Our ideas of places we have never visited are often influenced by how we see them in movies, in books and on TV. My first ideas of life in Ireland were formed by the movie The Commitments. 

 In 1991, I had been through Catholic School in England and had many friends whose families had emigrated from but never spoke about Ireland: nobody discussed how life was ‘at home’. 

It was the same with the teachers: a wall of silence, a deliberate ignoring and hiding of their secret origins. We never learnt about the Famine, separation, or why there were so many people of Irish heritage in the UK. 

When The Commitments was released, it illuminated the culture, attitudes and ambitions of Irish youth. This was not the regular image of Ireland that we saw in the UK. In place of the masked men in balaclavas, cruel nuns, or leprechauns; were regular young people, like us, who wanted to do something with their lives. They were also funny, sharp and sexy.

Maria Doyle Kennedy was one of the breakout stars of The Commitments. She was cast as the beautiful silky soul-voiced Natalie whose character had been invited to join the band as bait for the lads’ fantasy blonde, Imelda. For us English lads, Kennedy was always so much more than ‘the other one’.

Just before Christmas Maria Doyle Kennedy played Levis’ Bar in Ballydehob accompanied by her husband and long-time creative collaborator Kieran Kennedy. The place was packed. Stools and bar stools were shifted and dragged around to make room; a sign was put on the door sending patrons to the back door and a real-life movie star shared a space the size of a large living room with a crowd of West Cork locals. 

Kennedy once said that she wouldn’t miss acting but could not pass a day without singing. And when she starts, you realise why; because her songs and her voice come from her soul. 

This isn’t the fake soul of pained expressions on TV talent shows, or Aguilera-style meaningless runs or Mariah’s notes for the auditory range of dolphins: this is the soul of telling a story, of expressing an emotion and of telling a truth.

There is nowhere to hide in Levis’. The performer stands at a shop counter or sits at a piano, elbows touching the patrons, never more than 30 centimetres away from those watching. The artist looks into the whites of the audience’s eyes and sees the bloodshot reds, the tired yellows, and the jealous greens.

Kennedy sang songs from across her career. There were folk-infused ballads and foot-tapping barnstormers, trips into trip-hop and even the Bond theme that never was: ‘The Ladies of Bohane’ from 2017’s Maria DK album. The Kennedys are serious songwriters who are experts at their craft, and it is astounding that their material is not picked up by other artists.

There are no showbiz anecdotes in the show. In their place Kennedy tackles social and political issues with strong support for the Palestinians in the face of genocide and she talks about the story behind the song ‘Colour Code / These Streets Are Always Blue’, which ends with her listing names of people of colour whose lives were ended by police brutality.

Out here in West Cork, at the end of Europe, it is easy to feel insulated from social issues. The world’s problems can seem abstract, but Kennedy forcefully brings home the threats, the obstacles and the violence faced by others that we must never forget or ignore. Her music and artistry deliver a plea for social and political justice in a way that journalists and politicians can only dream of.

But in case you think that this gig was a case of big star takes herself seriously, sings, pouts and leaves, then pick up a cloakroom ticket and check that preconception at the door because Maria Doyle Kennedy is authentically herself and the causes she espouses are genuinely meaningful to her. 

She is also great fun, encouraging a singalong and even mocking her own lyrics. She once wrote the line “where does the North wind come from?”. But instead of sounding wistful, the line elicited the response “The North” from live audiences and she encourages us to do the same.

Her husband, Kieran, plays guitar, manages a million loops on his pedals and sits down at the piano in the middle of the room for a few songs too. 

There is a hope that runs through The Commitments. It is a promise made by Joey ‘The Lips’ Fagan that he can get soul superstar Wilson Pickett along to see the band. But the group disintegrates before Pickett can see them and only erstwhile manager and storyteller Jimmy Rabitte meets the man. In real life the star came to see us in Ballydehob and we will talk about her for a long time to come – even though she didn’t sing ‘Bye Bye Baby’!

Support for this gig was provided by a local singer songwriter Molly O’Mahony who writes beautiful, introspective and melodic songs with hints of Abandoned Luncheonette-era Hall and Oates, Jorja Smith and the more obvious Joni Mitchell and Rickie Lee Jones influences.

She is definitely one to watch.

Everyone knows that live entertainment lifts the heart and nourishes the soul. Sharing a space with others while absorbing and enjoying lyrical, musical or dramatic skills is an experience as old as homo sapiens, the power of which should never be underestimated or forgotten. 

The funny thing is, we’ve all known this for as long as we can remember. We’ve all had that buzz that keeps us awake with a song running through our head after a really good gig, we have felt uplifted by a night of storytelling, and we have all come out of a West End musical crying because…because “it was so beautiful.” (Or maybe that’s just me.)

The tangible benefits to mental health from experiencing the arts are now being taken more seriously, which is the basis for the wonderful West Cork Feel Good Festival, which ran throughout October this year all over our area. The festival brought people together to enjoy the arts and to be able to discuss mental health in a positive and supported environment.

To enjoy the festival, I popped down to one of my favourite West Cork venues; Working Artist Studios in Ballydehob, which is run by Marie Cullen and Paul Ó Colmàin, who are artists, creatives and incredible curators of experiences from art shows to Irish lessons. Visiting their gallery has become a way for me to refresh my mind from an extremely busy job.

For the West Cork Feel Good Festival, however, the couple had curated a kind of variety show. Not in the old-fashioned sense of two singers, some showgirls and a comedian, but in the sense of sharing a variety of reflections on the beauty of the human condition that opened minds to diversity while, simultaneously, demonstrating just how alike we all are. There was music, poetry and stories all shared in a warm-hearted spirit.

We sat in the front room gallery on a bright Saturday afternoon. Pieces of old machines and industrial detritus refashioned into fantastical art by John McGeoch stood, hung, and were suspended all around us. Outside, pedestrians peered in through the window that was gently misting over with condensation, young men drove their cars with booming exhausts down the hill and, every so often, a tractor or truck would roar up towards Schull sending vibrations through the whole building.

But inside it was a world apart. The event might have been postponed a few weeks and might not have been what Pol and Marie had originally conceived but it was vital and engaging just the same. Pol hosted the event and sung his own songs in English and Gaelige. He sung about ‘the blues’ and how it can arrive like an unwanted visitor. A sensation any of us who have hosted this feeling could relate to. The sentiment was familiar but there was a sense of sharing a burden, and being in the same room as others who experience something similar made that weight feel a little lighter.

There were surprises in the line-up as well. Just down the hill from the Working Artists Studio, almost opposite Levis’, is the now legendary Ballydehob eatery, Budds. Head Chef and owner Jamie Budd is not just a wonderful restauranteur, but also a poet, who writes with a striking clarity and honesty about his life and emotions. Jamie’s authenticity was magnified by the fact that he needed to get back to the restaurant right after he had finished.

 Artist John McGeoch brought humour, song and stories to the event. It was as if he was presenting another facet of the art that surrounded him with the same sense of show and fun. Laughing at life and ourselves is also a great way to pull away from the shadow of the black dog.

Proof that art is a universal language came with Lisa Quartey who describes herself as a ‘fool from Sweden singing Irish songs.’ Lisa lives in West Cork and has absorbed a passion for traditional Irish ballads, which she performs with an Indian Shruti box – which is similar to the harmonium or squeeze box. I was fascinated at this cross pollination of Scandinavian melancholy, Celtic harmony and Indian instrumentation which, on paper, should not work but, in fact created a beautiful and ethereal sound that seemed to float around the gallery. In the words of another song, it ‘took us away from the squalor of the real world.’ 

Jamie McCarthy-Fisher gave up a media career in London to move to West Cork where he eventually took over his father-in-law’s business; The Wild Goose Studio in Kinsale, which also supports Pol’s Into The Mythic podcast that goes deep into Irish myths and fables. Jamie’s poetry was again honest and open with some intriguing imagery. It cannot be easy to be simultaneously a successful creative entrepreneur, a father (Jamie was supported by his children), and a transparent poet. His appearance makes us question our views on appearance; confidence can be a learned mannerism, and success does not insulate anyone from doubts and worse.

The theme of this year’s West Cork Feel Good Festival was Connection. And as the World Health Organisation recently highlighted, engagement with arts and creativity helps us to connect with each other and ourselves. This event was about more than showing us that we are not alone (although that sentiment was also present), it was about connecting the audience with different creative perspectives on mental health. 

Art is not ‘a one-size fits all’ experience and the way that each of us enjoys and engages with art will be unique. Similarly, our mental health is a personal and even personalised state which this beautifully curated event demonstrated and celebrated.

With the Winter holiday season wrapping its arms around us, it is timely to remember that when we come together with others, not everyone will be enjoying the festivities in the same way.

Culture Night 2024 featured thousands of events up and down the country. According to some estimates a quarter of the population or 1.7 million people attended free arts and culture events on September 20. Around 30 of those audience members were in the back room of Kinsale’s glorious Tap Tavern. There were locals, Americans, Brits and at least one Argentinian all of whom, writes Jason Ward, were transported to Milford Junction railway station in England in 1947 by Lighthouse Theatre’s production of Still Life – the play that became the movie Brief Encounter.

Still Life was written by Noel Coward as part of a series of one act plays to be performed under the umbrella title ‘Tonight at 8:30pm’. The original London production in 1936 featured Coward himself alongside his oldest friend Gertrude Lawrence and was well received by critics, going on to play a season in New York as well.

This version adapted by Lighthouse’s Adrian Metcalfe for a three-person cast follows the same five scene structure and contrasting love stories of the original. We have the concealed and clandestine extra-marital affair between Alec and Laura which, if revealed, would destroy them both socially, professionally and emotionally. This is counterpointed by the bawdy, open and humorous back and forth between Ticket Collector Albert and Station Buffet Manager, Myrtle as they bundle their way to bed. 

The production was presented in the Tavern’s semi-covered smoking area, which has a stone floor and an old school Telefon box that both help to place the piece. The breeze that wafted through the space, the seagulls crying above, and the occasional bursts of traffic outside all combined with bells and steam train sound effects to enhance the atmosphere. And whether intentional or not, the fact that we were sat on wooden seats and benches, placed us in a British Railways station waiting room in a time before they were all converted into branded coffee shops and fitted with fruit machines. 

The show opens with great energy (and biscuits for the crowd). Myrtle (Sonia Beck) is training Beryl (Carla Goodman who also directs) on how things should be done in the station refreshment room. There is comedy and a warmth that welcomes us in much the same way we imagine Myrtle would have welcomed her customers. There was a touch of Mrs Slocombe in Beck’s playing of Myrtle with her pretence of outward respectability which we see fall apart once Albert the ticket collector (Metcalfe) enters the refreshment room. He shamelessly flirts with single entendres and bottom slapping. 

Like every good opening scene, this one immediately places the audience in a place and time. The reason we are there soon becomes apparent when a woman (also Beck) enters seeking help with some grit in her eye. Ms Beck transforms from bawdy serving wench Myrtle to classy, elegant and refined (or repressed) middle class English woman Laura. The change in physicality, tone and energy is incredible requiring no suspension of disbelief or moment of adjustment.

Laura is assisted by Alec (Metcalfe) who happens to be a doctor. In this role Metcalfe has thrown off the earthiness of the Albert and pitches his voice a little higher, slows down his speech and hits every consonant as he inhabits the physician’s character. The pair soon draw themselves into a bubble that excludes the world and is only punctured by the arrival and departure of trains. 

From a random meeting at the station, Alec and Laura’s mutual attraction sees them graduate to an afternoon at the movies which was scandalous behaviour for married people in 1936. However, this play is about more than a fantasy of attraction.

Still Life is a play about the power of physical attraction and passion. And this is not the unrequited type represented by a shy downward stare behind a fan or middle-class Regency woman looking mournfully out of the window of a stately home. This is two grownups, married with children, who fancy the pants off each other and go to someone else’s flat for Thursday afternoon delight – all in an age before female contraception or safe, legal abortion. The risks were huge, but the desire was bigger.

The challenge for the actors is that the audience only sees them in a public place. In 1947 people just didn’t snog in the railway refreshment room so all that repression, that knowledge of what has happened offstage has to be carefully communicated. The audience must understand but other passengers must not. Metcalfe and Beck take us to the edge of glory without even a touch, let alone a kiss. Their performances in these roles are wound tight, the audience willing them to make the impossible choices that will allow us our happy ending.

In the final scene the pair are spending their last few minutes in the refreshment room together before Alec departs for Johannesburg. There is still hope, perhaps. But the dam of emotion that Laura and Alec have broken must be quickly blocked again. No trace can be visible. We are left frustrated, angry and sad.

It is this final scene that elevates Still Life / Brief Encounter into the pantheon of classics. However, if the other 35 minutes are not directed and acted well enough then the ending risks limply running out of petrol at the side of the road.

However, Lighthouse Theatre has filled the dramatic tank. We know Alec and Laura; we know what they have been through, and we feel that they belong together. Metcalfe’s adaptation has had to remove scenes that show us Laura’s tedious home life which leaves the company less material to play with, which does not matter because the company have the talent to show us their characters’ tension, the passion and the frustration. That they do all of this in 40 minutes is a testament to the strength of Metcalfe’s adaptation, Goodman’s direction and the cast’s ability to weave a spell.

It seems that whoever I have spoken to recently has lamented our missing summer. Many claim that this year is wetter than last year “and that was bad, mind.” But I like to look at positives and I know there were at least two evenings when we sat under canvas on the green at Ballydehob and watched open air theatre.

It wasn’t just the quality of the performances, or the positivity of the audiences that kept us warm. It was the actual yellow hot sun up there in a blue evening sky doing its contracted summer job.

The shows I saw as part of the West Cork Fit Up Theatre Festival deserved good weather because they were exciting and creative pieces that received great support from local theatregoers.

‘Chicken’ by Eva O’ Connor is a fascinating and hilarious piece of theatre that follows the tale of Don Murphy who tells us frequently that he is ‘a proud Irishman.’ Don leaves his adoptive parents and his home town of Caherdaniel, “home of the great liberator Daniel O’ Connell” to travel to New York where he seeks his fortune as an actor. Don is also a chicken – a Derry Cock to be precise.

So far, so Kafka-esque! In short order, once Don arrives in New York, he meets Paolo, a Glaswegian pigeon, his career takes off, he becomes addicted to Ketamine, wins an Oscar and goes into rehab. Along the way he has sex with many humans (he especially loves vets) and then with another chicken who is also a performance artist. He also treats us to a vivid description of her pink nether regions. We also learn that procreation is difficult for cocks because they don’t actually have the part that is named after them! Don is also played by a female actor – this time Rosa Bowden spectacularly playing the role created by the show’s writer Eva O’Connor.

Chicken played in the round on the grass under the white Fit Up Festival Tent and for 60 minutes Bowden as Don circled, pecked and strutted through the bird’s life story. This was a real physical theatre  tour de force performance as she led us through the character’s emotional journey while maintaining his unique avian characteristics and movements. There were lightning fast flashes in and out of other characters and accents that were all done with incredible vocal precision so that the audience missed nothing. 

The script is well-structured with some totally killer comedy and it approaches many subjects including celebrity, addiction, immigration, gender identity and factory farming. What it needs to take it to a higher level is a point of view. The writer’s approach is intelligent and witty but we are never quite sure why each subject was discussed. However, I am sure that Ms O’Connor has more than enough talent and creative vision to take Chicken to the next level.

‘Nettle Horse’ written and performed by the incredible Little John Nee similarly offers us a different way of looking at the world. This show is more traditional and follows a long line of Irish storytelling but it sprinkles in enchantment by combining the tale of the Nettle Horse with music played live by the performer on multiple instruments. Nettle Horse also has a point of view that is enticing, engaging and entertaining.

In the best storytelling traditions Nee does not offer us a linear tale from A to B but takes us on diversions into fantasy, politics and sometimes just plain silliness. Readers of a certain vintage may remember the comedy show ‘The Two Ronnies’. Towards the end of each show Ronnie Corbett would sit on a giant highbacked chair usually dressed in a golfing jumper, and lean forward to tell us a story. This would invariably involve a misunderstanding or a mishap that would take the tale on diversions, deviations, side roads and the long way round for a few minutes before Corbett tied up all the ends in the final 30 seconds. The Nettle Horse provides us with a similar structure.

We are taken into a world just far enough removed from ours that it is able to offer perspective on how we live but close enough to our own experiences to be recognisable. Our narrator is selling beetles as snacks (“because everything started with The Beatles”) and we soon learn that Ireland has changed. Electric cars are the norm and traffic roar has been replaced by the ‘humming of a thousand cars’. 

Along the way a boy stings his backside while trying to have a poo in some nettles and meets a horse whom he befriends. Nee introduces us to a magical phrase that will lift anyone’s depression just by repeating it; “State of the Art Scandinavian Horse Plough” – apparently chanting of this phrase has a wondrous effect on our mental health. 

This is exactly the kind of item we might see sold by hipster lifestyle influencers eager to convince us that ‘having’ something will add meaning to our lives – a concept the play tries to dismantle.

The Nettle Horse also features a widowed Boston billionaire who wears a lampshade and buys thousands of acres of Irish land to build a pyramid, there is a shopping centre car park and above all there is magic. Little John Nee manages to pull these seemingly random strands together with a technical skill that is the theatrical version of the big top’s trapeze artists performing without a safety net. But with a bravery built on street theatre and punk, Nee corrals the audience into his world of pure imagination.

In ‘Nettle Horse’, Little John Nee takes us away from a tent on a green by an estuary on a wonderful summer’s evening and transports us to worlds created by our own sense of wonder. This is the magic of live theatre.

And all of this right where the N71 meets the Atlantic Ocean in our own corner of the world.

Being in the room with writers talking about their writing is inspiring. Every event I went to was either sold out or close to, and at the event with Colm Tóibín, there were over 300 people or 10 per cent of Bantry’s entire population, all sitting together in the ballroom of the Maritime Hotel. This is the equivalent of 22,000 people at an event in Cork City – and that only happens for sports and Bruce Springsteen! Clearly this Festival has captured an audience of literary fans, including me – and incidentally, thanks to the Festival, I discovered that the first floor ballroom balcony is a wonderful location from which to capture the beauty of Bantry as the sun lowers into golden hour.

My Festival experience started in a packed Marino church to hear from Caleb Azumah Nelson, a young award-winning London-based writer whose first person narrative writing style perfectly fit the small, crowded and intimate venue. Azumah Nelson read from his second  book, ‘Small Worlds’, quietly, with a rhythm that is intrinsic to the work with its close relationship to music. It is interesting that music influences his writing so much because the two art forms are diametrically opposed in how we enjoy them: the musician needs to physically perform their work in order for it to be enjoyed whereas the writer is almost passive in the interaction we have with their books.

But here in a former Methodist church in a small market town on the Western edge of Ireland Azumah’s reading transported us to the heat, noise and intensity of summer in South London. With words, written and spoken, Azumah Nelson illuminated the feelings of being simultaneously one thing and another – in his case a Londoner and a Ghanaian and a working class boy who won a scholarship to study at a private school. It is a sensation shared by many of us who have our feet in two different places.

Irish writers Cathy Sweeney and Sinéad Gleeson shared the stage at the Maritime Hotel with host, fellow author, Colin Barrett. The space is more expansive than the Marino Church and feels grander with its wooden dance floor, chandeliers and heavy curtains. The setting stands in contrast to Sweeney’s debut novel ‘Breakdown’, which again is a first person narrative but told from the perspective of a married woman and mother in Dublin, who decides one morning to just drive away from her family. Sweeney’s reading gave extra layers of emotion and understanding. She talked about how writing a full-length novel had taught her to believe in her own creative process rather than trying to hit preconceived marks and measures. This is also one of the messages of her book about the difference between doing what is ‘right’ and what is right for you. 

The biggest of the big names this year was Irish writer Colm Toibin who has published 11 bestsellers including Brooklyn, which was adapted by Nick Hornby into a movie starring Saoirse Ronan. Toibin was here to talk about his latest novel, ‘Long Island’, a sequel to ‘Brooklyn’ (despite Toibin claiming he dislikes sequels). Host Sinéad Gleeson was incisive with her questions with an understanding of what the audience wanted the writer to tell us. There was theatre in Toibin’s reading of ‘Long Island’ as he became the people that he writes about and knows.There was a sense of ‘Under Milk Wood’ in the tone of the small town characters with complex lives and desires.

When we watch a movie and then read the book the characters’ appearances become defined and, in a similar way, when he reads his work Toibin’s becomes the voice that we are searching to hear when we read his books. Was he onstage for an hour or did he speak for fifteen minutes? We don’t know because the time spent in his world passes at a different speed to time outside. But surely this is how enjoying books should be: something to transport us from life’s mundanity.

We need to take notice of the West Cork Literary Festival every year and never allow it to become just another event, just another symbol of time passing because it brings a world of creativity and art that has the power to inspire and change lives.