NUIG's Jessica Thompson reviews an event on campus titled 'An Audience with Brian Friel'.
I arrive at the almost packed Kirwan theatre, with my notepad, pen, recording device, and a bad-ass-journalist attitude, ready for two hours of Brian Friel. I find myself a seat beside a socket, where I can plug in my recorder, ready to pick up absolutely everything that Brian Friel will say, and I sit back and wait for him to arrive.
At approximately 19:10, I turn to my colleague, Ian Colgan, and note that the playwright is ’fashionably late’. It is at 19:15 when someone finally enters the hall, and it is now that I realise I’ve walked into a completely different world - the world of Lit and Deb.
When I say ‘fashionably late’, I mean it literally. At 19:15, two students walk through the doors wearing robes. One has a long chain around his neck, symbolising his importance in this strange world into which my colleague and I have entered. In his hand, he carries a gavel. As he bangs this on the podium and calls for order, I think to myself, I may as well take all this in, it could be important.
I reach for my recently broken glasses, move my recorder away from the guy in front of me who is noisily chewing crisps, and eagerly scribble down everything I can take in. In doing this, I find I have attended a full-blown debate on the Occupation movement - where people all over the world occupy a street in protest, for example Wall Street, Dame Street, and even Eyre Square.
Interesting as all this is, I am still confused at the manner of the people involved. If someone says something that the rest agreed with, a sudden tapping - banging would probably better describe the action - of numerous hands on desks begins, along with cries of “Hear, hear!”. A bell ‘dings’ at what appear to be random moments, though I’m sure this means something to the debaters, and people jump up and down in their seats, hoping to ask a question before slumping back down after being dismissed.
It is halfway through the first speech that my colleague turns to me and whispers jokingly, “Is he Brian Friel?” Indeed, this isn’t what we had expected. The man standing before us discussing the Occupation movement is certainly not Brian Friel!
After about an hour, during which my colleague and I get the hang of the banging-tables-in-agreement thing, the debate ends, with a number of people raising their right hands and crying “aye!”, or their left hands and crying “nay!”. I raise my right hand and cry “Nay!”, and my left hand and call “Aye!” (just for the craic), and am immediately corrected on which hand I was raising!
Finally, at 20:00, Brian Friel arrives, hobbling into the hall, and leaning on a black cane, with a fancy silver handle. He wears a smart grey suit, and a checked shirt, and he stands before the many students who have awaited his arrival with anticipation. After a huge round of applause, there is a moment’s silence, during which Mr. Friel gets his bearings.
He begins his talk by commenting on the “embarrassing title” of the talk - ‘An Audience with Brian Friel’ - and the “awfully coy picture” of him on the screen, which had been taken 50 years pervious.
Then comes the serious part - the part we have all been waiting for. The room goes quiet, and Brian Friel reads to two extracts from his play Making History. It is certainly an experience to sit in the crowd and watch his hand gestures and how his manners change, when he reads out the lines of different characters. Here was the play, read out by the man who wrote it - the way it was supposed to be read.
Every now and then, he looks up at the audience, engaging them, and breaking down that barrier that dramatists would call ‘the fourth wall’ - an invisible wall between actor and audience. As I switch my attention from the man with the trembling hands to the audience, I can’t help but note that everyone is leaning forward, listening intently. Despite the large crowd, this experience has the friendly feel of a grandfather reading to his grandchildren.
The reading lasts a mere 20 minutes, and Brian Friel is presented with an award before hobbling off the stage, again leaning on his cane. It is then that I get to meet the man, and I must admit he looks a lot more frail close up. He takes my steady hand in his trembling one, and greets me quietly, asking me to repeat my name a number of times, before signing the back of my reporters notebook. I leave the hall feeling like I’ve met a celebrity. I may have had to wait a little longer than expected, but I’ve got what I came for.
Brian Friel. Picture taken from studentnews.ie
25 Oct 2011
by Jessica Thompson
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