The Boy Who Talked to Dogs
Draíocht
★★★☆☆
This is a work both of collaborative storytelling and of collaborative production. Presented by Draíocht and the Adelaide-based Slingsby Theatre Company, and performed by an energetic Irish and Australian ensemble, Amy Conroy’s adaptation turns Martin McKenna’s memoir of a challenging Irish childhood into a lively, eclectic, often compelling theatrical experience.
Under Andy Packer’s direction, the Draíocht stage is reworked into a cabaret-style setting, with the audience seated at tables, the house band ramping up Irish tunes and a screen showing a black-and-white reel of a Co Wexford hurling match from the 1970s. This is the Harp and Hound, an Irish-themed South Australian bar. Our host is the band’s vibrant singer, Victoria Falconer (who’s also a mean hand on the accordion).
She and the musicians are the enthusiastic warm-up act to Martin – played by Bryan Burroughs, as both boy and man – and his story. We learn that Martin was the last of an unexpected triplet birth in Co Limerick; “smaller, scareder, weaker”, he is close to his mother and fearful of his drunken and abusive father. Throughout his troubled childhood, he is always falling into trouble and always feeling out of sync. In moments of crisis, at home or at school, his body will suddenly fizz out of control – a sensation Burroughs vividly conveys, as if an electric current is coursing through his body.
His intense physical performance, as Martin relives painful episodes from his difficult early life, is central to the production. Burroughs is right next to the audience so we see Martin up close as he cowers in a coalshed from his violent father, reels from aggressive bullying or careers around in confusion. He is a lithe, commanding presence as he leaps on and off tables or crouches in a corner, playing with his character’s beloved German shepherds.
‘There are times I regret having kids. They’re adults, and it’s now that I’m regretting it, which seems strange’
Cillian Murphy: ‘You had the Kerry babies, the moving statues, no abortion, no divorce. It was like the dark ages’
The Dublin couple who built their house in a week
John Creedon: ‘I was always being sent away, not because they didn’t love me, but because they couldn’t cope’
Wendy Todd’s set, as surprising as a pop-up illustration in a children’s book, is a revelation; cupboard doors fold out to magically create key locations. One is the family kitchen where Martin treasures a memory of perching on a window sill and licking the spoon that his mother has been using to make a chocolate cake, a moment of calm before his world crumbles again. Another cupboard opens to reveal a hay barn where one of the most visually arresting episodes plays out, as Martin, now about 13, desperately seeks a hideaway, pursued by some stray dogs.
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Some engaging shadow puppetry (credit is due to the production’s lighting designer, Chris Petridis) and an atmospheric soundscape (by the composer and musician Quincy Grant and the songwriter Lisa O’Neill) allow us to follow along as the canines adopt him; he, in turn, protects and cares for them. Martin has discovered a new family that might be able to show him a way out.
The Boy Who Talked to Dogs continues at Draíocht, as part of Dublin Theatre Festival, until Saturday, October 7th. It then tours to Lime Tree Theatre, Limerick, as part of Bualadh Bos Children’s Festival, on Friday, October 13th, and Saturday, October 14th; Black Box Theatre, Galway, as part of Baboró International Arts Festival for Children, from Thursday, October 19th, to Saturday, October 21st; and Linenhall Arts Centre, Castlebar, on Thursday, October 26th
