Review: Dancing At Lughnasa Finds Moments Of Wild Beauty

★★★½

There’s true power in dance. Its abandonment, its liberation. It brings us down to our primal senses and reminds us of the brief candle that is life. Brian Friel’s Dancing at Lughnasa, directed by Isabella Milkovitsch at Sydney’s New Theatre, reaches for that power – and occasionally grabs it.

Set in rural Ireland in the summer of 1936, the play is narrated by the adult Michael, looking back on his childhood with his unmarried mother, Chris, her four sisters, and their wayward brother Father Jack, a missionary priest returned from 25 years in Uganda with his memory fractured and his faith replaced by paganism.

It’s a play about a family on the edge of disintegration, flickering between joy and hardship during the pagan festival of Lughnasa.

It’s a challenging feat. A Tony and Olivier-winning play widely regarded as Friel’s masterpiece. It demands an ensemble of eight with thick Irish accents, long monologues and rich language that’s almost Chekhovian. This is serious pedigree – and New Theatre has taken a big swing at it.

The cast do well to grapple with the language. Friel’s text is at the level of difficulty you find in the likes of Chekhov and Shakespeare. Text that demands actors live inside the words, not skim over them.

The Irish accents are convincing and well-chewed-upon – courtesy of accent coach Benjamin Purser – and they ground the play, helping bring us into the world of rural Donegal.

The set design is exceptional, as we’ve come to expect from New Theatre. Max Shaw has created a tattered backdrop with large torn-away holes and gaps – evoking frayed memories. A smart, evocative choice for a memory play.

Paris Bell’s lighting is often effective and delicate, throwing shades of purple and orange, creating sunsets and shifting moods.

The strength of this production lies with the women. The cast playing the five Mundy sisters bring the most life and energy to the stage.

Audrey Blyde is a standout as Agnes in the most subtle and grounded way. Emotion falls across her face in exquisite detail, unforced. She does more with a glance and a tilt of the head than others do with all their chattering.

There’s a scene where Rose goes missing – and the fear that flashes through Blyde is striking and palpable, while Tenielle Thompson plays Rose with unnerving vulnerability, another standout.  

Megan Bennetts as Maggie totally inhabits the time and place – joyous, cheeky, very watchable.

Patrick Holman brings a quiet magnetism as Michael, the narrator, that anchors the play’s scattered energy. It’s a tricky part – burdened with literary, sensory language. He does well to keep on track and keep us informed.

At the heart of the play is the dancing. The famous, oft-talked-about dance scene that has the sisters burst into ecstatic stomping and hissing is a highlight here, but still doesn’t fully ignite as much as it could.  The women are truly captivating in this moment, with Bennetts particularly letting loose.

They are primal, unabashed and wild for a moment, and the choreography by Avalon Ormiston starts to bring the play alive. It’s everything this production should be, but unfortunately, while this sequence sparks, it fails to keep that energy simmering as the story moves forward.  

In a complicated narrative such as this, which is more so about memories and atmosphere than plot, the pacing is tricky to get right. In this production, it’s inconsistent and the other ritual moments that could build on this energy fall short. I was left craving more of that wild, ecstatic abandon.

Memory plays are not easy to get right. They’re hard to keep grounded, and they risk losing an audience. This one opens with narration and a tableau of characters standing still, staring into space. Not immediately engaging.

And while most of the cast work hard to ground the story, there’s a lack of cohesion that holds it back – actors seeming to play in their own worlds rather than listening and connecting.

This is felt most in the scenes between Chris and her feckless lover Gerry. Despite Iris Simpson’s valid efforts, Sebastian Gray’s Gerry doesn’t quite find the nuance the role needs – coming across more as a man-child than the charming, gallant man who’s supposed to court Chris. He skips over moments rather than savouring them, and the much-required chemistry between them doesn’t land.

Taking on Brian Friel’s much-loved masterpiece is quite the task, and most of the cast rise to the challenge. The sisters carry Dancing At Lughnasa with real spirit and resilience – which, fittingly, is exactly what the story is about.

Dancing At Lughnasa runs to 16 May at New Theatre, 542 King Street Newtown NSW 2081.

Tickets: https://aunewtheatre.sales.ticketsearch.com/sales/salesevent/156909

Website: https://newtheatre.org.au/dancing-at-lughnasa/

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Photo credits: Bob Seary