A selection of reviews from Irish Timeswriters

Moll

Cork Arts Theatre

Mary Leland

This Chattyboo revival of Moll, supposedly one of John B Keane's great female portraits, does little to suggest any reason why it might once have been popular. Although gallantly played by Áine O'Leary, the eponymous character is grotesque; what is a greater sin in theatrical terms is that she is also highly unlikely, despite O'Leary's best efforts, which in themselves are considerable. Moll is one of that now-vanished class, a priest's housekeeper, and Keane makes his play from the fact that the position implied a vicarious social status. In this case however, the housekeeper is both ambitious and officious, eventually so arranging things that the curates do the cleaning while she edits their sermons.

There are times when this is almost funny; Jim Queally's Canon is both urbane and gullible and there is a sharp realism to the careerism and cowardice of the curates. But it is essentially ridiculous from start to finish and in a strange way, offensive. If Keane had been more acute in his intentions, he would have moderated the scorn, finally amounting almost to hatred, with which the housekeeper addresses the younger priests; when this was written, in 1971, it might have had the excitement of the outrageous, but now the effect is almost blasphemous.

Even such an emollient Canon as this one would not have tolerated a housekeeper's undisguised contempt for what was then called "the cloth". Keane was at his worst when his own prejudices - and misogyny - overruled his creative ability, and Mollis a very poor example of his talent. A workmanlike set by Jim Newman allows Angela Newman's direction to impose a facility on Keane's awkward structure, but nothing can hide the weakness at the core of the play itself.

• Runs until September 1st

This is Still Life

Project Upstairs, Dublin

Gerry Colgan

To celebrate its 30th birthday, Dublin Youth Theatre has gone multimedia, stream-of- consciousness and somewhat bananas. A youth takes centre stage to tell us that the show has been cancelled; regrets to the audience and their loved ones. But, as long as we're all here, let's do something.

The something is a hopscotch excursion down memory lane, beginning with a screening of a girl about to make her First Communion. Next, a leap forward to about 12 years of age (different girl); we're on the threshold of being a teenager, and different memories kick in.

Five young people call themselves "the screenagers" and are filmed accordingly, including some jumping and jiving. A group of four, seated at a table, identify moments when an individual has an epiphany, an experience resulting in a loss of innocence. Thereafter, the person will understand life's dark side, as described in litanies of pain and inhumanity.

These and more are stirred into an organic melange that at times lacks clarity and coherence. Another tableau is a group of youngsters who once came together in a school play, and can hardly remember each other now. Later, the cast dons balaclavas and sways rhythmically on stage, while the camera follows some of them through Dublin's streets.

There is, however, some method in the murk. The staged events, however blurred, establish points of contact for the spectators, offering access to the inchoate emotions unveiled for inspection. It closes with the audience being asked to turn on their mobiles (now there's a novelty) and send someone the message "I saw something tonight and thought of you" - a point of contact. Here's another: happy birthday, DYT.

• Ends tonight