowered into the lyricism and passion of his later work]; The Guardian [interview] (27 Sept. 1980); Mervyn Rothstein [reviews Philadelphia [ &c.]in New York Times, 28 Aug. 1990); Seamus Heaney, Digging Deeper, Times Literary Supplement (21 Mar 1975), p.306 [on chars. in Volunteers, trapped between political, economic, and social realities and received ideas]. David Krause, When Dancing is Not Enough, in Second Opinion [column], The Irish Times (16 Jan. 1993), being a critique the box-office success of Dancing at Lughnasa, claiming that Friel has constructed a memory-play that recreates the aura of an idyllic past, and indulgence in nostalgia that calls for a basically sentimental tone and flattened language that do not lead to a very complex or profound experience. In the course of the review, Krause refers to the Northern Ireland town of Ballybeg, showing a limited grasp of Irish political geography. He accuses Friel of employing the exhilarating Lughnasa dance as the central and perhaps too easily earned symbol of the play, a purely visual symbol of Friels theme of repression and sublimation. He goes on to criticise the characterisation in Gerry Evans who, in something like a quixotic afterthought, goes off to fight in Spain. Quoting Deanes introduction to the Faber Collected Plays, he reminds the reader that Friels previous works were fiercely spoken plays and asserts that here Friel has failed to allow for the important distinction between life and art. (Krause is a leading writer on Sean OCasey and Emeritus Professor of English at Brown Univ., Rhode Island; most recently the author of The Profane Book of Irish Comedy, Cornell UP). [ top ]
Eoin ONeachtain, letter to Times Literary Supplement (9 June 1995), characterises Colm Tóibíns classification of the political project of Field Day as the last serious outing that unreconstructed nationalism will have as a mite too pat and simplistic while containing an essential kernel of truth; adds that the ideological battle with nationalism in Ireland will have to be conducted with more intellectual skill and sophistication than ... by Tóibín in his blinkered attack on Translations, arguably Brian Friels masterpiece ... [which is] much more nuanced piece of drama than he suggests ... does not indulge nationalist pieties about pre-famine Ireland ... cannot be see as an uncritical lament for the decline of Gaelic, neither are the English characters presented as barbarians; broadly endorses Austen Morgans classification of Field Day as the cultural wing of the SDLP; ... the tragedy of Field Day is that it has turned its back on the complexities and ambiguities of the visions and possibilities explored in Translations. Those opposed to the project should not do the same. [&c.].
Joep Leerssen, Remembrance and Imagination: Patterns in the Historical and Literary Representation of Ireland in the Nineteenth Century (Cork UP/Field Day 1996) - remarks on the Ordnance Survey: It is all the more important to stress this, since the Ordnance Survey has been heavily distorted in Brian Friels widely successful play Translations [1980]. Friel presents the Ordnance Survey as a blunt colonial instrument in the hands of the imperial forces, inflicting cultural self-estrangement on native Ireland by means of billeting English soldiers in rural villages, and imposing uncomprehending and ugly anglicizations of native placenames under threat of eviction. In fact, the very opposite was the case. Although triangulation and measurements may have been undertaken by soldiers, the fieldworkers sent out to inventorize placenames, architectural remains and other cultural artefacts were men like ODonovan and OCurry, with a good knowledge of, and a sympathetic interest in, local antiquities and native lore, foreshadowing later folklore commissioners, salvaging the original placenames from neglect or corruption by painstaking inventorization of manuscripts, giving them English transliterations rather than translations, and capturing a great deal of local lore and learning from communities which would fifteen years later be swept away by the Famine. If, today, the Gaelic substratum of Irish culture is most prominently visible in the placenames and the landscape, then that presence is owing to a large degree to the work of the Ordnance Survey of 1824-1841. We may go even further and say that the Ordnance Survey was a major contribution to the cultural nationalism of later decades, in that it equated the very land itself with a Gaelic past and a Gaelicspeaking peasantry, thus canonizing the Gaelic tradition as the very bedrock, the cultural ground under the feet of modem Ireland, making Gaelic culture literally aboriginal and autochthonous to Ireland, a native fruit of its very soil. The Ordnance Survey turned the entire countryside of Ireland into one vast lieu de mémoire: topography became replete with historical and mythological overtones, [103] while history and myth became specific and graspable in their topographical locale. (p.102-03.)
Katie Trumpener, Bardic Nationalism: The Romantic Novel and the British Empire (Princeton UP 1997), Friels translatons (1981) uses the ordnances anglicization of Irish palace-names to raise the question of cultural imperialism. Yet J. H. Andrews argues that the [Ordance Commission] surveys nomenclature became controversial only in the late eighteenth [err. for nineteenth] century, during the nationalist revival of interest in Gaelic. During the 1830s, the nationalist debate about the survey was focused rather on the decision not to compile memoirs. ([Introduction, n.65, p.200; citing Andrews, A Paper Landscape: The Ordnance Survey in Nineteenth-century Ireland, Oxford 1975, Chap. 4.].) Trumpener further notes, after Andrews, that commentators complained that the survey made a categorical and polemical distinction between Anglican churches and Presbyterian meetinghouses and Catholic chapels which were noted on the map in smaller italics. (Andrews, op. cit., p.86; Trumpene, n.66, idem.)
[ top ] Helen Meany, Questions of creation, in The Irish Times ([q.d.] March 1997) [H.M. looks at the script of Brian Friels new play, Give Me Your Answer Do!, which opens at the Abbey tonight.] In the opening scene of Brian Friels new play, Give Me Your Answer, Do!, the novelist, Tom Connolly, addresses an animated monologue to his silent, autistic daughter, Brigid. Compensating for her muteness by loquacity, he makes her a gift of a string of verbal jewels in a blend of comic fantasy and hyperbole which becomes mockingly ironic as he parodies his publishers reaction to his latest novel:The best thing youve ever done, Tom. Its intelligent and rich and elegant and heartening and true and compelling and disturbing and witty, and deeply, deeply moving, Tom ... Do you know the effect it had on me, Tom? It made me feel humble. This stock vocabulary of evaluation and critical judgement has a jaded, hollow ring; throughout the play it both attracts and repels Tom Connolly as he attempts to work out how much he needs the validation of experts, arbiters - or audiences. In the course of a single summers day in a dilapidated house in Co Donegal, Tom Connolly and his wife Daisy, Daisys parents, Maggie and Jack, and their friends, Garret Fitz-maurice (also a novelist) and his wife Grainne, come together to sit in the garden, talking, drinking and listening to music, while a literary agent decides whether his university in Texas will buy Toms complete collection of manuscripts for its Irish archive. They are waiting, as Daisy says, for the big answer. The fact that the agent, David Knight, has already made a generous offer for Garrets manuscripts adds to the tensions in the atmosphere, which is thick with the dust of disappointed dreams, the collusions and petty destructiveness of marriage, the evaporation of love and hopes. The intense, lyrical monologues of Friels last play, Molly Sweeney, have given way to the elliptical exchanges of the ensemble; characters speak past and through each other, revelations are interrupted, moments of potential closeness or illumination are smothered and truncated as brutally as in any Beckett play; private pain becomes public performance. Friel has captured the unease of family members in proximity, huddling in pairs to speak in hushed, concerned tones about the one who has just left the room. Give Me Your Answer Do! recreates the elegiac tone of Living Quarters (1977), Aristocrats (1979) and more recently, Wonderful Tennessee (1993). With its house-party setting and air of expectant lassitude, it echoes the work of Chekhov and Turgenev, who have both been translated and adapted by Friel in the past. Here, the selling of literary estates to an American university becomes the equivalent of the sale of the Russian dachas. Some quotes from The Three Sisters early on make the allusions more explicit. While the money from the sale of Toms manuscripts would be more than welcome to the Connollys, who live an isolated, impoverished life, there is more at stake than that, as Daisy relentlessly points out to Tom: That acknowledgment, that affirmation, might give you, whatever it is - the courage? the equilibrium? the necessary self-esteem just to hold on? Isnt that what everybody needs? Tom does not want to listen to Daisy, whose role in the play is to ask questions that become increasingly uncomfortable - and acerbically expressed - with each glass of gin. A talented musician in her youth, Daisy has now given up on her own life and concentrates on analysing Toms. Both she and Grainne, who makes bitter public comments about her husband Garrets work, function as judges and critics who do nothing themselves, but uphold exacting standards for their husbands and express the anger and disappointment of people who had hoped that they could live through someone else. Grainne wounds Garret by telling him: You arent at all the writer you might have been - you know that yourself. Too anxious to please. Too fearful of offending. That has made you very popular ... . But I thought once you were more than that. I think you did too. Even when Grainne thinks about leaving the marriage, it is the effect of this on Garrets work that she is thinking of: If I werent in your life, maybe youd find your own resiliences. They wont make you a stronger man but perhaps theyd make you a better writer. The two women are stern critics, but their judgement is tainted by disillusionment. Even the great arbiter, David, is as fragile, flawed and quietly desperate as everyone else. Friel is turning the spotlight on to what he has called our trivial achievements and abysmal failures. In earlier work, such as Philadelphia, Here I Come!, his characters looked to their fathers for approval. Give Me Your Answer Do! questions the criteria by which we measure success or failure, and our need to jump through the correct hoops to receive a validating imprimatur. Whats the yardstick anyway, Daisys father, Jack, asks Tom, whatever money David offers you?
[ top ] Lionel Pilkington, Theatre and Insurgency in Ireland, Essays in Theatre/ Études Theatricales, 12, 2, (1994), pp.129-40: [I]n each instance Friels anti-republican tendency is based, tautologically, on the ultimate passivity of the spectator. As in the case of the final moments of The Freedom of the City and Volunteers, for example, it is the spectators inability to do anything, except watch passively the action on stage, that serves as the proof that nothing, in fact, can be done [...] All that the theatre can do in the face of political resistance is re-confirm an identity which is recognisable as true. In doing so, however, the bourgeois theatre reveals (at least to criticism) its implicit counter-insurgency function. To adapt the definition of counter-insurgency that appears in a British Army manual of 1971, the theatre functions - like censorship or the imposition of a military curfew - as a means of isolating an and-colonial politics physically and psychologically from [its] civilian support. (pp.134-35.)
[ top ] Thomas Kilroy, The Life and Art of Brian, in The Irish Time (24 April, 1999), Weekend, gives an account of his first meeting with Friel at Mary Lavins house and subsequent acquaintance, incl. an account of the writing and expansion of Faith-healer (one of the great theatrical texts of our time in the English language), from its inception as a single monologue; the versions of stories throughout contradict or modify one another but never to the point of cancellation; speaks of discussions within Field Day, its role in opening channels between Irish and English theatre; ridicules views of Field Day as the cultural wing of the IRA; from within the confines of field Day itself such claims appeared risible.; The members of the board represented a wide range of political opinion, the only constant being a fierce belief in the engagement of the imagination with issues which were politically and historically important. One of the reasons why I eventually resigned from the board was because I wanted to push Field Day towards more overt political gestures. I realised this could not happen because Field Day had no single ideology; elements and its true energy [sic] was one of the process, not movement towards fixed goals. F. C. McGrath, Brian Friels (Post-)Colonial Drama: Language, Illusion and Politics (Syracuse UP 1999): In the heat of passion after Bloody Sunday, Friel does not revert to his pre-bloody Sunday position of cautiously warning writers to remain on the sidelines: The experience is there, he says, its available. We didnt create it, and it has coloured all our lives and adjusted all our stances in some way. What the hell can we do but look at it? (p.99; quoted in Debbie Cairns, UUC UG Diss, 2005.) Further, Making History marks the transition from Gaelic, political, legal and social structures to English sructures as Translations, set more than two centuries later, marks the transition from Gaelic to English language and notes the acceptance of a hybrid Anglizised Ireland.. (p.212).
Robert Shore, review of Brian Friel, Faith Healer, prod. Jonathan Kent, at Almeida Th. (Kings Cross), in Times Literary Supplement (14 Dec. 2001), writes [ ] Frank is the image of the Irish artist in exile. The return to his native land is undertaken in the knowledge that it will being rejection, failure and ultimately death, the name of the fateful town of Ballybeg being repeated with increasing and alarming insistence as the play winds towards its extraordinary final revelation. Further remarks: Faith Healer is a tale told by ghosts about fading beliefs in vanishing places. [ top ] Conor McCarthy, Modernisation: Crisis and Culture in Ireland 1969-1992 (Dublin: Four Courts Press 2000), writes: My intention ... to try to flush out the implicit politics of these plays [Living Quarters & Faith Healer], which are read mostly as stUdies of familial dysfunction and the nature of dramatic art [resp.]. (p.45.) Offers analysis of the bardic posture in espoused by Friel (he knew no reason why Ireland should not be ruled by its poets and dramatists; interview, in Hickey & Smith, A Paler Shade of Green, 1972, p.224-25) and finds in it an assertion of bourgeois subjectivity: so Friel is interested in the status of the creative writer, and sees him as having a special relationship with the people and undertakes to trace the crisis and breakdown of this idea in Friel. (p.47). Changes in the family, the social role of the writer, the yearnings, failings and disillusionment of the middle classes, emigration, the decline of the Big House, the demise of the Irish language, the difficulties of the intellectual, the Northern crisis and political violence, and, behind all of these, the idea of modernity itself - all of these issues emerge in Friels plays. (p.45.) McCarthy interrogates the notion of the bardic artist from The Mundy Scheme onwards. (p.46.) Of The Mundy Scheme: The critique offered in the play of the new materialism, modernisation and embourgeoisement of the 1960s is conducted in primarily moral or ethical terms. ... White Friel is cealry aware of the problematising of national dientity brought by the new economic policies, and the dependent relationship with foreign states and capital they produce, he can only criticise the social structures and phenomena produced in Ireland by these changes in terms of the (im)moral behaviour of bureaucrats. He offers no analysis of the fundamental economic and class dynamic at work, only a moral castigation of an epiphenomenon. (p.49.) Looking back at the conception of society Friel hinted at in 1971, we realise that he saw society as made up of individuals whose identity was threatened by the tide of modernisation. This identity was composed equally of nationality and humanity, and both were at risk. ... The individual is incomplete or damaged if without a clear national self-consciousness. This confusion also applies to the bardic conception of the writer, who is, for Friel, somehow of the world, but not in it. (p.50.)
[ top ] Declan Kiberd, Dancing at Lughnasa, in The Irish Review, 27 [A Post-Christian Ireland? Iss.] (Summer 2001), pp.18-39: Set in Donegal during the late summer of 1936, Brian Friels Dancing in Lughnasa asks the question: who is to inherit Ireland? That question is implicit rather than explicit, however, in a work which is thoroughly addressed to the integrity of the local moment. The long decline of rural Ireland over the previous century has almost come to an end, and the five Mundy sisters are just about clinging onto a way of life that cannot last. The oldest, Kate, is a local primary schoolteacher and her income holds the home together. She played a part in the War of Independence, but neither that nor its outcome is ever discussed. Another, Maggie, keeps house. They are in their thirties. The youngest, Chris, is twenty-six and mother of a seven-year-old boy named Michael. He is the offspring of an affair with a travelling salesman, Gerry, who returns twice during the action. Michael appears both as a boy and as the young man who narrates the events over a quarter of a century later. / Apart from a passing line urging people ot vote for de Valera, there is no reference to the politics of the new Ireland. In fact, there is more interest in the wars in Abyssinia and Spain. Yet the very lack of a visible political structure in a Donegal well remote from the affairs of Dublin opens the way for a deeper set of questions as to whether, in that condition of vulnerability, the received culture of the sisters might sustain them. There is something strangely exhilarating, as well as terrifying about their raw exposure to the resources of culture as they face into the future. Like Edward Saids Palestinians, they live at those frontiers where the existence and disappearance of people fade into each other, where resistance is a necessity, but where there is sometimes a growing realization of the need for an unusual, and to some degree, an unprecedented knowledge. (Said, After the Last Sky, NY 1986, p.159.) [...] (p.16; see further under Kiberd, Quotations, infra.)
Nicholas Grene, Reality Check: Authenticity from Synge to McDonagh, in Irish Studies in Brazil, ed. Munira H. Mutran & Laura P. Z. Izarra [Pesquisa e Crítica, 1] (Sao Paolo: Associação Editorial Humanitas 2005), pp.69-88, espec. Translations [p.82ff.]: [...] The famous theatrical device at the centre of the [82] play is the convention that the Ballybegers are supposed to be speaking Irish, the English soldiers English, and that they are mutually incomprehensible to one another - even though all the lines are actually m English. But, objected the historians, English was in fact a principal subject taught in the hedge schools. Friels image of a school community moving between their own native Irish and the classical languages of Latin and Greek, overtaken by a modernising colonial system bent on imposing English on them, is a romantic fiction. Parents who paid to send their children to the hedge schools wanted them to learn English because it was their passport to success in a wider world. Further objections came from John Andrews about the representation of the map-making. The Ordnance Survey did not, as in the play, make up English place names, obliterating the Irish originals. Although Anglicised transliterations of the place-names were introduced, great care was taken to consult local sources to try to render the names as accurately as possible. What is more, John ODonovan, the real-life equivalent of Owen in the play, was one of the great Irish scholars of his day, whose work for the Ordnance Survey was of crucial importance in recording the oral folklore associated with particular places and placenames. Finally, the draconian scorched earth act of reprisal threatened by the English army commander when one of his fellow officers is missing presumed dead, would have been quite impossible, according to John Andrews. Such a commander would have had no authority to make or carry out such a threat, and the soldiers involved in the Ordnance Survey were unarmed. / A debate was organised in the wake of the plays production in which Friel met face to face with Andrews so they could argue the case. Although the playwright admitted to having unfairly misrepresented ODonovan, on the whole he stood his ground, acknowledging only tiny bruises inflicted on history in my play. [84; ...] Fair point. Shakespeare deliberately rewrote the chronicled facts of Macbeths reign [...] But at the root of the objections to Translations was not just the inaccuracy of the representation of the past but the way that mapped on to the politics of the present. (pp.82-84; cites Brian Friel, John Andrews & Kevin Barry, Translations and a Paper Landscape, in Crane Bag, 7, 2, 1983, pp.118-24;123-24; for longer extracts, see Archives, Criticism, infra.) [ top ] Eamon Kelly, reviewing of Toby Corbett, Brian Friel: Decoding the Language of the Tribe [Contemp. Irish Writers & Film-makers Ser.] (Dublin: Liffey Press 2002), writes: Friels adaptations of Chekov have been widely praised with many critics struck by the similarities between the Irish and Russian mindsets and how perfectly placed Friel is to adapt the works of the Russian master. His first adaptation of Chekov came shortly after the completion of Aristocrats and it seemed a natural progression from there to an adaptation of Chekovs Three Sisters. He went from this to an adaptation of Turgenevs Fathers and Sons following this - interspersed of course with his own plays - with an adaptation of Chekovs Uncle Vanya. More recently he gave us a dramatisation of The Lady with the Lapdog, The Yalta Game which was produced along with Friels version of The Bear. These were followed by Afterplay, a short play that features two Chekov characters, Andrey from The Three Sisters and Sonya from Uncle Vanya, meeting some twenty years after the action of their respective plays in a Moscow café. / This is a playful work and was very well received when it played in London last year with John Hurt as Andrey and Penelope Wilton as Sonya. Both characters in their respective plays looked forward to bright futures. Friel has taken these two hopefuls and in a neat Chekovian twist has paired them off in a dismal café trading disappointments. Andrey, the younger brother from The Three Sisters is, in Chekovs original, a romantic idealist with his eyes fixed on romantically idealistic futures. So disinclined is he to be involved in the present that he even seems reluctant to take part in the play, having to be cajoled on time and again by the other characters. He prefers to read behind the scenes and play his violin while dreaming of going to university in Moscow. Instead he falls in love and gets married but soon tires of this, a dream in the present soon fades. Besides, his new wife has no ear for his violin playing describing it as scratching away. / In Friels Afterplay we find Andrey twenty years on in a rundown Moscow café looking the worse for wear after a days busking with his violin. Here he meets Sonya from Uncle Vanya. Plain, diligent, hardworking Sonya is still searching for ways to save her fathers estate. After a round of the banks for financial advice she retires to the same caf6 she had found the day before. As the play begins, we learn that she met Andrey the previous day in the café. Sonya can barely remember the meeting. Andrey, after a lifetime of looking to futures, seems incapable of making an imprint in the present. But more than that, Sonya has given up on love. The result is a play both poignant and funny. (Books Ireland, April 2003, p.84.)
Stephen Brown, The Futures Here [review of Afterlife], in Times Literary Supplement (4 Oct. 2002), p.21: Brian Friels new play gives an afterlife to two Chekhov characters from two separate plays, imagining that they meet by chance in a dilapidated Moscow café, some twenty years after the end of their previous fictional existence. [...] Friels play, consisting of just this one meeting between Andrey [Prozorov] and Sonya [Serebryakova] and lasting for a little over an hour, is a melancholy “what if” fantasy. Andrey and Sonya talk a great deal about the past, often rather obviously bringing the audience up to date with what has happened since the events of their respective plays. [...] Afterplay is an act of homage, and and therefore not quite a proper play. There is some fun to be had in wondering about the life of characters beyond the boundaries of a creative work, but it is mostly a base kind of curiosity, the crutch of second-rate novelists and play-safe Hollywood executives. Works of art have their edges for good reason. Theatre in particular preserves its characters in an eternal, repeating present - something that a play like Three Sisters is certainly aware of. Having Andrey tell us that his two surviving sisters have never made it to Moscow turns a fragile, suspended theatrical metaphor into something dully empirical. To have him go on to say that “they know in their hearts that the Moscow dream-life is just that - a dream” reduces him to the role of plodding critic. Many of Afterplays speculations seem merely to recycle Chekhovs original situations or follow through rather obviously on his plot lines, with the added disadvantage that Chekhov showed the emotions that Andrey and Sonya for the most part talk about. Most surprisingly, perhaps, Friel has almost nothing to say about the central, compelling question raised by his dramatic situation: what happens to Chekhovs characters, with all their chatter about history and progress, after the Russian Revolution? (See full text, infra.) [ top ] Christopher Morash, Viewfinding, review of Brian Friel, The Home Place, in Times Literary Supplement (20 Feb. 2005 ), p.20: […] The idea has been with Friel for some time now. More than a decade ago there were rumours that he was working on a play about Victorian racialists who believed that physical characteristics were the visible signs of moral and intellectual differences. Watching The Home Place (which marks a triumphant return to form after Friels disappointing Performances last year) it is easy to see why he would be fascinated by this pseudo-science. Several reviews have called the play Chekhovian, but this misses the point: The Home Place is the mature work of a major writer who has, yet again, found an intrinsically theatrical language (which draws only partly on Chekhov) for interests that have been remarkably consistent for more than forty years. […] The Home Place is something of a companion piece to Translations. Set in 1878, the year before the Land League was founded, the action takes place over a long summers day in a country house in the fictional village of Ballybeg, the setting for most of Friels plays. A country house poised for destruction, its walled garden in ruins, its trees, planted a century before, in need of felling: the comparisons with Chekhov are obvious. However, the situation more closely echoes Friels own Translations than The Cherry Orchard. In Translations, the attempt to map the Irish countryside triggers the cataclysm that will destroy a traditional Irish-speaking community. In The Home Place, the efforts of the local landlords English cousin to measure the skulls of the local specimens mark the beginning of the end for a Donegal country house which has been home to generations of the Gore family (who nonetheless continue to refer to the family seat in Kent as the home place). Woven around this scenario are a medley of themes that have never been far from Friels work: memory, exile, language, the transcendent power of music - and confusion. […] Brian Friel is now in his seventy-fifth year. In The Home Place, we see a writer who has crafted a world whose political and philosophical concerns go to the heart of the theatrical experience, and whose elements he is now free to unravel and weave together again in new combinations from threads that extend back over four decades. It is time we stopped calling this particular theatrical world Chekhovian and gave it its proper name: Frielian. (Morash gives a summary of Friels dramatic career; for full text, see infra.)
Michael Billington, review of Hedda Gabler at The Old Vic, in The Guardian (13 Sept. 2012): [....] Anna Mackmins very good production is marred by the tendency of Brian Friels new version to spell out things Ibsen left implicit. We know, for instance, that George Tesman, Heddas new husband, is an earnest academic; but, at the very time when productions have rescued him from stereotypical buffoonery, Friel equips him with a comic aria in praise of his exquisitely embroidered slippers. / Friels penchant for embroidering Ibsen is also shown in a later episode when Tesman dreams up ever more preposterous names for Heddas anticipated baby. / Even Hedda is not immune to Friels tinkering when she explains to Judge Brack her violent mood swings by attributing them to a form of quasi-diabolical possession. / This last intrusion seriously affects the balance of the play. Heddas tragedy is partly that she realises that, with her aristocratic instincts and distaste for intellectual pursuits, she is an anachronism in a world of growing equality between the sexes: that is her dilemma rather than that she is a female Jekyll and Hyde. / Even Smiths admirable performance is affected by the idea of a psychological double-Hedda in that, in the first half, her affable social mask only slips in rare moments of total solitude. But her performance grows in power and what she shows, as Hedda finds herself increasingly trapped by Judge Bracks sexual blackmail and the drab realities of provincial life, is the characters entrapment and isolation. What Smiths fine performance shows is a woman slipping into total despair as her options narrow. (Available online; accessed 01.10.2016.)
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