I got to Galway mid-afternoon after an easy drive. Galway is Ireland’s free-wheeling city. It sits on the eastern edge of the Connemara, the romantic coastal area that is the Ireland of fantasy. Galway itself has little of historical importance. The reason to visit there is for the craic, as they say here. Craic means a good time, and Galway provides that through its pubs, a user-friendly pedestrian walkway that extends across the entire center of the city, and a series of festivals that celebrate everything from literature to oysters. My trip to Galway was for the Arts Festival, a two-week series of plays, music and art that follows the Film Fleadh, Ireland’s celebration of film.
I was in Galway to see Misterman, a one-man play by the Irish playwright Enda Walsh. The play is the hottest ticket in Ireland (if you don’t count the Blondie concert), largely because of the star, Cillian Murphy. His otherworldly blue eyes have been on the covers of every Sunday magazine in the country. Ireland knows how to honor its own, and Murphy’s Hollywood success puts him in the pantheon of stardom even though, as Murphy said in an interview, the celebrity train has left the station for him. This may be true in Hollywood, but not in his home country.
I had also tried to get tickets to the other hot play, Request Programme, another one-person show starring a less well-known but highly revered actor, Eileen Walsh. This show sold out online instantly. A lucky hunch sent me to the Festival box office where I got one of two returns to that night’s performance. The play takes place in an apartment instead of a stage, or rather, the apartment becomes the stage. It began at 6pm, to heighten the verisimilitude of a woman coming home from work. The ticket seller suggested I walk the route from the apartment location to the Black Box Theatre where Misterman would take place to insure that I got to the second performance on time; no latecomers would be admitted. I set out to do this, following a vague map and some street signs, but in the usual way of signage here, the sign for the Black Box was twisted to point in the wrong direction. As I followed it down an alley along the edge of a soccer pitch I saw someone with a backpack on coming in the other direction, cutting across the edge of the field.
“Excuse me, am I going right for the Black Box Theatre?” I called out.
“No, he said, pointing, “It’s in the other direction, past the trees.”
As I looked at him I realized that this guy with the backpack, sunglasses and an unkempt beard was Cillian Murphy, on the way to the theatre.
“I think I’m going to see you there this evening,” I said to him.
“Yes, you will. I guess I should know the way!”
We walked along a bit. I told him why I was looking for the theatre at this time of the afternoon; I didn’t want to miss his performance by being late after an earlier play.
“What play are you seeing?”
“Request Programme.”
“Ah, my friend Eileen. Several of my friends have seen that before coming to mine,” by way of reassuring me that I wouldn’t be late.
He asked me where I was from in America, and I told him that I was honored to be seeing his performance.
“I hope it’s good tonight,” he said.
When we reached the junction where I could head back to the city center I thanked him for his help and shook his hand, then watched him for a bit as he went on toward the theatre. That night I walked quickly between the two performances but by the time I got to the Black Box the only seats were in the rafter. The Black Box is a black box theatre in name only; it is often described as cavernous, and has the odd arrangements of festival seating. I managed to find an aisle seat in the next to the last row. As I walked back into the theatre from the restroom I noticed an empty seat in front row center. I asked the woman sitting next to it if it were free, and she said it was; she seemed surprised that no one had claimed it five minutes before the curtain. She turned out to be an American, from New Hampshire, over for the festival and especially Cillian Murphy. She is a huge fan, and would see Misterman seven times before the end of the festival. Once I met Shannon, I of course began to see her everywhere. I sat next to Shannon, and for the next hour and a half front row center, riveted while Murphy flung himself back and forth across the long set as Thomas, the deeply disturbed man of Walsh’s rich imagination.
Lunch the next day was at Ard Bia. The minuscule café is squeezed into what must have once been a stone shed just across from the Galway City Museum. I had passed it by the first time and walked all the way across town on busy streets to the other art venue I wanted to visit, but I couldn’t find it and ended up walking back again, taking the much prettier canal walk. When I came off the path I was in front of the café, and this time I went in. My table was against the wall, so close to the table opposite that I couldn’t help but hear their conversation. When the three women began to discuss the set of Misterman, I chanced an interruption. This is what the Irish would call being Irish; such acts of overt friendliness are not at all unusual here. Of course we got to talking, and suddenly I was being whisked off to the temporary art gallery I hadn’t been able to find earlier.
The older woman of the three drove like a madwoman, weaving through the narrow streets and just missing several of the endless stream of jaywalkers, all the while talking and cracking jokes about Nora Barnacle, Misterman (she called it just another Irish male fantasy play, said it was only good for the radio, but commented that Enda and Cillian had had fun revising Walsh’s earlier version, which was really the point), Galway itself and Irish film. She told me that she had just finished a film about an Irishwoman; the film was called Bernadette. That would of course be Bernadette Devlin, the Irish activist turned politician, an icon of 1960s feminism. When one of the other women mentioned that the film was out to festivals, including Sundance, I realized that this woman knew what she was doing. Later I ran into the third woman of the original trio, who told me that my chauffeur was Lelia Doolan, one of the most important names in contemporary Irish film production and the woman behind a huge new project to build an art cinema in Galway. She was certainly someone who could call Enda Walsh and Cillian Murphy by their first names.