Going Out With Magill - December 1977
Reviews and listings of Film, Galleries, Music, Pubs, Restaurants, puppetry and more in the coming months...
Theatre:
Abbey Theatre: A Pagan Place by Edna O'Brien
Review of 'A Pagan Place' by Edna O'Brien. Directed by Patrick Mason. Review by Eavan Boland
EDNA O'BRIEN'S best work has a compelling lunatic fringe, a shadow circle where daft talk and wild actions keep just this side of tragedy. in the novel A Pagan Place that landscape and those shadows loomed up through a child's eyes and grew solid in the dense, musical prose of retrospect. In the play, lacking such props, they can only emerge in dialogue and character. And they do. Their. most macabre, and perfect expression is certainly Lizzie, a neighbour of the Clery family, and so well played by Maire Hastings that it seems no-erie else could have taken the her. It is Lizzie, who in a quick aside, the stage, it beret hiding her baldness, her talking swinging Wildly between gossip and prophecy. She is both caricature and portent - the summary of a whole. tragic world of wasted vitality that Edna O'Brien has made her own.
What is best in the play - the heroine, Creena Clery , the savage enclosure of her mother's mind, the ribaldry and obtuseness of her father Pall takes its force and pace from the hair's breadth dividing the energy of life from the crazy, instinctive violence just underneath its surface. This is not to say the play is impeccable drama. It is too episodic and fractured for that. But this tension between normality and crazed instinct makes it never less than marrvellous theatre.
The substance of the play is familiar: a girl growing up in the confines of a nervous conventionality and a continually erupting anarchy. Her sister gets pregnant; she herself becomes sexually involved with a priest. And her parents are little help. Her mother's ladylike ways cover a savage disappointtment. Her father screens out a more unpleasant reality with delusions of drink and delusions of grandeur. He keeps race-horses and dreams of winning.
All three parts are ably played, with Martina Stanley as Creena Clery and Joan O'Hara and Geoff Golden as her parents. Joan O'Hara portrays the muted hysteria of her character with poise and convincing restraint. But undoubtedly, it's Martina Stanley who has the hardest road to travel: at one and the same time she has to be a Greek chorus to the hypocrisy around her, and a fresh and plausible teenager. It's an uneasy balance between mythic force and naive adolescence. But it works. Indeed, it does better than that. Martina Stanley develops all the self-mockery in her role, and so crisps the action, keeping it away from the sentimentality the plot constantly invites.
The environment of the action is a Pagan Place. Fergus Bourke's photograph, adapted to the backdrop, and Wendy Shea's settings convey admirably the desolation and strangeness. The ghost of the play is disturbed sexuality: the sexual advances of the Nigger (Frank Melia), of the priest, (Desmond Cave) and the pregnancy of Creena's sister, Emma. But the sexuality is itself only a catalyst for that strain of lunacy, that mixture of wisdom and anarchy, which brings out Edna O'Brien's best writing and most emphatic tenderness. At the end, it is the Nigger, who starts the play by trying to assault Creena, who says goodbye to her with most dignity; he is the only one to protest when her father beats her. It is Lizzie, who in a quick aside, asks for news of the illegitimate baby. It is in the suffering and dislocated characters that most dignity is reposed.
Patrick Mason directs it splendidly.
It moves quickly and stylishly from scene to scene, but never quickly enough to disguise the real weakness of the play: its episodic structure. In the novel, the adventures and characters are bonded by the adventurous use of the second person, by the uniforrriity of style, by the momentum and obsession of a developing consciousness. But none of these transfer to the stage. Edna O'Brien has rescued the verve and diaalogue of her theme, but has not quite managed to substitute a dramatic unity for the unity of the novel. The result is an inevitable fission into vignettes: the schoolteacher, Miss Davit (Maire O'Neill) strutting through her obsessive account of Irish history; the nuns (Maire ni Dhomnaill, Fiona Mac Anna, Brid ni Neachthain) showing slides of their work in the missions, the catatonic disapproval of Aunt Bride (May Clusskey) for the whole Clery family.
But, to reverse the usual order, the play has the virtue of its vice. The absence of a controlling consciousness has encouraged Edna O'Brien to heighten the comedy and spark the dialogue. The voices in the play have a downright humour and absurdity that the' inner voice of the novel drowned out. In the balance, it is a well acted, produced, and written piece of theatre. It should be seen.
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Gate Theatre: Major Barbara by G. Bernard Shaw. Directed by Christopher Casson.
'STOP MAKING SPEECHES, Andrew. This is not the place for them'. So says Lady Britomart to her husband in the last act of Major Barbara. 'My dear' he answers 'I have no other means of connveying my ideas'. The exchange could serve as a summary for the whole exassperated relationship between Shaw and his audience. He must make speeches: long wordy expositions of outworn ideas, and it never does seem the place for them. A courtship, a social call, the eating of bread and treacle in a Sallvation Army shelter, are all upturned into soapboxes. .
In Major Barbara, the soap-box is the Undershaft family. Andrew Underrshaft, a Krupp-like armaments chief, has two daughters, a son and a wife from whom he separated in early life. He rejoins them to subsidise the forthhcoming marriages of his daughters, and to disinherit his son, Stephen, in favour of a foundling according to the tradition of his form. But his daughter Barbara complicates the reunion, and the plot, by having become a Major in the Salvation Army. The play quickly becomes a tract on whether or not tainted money from the Undershaft business can wash itself, and its owners' conscience, through the channels of the Salvation Army.
On the whole, it must be said that the Gate Company have done a fine job in transforming an awkward 19th cenntury crisis of conscience into a 20th century comedy of manners. But it starts badly. The first act drags and creaks, appearing both stilted and overracted, and not even the graceful and convincing set by Robert Heade can do more than merely distract from disscouragement at this stage. But a second look reveals the acting to be blameless. Pamela Man is excellent as Lady Britoomart, and James Greeley gives a connvincing performance as her son Stephen, and a still better one later in the play when he confronts his self-made father with the pieties of a public school edducation.
In the second act everything - acting, dialogue, character, comedy - comes into its own. Patrick Bedford makes an excellent Snobby Price, caricaturing his ambivalence towards charity in the West Ham shelter. Conor Evans, as Bill Walker, and Gerry Alexander as Andrew Undershaft, are a good foil for each other. And Scott Fredericks brings the rather remote Adolphus Cousins to life.
But it's Anita Reeves, as Major Barbara, who is, rightly, the star of the act, and of the play. She makes. a moving, enngaging character out of a difficult role. And the momentum seized by her in the second act is not lost. By the third act, the play has become an entertaining and diverting spectacle.
A good evening then, with one or two qualifications. But qualified by Shaw, not the Gate Company. The ideas he expounded so radically in his time, to which he subordinated character,
psychology, colour, have served him badly. They are, after all, only ideas. None of them have the truth or engageement of flesh and blood. Even the characters in Major Barbara are seen through a glass darkly. It is much to the credit of the Gate Company that they are visible at all.
Conor Cruise 0 'Brien is in southern Africa, but will be reviewing theatre again for us next month.
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FILMS By DEIRDRE FRIEL
Regent and Academy: Nasty Habits. Directed by Michael Lindsay-Hogg
In Nasty Habits (Regent and Acaddemy) the sordid memory of Watergate is revived. Based on the novel The Abbess of Crewe by Muriel Spark the conspirracies and machinations of power-hungry politicians are transposed from the corrridors of the White House to the cloisters of a private, exclusive and very unorthhodox convent in Philadelphia. The conntroversial election of a new Abbess and the ensuing power-struggles provide the improbable backdrop for a Watergate Revisited with the hidden microphones, the concealed cameras and the whirring tapes, (which incidentally, just like Nixon's, had some glaring cuts, courtesy of our censor). Nixon, Haldeman, Erlichman and Dean are transmogrified into Glenda Jackson, Geraldine Page, Ann Jackson and Sandy Dennis. As they smoked and swore and chewed gum and bugged each other I cringed with emmbarrassment. What possessed these highhly talented ladies so to prostitute their very special talents?
The only character who induced me to smile now and then was the globe trotting Sister Gertrude, played with admirable bravado by Melina Mercouri. She appears briefly at the motherhouse to attend the obsequies of Mother Hildegarde (Edith Evans, honestly l) whose demise sets the whole excruciatting ball rolling; thereafter, she is only seen in outrageous locations with Bedouins, Eskimos, African tribesmen
and even with a flock of penguins ¨looking like a gaggle of you know what - in deepest Antartica. Her physical remoteness from the unethical activities of her Sisters gives her the appearance of being in another film, which is all to her advantage. And which is, I suppose, how Henry Kissinger saw it too!
It is a first feature film for director Michael Lindsay Hogg who, at an early age in his career, was a floor-manager in R TE. It is a pity that he and such a distinguished cast should have identified themselves with such nasty habits.
Ambassador and General Release: When the North Wind Blows. Directed by Stewart Raffill.
A different set of rules entirely is the order of the day in When the North Wind Blows (Ambassador and General Release). Fierce loyalties, savage cruellties, predatory instincts, the survival of the fittest, but not in downtown Philaadelphia or Washington DC. This spelllbinding film, set in the mountainous splendour and frozen forests of Alaska, is like a long cold draught of spring water after a diet of stale stout.
The story which is set at the turn of the last century describes the remarkkable relationship which developed beetween an old trapper Avacum, (Henry Brandon) and a family of Siberian tigers. These magnificent creatures were rare even in 1900 and are now practically unknown in the wild. During an excepttionally severe winter a pair, driven down from the mountains by hunger, attack a small village.
In the course of the ensuing hunt a youth, the son of Ava's old friend Brois, is accidentally shot by Ava. He dies. So also does one of the tigers. Ava,fearing the hostility of the boy's family and friends, leaves the village and heads north into the mountains. So also does the tiger, now without a mate. In the cruel months that follow, man and beast are drawn strangely together. When spring arrives the tigress gives birth to two cubs. Soon after she is killed. Ava finds himself in the role of parent to the two young cubs. The following winter the tigers are captured and taken to Ava's old village where they await transportation to a zoo. Ava rescues them and they finally disappear and become a legend.
This is a family show with all the well proven ingredients of Disney's great animal films. One of my favourite scenes is where the two cubs are being introduced to the art of fishing - on ice. It is very funny and beautifully cut to music. The stars are inevitably the annimals. (w.e. Fields knew what he was talking about when he advised actors never to appear with children or animmals). The main weakness is dialogue and a rather ponderous narration which forrtunately doesn't intrude very often. In the coming weeks of maniacal shopping and Santas , this is the one to escape to for an hour or so. You can actually smell the clean, unpolluted air.
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Films
Below is a list of films currently on general release throughout the country, with comments to help you select what to see and what to avoid. Most of these films should, hopefully, reach your local cinema during the month.
Airport 77 - Superjet loaded with VIPs (standard Equity character extras and cameo stars) ditched by hijackers in radarrimmune Bermuda Triangle. Unnfortunately it's found. Blame best-seller au thor Arthur Hailey for allowing this B-feature to masquerade under his title. (He got 25,000 dollars for the word 'Airport', and insisted on a second 25,000 for '77').
Ben Hur - Popularly regarded as one of the best movies ever, this William Wyler treatment of unctuous General Lew Wallace's Wild West approach to first triumphs of Christianity in pagan Rome retains a certain primitive charm, particularly the gu tsy 4-minute chariot race spectacular. Black Sunday - Reel-life Black Septem ber thriller, compulsively directed by John Frankenheimer (back in Manchurian Candidate form), with sensual Marthe Keller and psychotic Vietnam war vetteran, Bruce Dern, conspiring to explode terrorist splinter bomb at major US ball game. But Israeli special agent, Robert Shaw, (one of his most convincing performances) is on their trail ...
The Deep - Jaws made too much money as a novel for Peter Benchley to resist a sequel, and as a movie for director Peter (Bullitt) Yates not to attempt the wettest movie of the year, redeemed only by the inevittable haunting quality of all underwater photography and by the coy eroticism of Jacqueeline Bisset, unconvincingly in peril in a swim attire that nudgingly confirms her sexuality.
Demon Seed - Julie Christie is raped by a computer that craves human forms. And don't guffaw. Director Donald Cammell achieves a menacing technological credibility with hallucinatory video and computer animation. Superb Sci-Fi.
The Devi!'s Playground - In other words, a seminary for Catholic scholastics where feelings and sexual instincts are suppresssed through perverted love of Christ. A vividly visual movie. full of intimate observation of human frailty, directed by Fred Schepisi with compassion both for the pupils and for their clerical masters. Set in Australia twenty years ago, but could be Ireland today.
The Eagle Has Landed - Ah sure and begorrah, isn ' it Oirrland's own patriotic Donald Su therland himself, helping those dacent Nazi commandoes kidnap warmonger Winston Chruchill 'to make a negotiated peace possible!' As implausible as
Michael Caine's Cockney Prussian. The Last Remake of Beau Geste - Not the movie Mel Brookes might have made if he thought of spoofing P.C.Wren, but Marty Feldman wrings some bellyache sight gags from a flaccid script. Back-up facilities by our National Film Studios.
March Or Die - An unintentionnal Beau Jest, redeemed by Douglas Fairbanks' acrobatic graces and the puckish humour of Terence Hill, the continnental Clint Eastwood. Gene Hackman flounders with his doomed patrol in the most unconvincing desert since Vaalentino's The Sheik.
Star Wars ~ People without real appreciation of movies express puzzlement at phenoomenal success of this George Lucas sci-fi extravaganza. It looks like being biggest grossing movie ever, yet the plot is infantile, characterisation pure ham. What they miss is superb visual quality with which camera evokes sense of being in space.
Voyage Of The Damned Thoughtful Gordon Thomas Nazi atrocity book about a hounded ship-load of doomed Jews that nobody wants, is given somewhat hammy treatment by Stuart Rosenberg, but Hollywood Who's Who cast has curiosity appeal.
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Galleries:
Dawson Gallery, Dawson Street. Sean McSweeney is a painter in the Jack Yeats tradition; Romanntic with a capital R, glowing with colour, able to heap on a rich impasto or barely hide the canvas with a thin coat. This is probably his best exhibition to date. He is a landscapist with a marvellous feelling for the Irish countryside in all its moods. The new departure here IS the series of small, sharply observed pictures with an almost realist bias. Still some lack of stringency, but a rich, glowing, rewarding exhibition. .
David Hendriks Gallery, St. Stephen's Green. -
T. P. Flanagan, along with Colin Middleton, is one of the few artists of the once-large Northern roster who have not forsaken this gallery for Tom Caldwell. A deft, fiuen t, lyrical exhibition, showing one of the most polished landscape sensibilities here or in Biitain. Occasionally convenntional, occasionally tenuous, but with the stamp of class.
Gerard Davis Gallery, Capel Stree t. Alice Hanratty's graphic work is always presentable, rarely specctacular. Here she shows a weiicollie flair for· colour as wei] as her accustomed clean, sharp draugh tsmanship. Silverware by Brian Clarke makes up a useful Christmas exhibition, and some of the O'Connor pottery from the previous exhibi tion is still on hand.
Oriel Gallery, Clare Street.
Healy's landscapes are pretty well what you expect; seascapes, landscapes and city scenes with lively brushwork, but with a lack of real drawing and not much sense of form. Occassionally a nice feeling for light, but the whole show has rather a facile look ..
Image Gallery, Leeson Street.
A leading Dublin art critic once said in my hearing; 'the trouble with Kenneth Webb is that he paints like his pupils.' Flower scenes, landscapes, cityscapes, all done with a technique that is fluent and stereotyped to the poin t of slickness. Colour tends to be garish.
Oliver' Dowling Gallery, Kildare Street.
A curious exhibition by Gerard Hemsworth (unknown to Dublin) which rather resembles sentences composed only of full stops. A lot of it consists merely of framed maxims on a white ground, rather like the notices they used to put up in libraries or in classrooms. Some may decide it's all intensely meaningful; the more philistine may think, like myself, that it's mostly pretentious Camp.
Tom Caldwell Gallery, Fitzzwilliam Street.
Jack Cudworth is back, less surreal than before and, on the whole, more sincere by being so. One flower piece in particular shows how well he can paint in a traditional, almost 'pretty' way. He is bedevilled at times by a dangerous facility, but his pictures in surface - almost like an olddgeneral are fluent, enjoyable and fashioned oleograph at times - is deftly composed. The shiny a little like sugar icing on a cake that needs no further sweetening. Project Arts Centre, Essex Street. A group show 'Project Artists 1976-77'. The most accomplished artist for me is Oliver Whelan, whose painting has considerable mystery and depth. Joe Butler is one of the most interesting of the young sculptors, and Evin Nolan's hard-edge style shows up sharply. An uneven exhibition, but with something to suit most tastes. Rather poorly mounted. Lad Lane Gallery (off Lower Baggot Street).
Maria Sirnrnonds-Gooding remains true to her first love, the coasttline around Dingle and the Gaelic areas of Kerry. Some very effecctive etchings, though rather too close to out-and-out illustration. Setanta Gallery, Molesworth Street.
This gallery is the only one of its kind in Dublin specialising in a wide range of graphic art in every medium and style. For those who find (and how many of us don't?) the price of paintings beyond them, it's well worth a browse Xas rewarding as a good bookshop.
Whittington panto opens December 18 for two weeks. Seats 60p for children, 90p adults.
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FUN
Funderland comes to the Royal Du blin Society, Ballsbridge, Dublin 4 (01-680645) on Decemmber 16. It is open from 2 - 10 pm every day, except December 24 and 25. Admission is lOp. In past years, that was only the beeginning of a perpetual shellou t to see circus, side-shows and animals. This year there is a measure of free entertainment, with either a free puppet, magician OK ventriiloquist show every day. There will be a high wire trapeze act, visible from all parts of the complex. There are discount days for riding 0(1 the dodgems, helter skelter and roller coaster. This year's outstanding feature is the Dancing Water show, a twenty minute display of musical fountains, continuous daily, admission 20p. The Wall of Death gang return too. At a reliable estimate, ten thousand people went to Funderland every day last Christmas.
Kids from Down the Corner, a film made by the Ballyfermot Community Arts Workshop (Curzon Cinema)
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SPORT
Conquerors of Space by Bill Morrison, directed by Kevin McHugh. This tale 'for children aged 6 - 11 combines Irish mythhology and Doctor Who-sology, features king, princess, faithful servan t and the wicked three-
legged Doctor Sax. The Abbey company know their kids, and are past-masters at audience inn-------------1 volvement. There will be many PANTO a chase up and down the aisles. Admission is 75p daily, and adults must be accompanied by a child.
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ART
Newpark Sports Centre, Newwtownpark Avenue, Blackrock (01-893720). Christmas Sports Camp for boys and girls ages 7 - 15 will run from December 27 - 31. The accent is on reecreation as well as competition, and the range of sports include swimming, athletics, gym, baddminton, table tennis, basket ball, outdoor football. The day lasts from 10 am - 5 prn, and the inclusive cost is £10. Children may bring pack lunches, and buy hot or cold drinks in the school cafeteria. Booking from mid-December would be necesssary, as a maximum of only 150 200 children can be accepted.
National Gallery, Merrion Square (01-767571). Children's Christtmas Art Holiday, December 28, 29, 30 and 31. Now a welllestablished annual event which really gets the gallery humming after Christmas. The morning session is for young people aged 13 - 18, afternoons for children 8 - 12. Starting at 11 pm and 3. pm. The paint-in attracts a selection of well-known enthuusiastic artists who demonstrate in a friendly, completely visable way how they paint a picture. The children draw and paint alongside. Water, chairs, space and encouragement provided by the management. Participants bring their own pencils, brushes, paints and paper. All absolutely free. The National Gallery Resstaurant on the ground floor serves snacks, salads and lunches and will no doubt be laying in a cellar of coke
Museum of Childhood, 20 Palmerrston Park Rathrnines. Small, pretty collection of 18th and 19th century dolls and other toys, laid out in garden floor of large red brick house. A natural bonus is that the museum is across the road from Palmerston Park, one of the nicest small parks in town, with ancient swings, seesaws and quiet lawns. Museum open on Wednesdays, Saturdays and Sunndays from 2.30 pm to 6.00 pm. Adults 20p. Children lOp.
AFTER
Gaiety Theatre, South King (01-771717) has Red Riding Hood opening on December 26, starring Maureen Potter, directed by Ursula Doyle. Matinees every day for the first week.' Matinee prices £2 - SOp. Evening prices £2.50 - 75p. 10% off for groups or families of twenty or over.
BI-LINGUAL
Peacock Theatre, Lower Abbey Street, (01-748741). Oisin a biilingual play for adults and childdren by Eoghan 0 'Tuairisc, preeviews December 30 and 31st. opens January 1. Admission £1 and £1.50.
CRAFTSMAN AT WORK
Olympia Theatre, Dame Street, Dublin 2 (01-778962). Jack Cruise stars in Babes in the Wood opening on December 27. Matinees that week, afternoon prices £1.25 80p, evening prices £2 - 80p. Block booking reductions at manager's discretion.
Pat Flood, 12 Fade Street, Dublin 2, (01-770892). Pat Flood is a jeweller and his workshop is open by appointment to small family groups. He designs and makes a complete range of Irish silver jewellery - penndan ts, necklaces, rings, cu If-links, brooches and ear-rings. Children can see the work in progress as well as the finished product.
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PUPPETRY
Lambert Puppet Theatre, Clifton Avenue, Monkstown (01-800974) Christmas programme The Frog Prince and The Bewitched Prinncess opens on December 26. Suita ble for children aged three and upwards. Performances daily at 3.30 pm and 8 pm. Admission 60p.
Balrothery Inn, Balbriggan (half a mile on Dublin side of town) Ð01-412252. Freelance Productions present Babes in the Wood matinees 3 pm every day, addmission 75p.
Paula Lambert's Puppet People are opening with a new show after Christmas. At time of going to press, venue had not yet been finalised. Con tact 011800068 for further details.
. . . and of course Funderland will still be thrilling, swinging and blazing away at the R.D.S. Ballsbridge, until mid January ...
Peacock Theatre, Lower Abbey Street, (01-74874 I). Opening Deccember 31 at 3 pm, Conn and the
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Restaurants
ULICK O'CONNOR
EVEN TO A NIPPER whizzing by on his bike, Rathmines, when I went to school there, seemed special. There was the rose-red Town Hall with its campanile and massive clock, rising against the backdrop of the hills, and on either side tall Georgian houses in which one family lived and you knew their names. In summer on Saturdays, white figures flitted across the cricket fields in the Leinster Cricket Club and the school, under the Byzantine dome of Rathmines Church. A remnant of colonial Dublin which has now become flatland.
In the midst of seedy decay and architectural anachronism has sprung up Rafters, an absolutely first-rate restaurant. The Maitre D is Paddy O'Neill who was in the Gresham before the big restaurant was closed. They serve the nicest minu te steak I have ever eaten anywhere.
On the walls there are graphics of our famous authors, Jembo Joyce (Rathgar), B. Shaw (Rathmines) and S. O'Casey who came from across the river. Before you leave, drink the delicious coffee. It is brought to you in your own glass percolator and you can idly watch it bubble before you gobble.
This Christmas time and where to spend Christmas Eve in Dublin but in the Hibernian? Here the remnants of gentry straggle in to mingle with horse Catholics who have made it. The Buttery on Christmas Eve will be full of groomed men and groovy gels drinking champagne before settting out on the Christmas scat.
Some will go to the La Fayyette restaurant upstairs, still, under Roger Noblet, the best in Dublin. It is the only Irish restauurant I know where they have managed to maintain a golden mean between fresh Irish food and foreign sauces
The waiters here are someething else. I often have a converrsation with them when I am with Americans just to introduce visi-
tors to the quality of Dublin talk. The staff are aJ] hand-picked by the greatest hotelier this country has known, Kenneth Besson, one of our last great eccentrics. He once gave a press conference in New York almost in the nip, sitting on a refrigerator.
The hotel was a creative wheeze from the beginning. Bessson, was the first hotelier to send his commis waiters to Europe to train. He did this in collaboration with Michael Mullen of the ITGWU. Besson had been sent as a boy by his father, who owned the Hibernian, to the Scribe in Paris where he cleaned shoes etc., so he knew the value of continenntal training.
'Bassoon' as he is known to some friends, ran the place in the style of a country house. The receptionists greeted you with the warmth of a chatelaine. Then, when you got down among the waiters you heard the sort of brillliant chat that surprises foreign sportsmen when they meet west of Ireland gillies. Sean King who runs the Ro tisserie once told me this story while I was lunching with the Director of the In terrnational Telephone and Teleegraph Company, who has dined ou t on it since.
'When I was in the Bailey,' said Sean, 'I left a young waiter in charge of the bar for the last five minu tes before closing time. The lad had no experience of this sort of thing. I warned him not to serve anyone, even if it was the President, once the Holy Hour had begun. A few minutes la ter there was a shocking row in the bar. A portly gentleman was roaring - "Do you think I am a bloody chronometer? I asked your man for a drink and he asks me the time." This was Brendan Behan. A year later I was out in Dun Laoghaire with my family. Behan spotted us across the road and roared ˆ"Did you ever find out what time it was?" ,