Dublin is well-acquainted with the Epic; from Joyce, Kavanagh, and O’Casey to Enright, there’s something about the city that facilitates ambitious narratives with history at its core. Despite it being a seemingly well-worn generic path, director Louise Lewis saunters down it, offering a piece that is radically innovative whilst maintaining the bravado of the original form.
Thérèse’s brother has just died, long before his time. She remembers how at ten years old, she watched army tanks roll into a West Dublin housing estate. What connects these two events is a tapestry of memories, generational trauma, and the social inequalities that make it impossible to grieve. The performance follows Thérèse as she grapples with the issue of remembrance, curses the Gods, and enters thought-provoking discussions with other mothers at the playground. Thérèse is a profound exploration of motherhood, class, and powerlessness in the face of systems that are greater than ourselves.
“If Greek Tragedy gave voice to the powerful, then Thérèse gives voice to the dispossessed,” reads the programme for the show. Upon walking into the theatre, this claim is immediately substantiated. “The Cube” at the Project Arts Centre greets one with a stage that invites curiosity. There is a large space, scarcely filled with playground equipment, with seats surrounding it. The audience is given the opportunity to take note of one another before the performance begins with the formidable effect of creating a sense of “oneness”. This is further amplified as the actors walk out into the centre of the room and make direct eye contact with the audience on all four sides. Although this is not a piece of interactive theatre, the audience is nonetheless involved in the message that it wants to convey and are thus empowered to share Thérèse’s voice — a cathartic experience to say the least.
The modest set further highlights the production’s resourcefulness. A standout scene that demonstrates this is one where the women drift in and out of a particular memory; they slip off their jackets seamlessly and use them as makeshift infants in their arms. With the addition of the sophisticated lighting and the slowly setting fog that commands the stage, there is a mystical quality to their movement which leaves little room for improvement.
Despite being solemn thematically, Thérèse welcomes an intimate sense of play. This exploration of memory appropriately unfolds on the playground, with actors methodically running up and down a seesaw, sitting on swings, jumping up and down boxes. Even the script itself is laced with abrupt moments of humour. This is particularly effective in eliciting compassion; through these small moments of vulnerability, the audience is invited to feel understood. To leave these women at the end of the show, is to leave a part of yourself with them.
The acting is a definite highlight and surpasses all expectations — Aoibhe Beaumont-Walsh, Amy Conroy, Orla Fitzgerald and Louise Lewis all offer compelling performances. With such complex narratives, much of the success of the piece depends on how convincing the acting is, and these actors do not disappoint. Each holds their own as individual characters and work in beautiful harmony when taking on the role of the chorus (echoing Greek Tragic form). There are moments when the women speak in sync, and this itself is choreographed to perfection, curating a sombering and surreal atmosphere. Everything from their pining melodies, their delivery, and their chemistry is highly commendable.
Thérèse is an exemplar of how theatre can confront history in innovative ways. Through its breaking down of social myths, incorporation of song, and movement, this piece demands the respect that typifies the subject of the epic form. Here, we are faced with heroes of a different proportion; heroes that are nonetheless, constantly being curbed by those in power. Thérèse proves that through remembrance their fight is not, and cannot be, futile.
