Girl from the North Country – Footnotes
Some further brief thoughts on Elizabeth’s ability to tell the truth as she sees it, on the echoes of Chekhov in Conor’s play, and the melding of the songs and the play.
Elizabeth the truth-teller
Elizabeth suffers from early onset dementia. It is the nature of the disease that her powers of perception vary and it is difficult to determine how clear her mind is or what she will say at any given time. Another feature is that the disease seems to reduce the learned inhibition to say whatever one is thinking regardless of social niceties or taboos. Elizabeth is unrestrained in describing what she sees and in fact in so doing she has the capacity to pinpoint the truths that others are leaving unsaid. She senses, for example, that the travelling Bible salesman, Reverend Marlow is “a louse”, and challenges Mr Perry to “find someone your own age you old goat” when he is in pursuit of Marianne.
Given that she sits relatively silent and inactive most of the time, we also underestimate her powers of observation and understanding, so are somewhat surprised when she calls out Nick on his relationship with Mrs Neilson, “your little lady woman up in your attic”. And more poignantly when in the end she intervenes to stop Nick from giving up his life and vows to stay with him despite her not loving him the way he wants. Elizabeth is much more than just the madwoman in the corner. She’s a truth-teller.
Shirley Henderson as Elizabeth at The Old Vic
Photo: Manuel Harlan
Jim Norton (Mr Perry) and Sheila Atim (Marianne)
at the Old Vic
Photo: Manuel Harlan
Chekhov
We talked in the podcast about how Conor’s play has some of the elements of Chekhov’s drama. It certainly has a Chekhovian setting, with an ensemble of characters revolving around the boarding house, as they do in the great Russian estates, each with their own stories of hope, heartbreak, tragedy, and stoic suffering. Like Chekhov, despite the characters’ obvious failings and flaws, most are granted some dignity in their suffering. It may not always excuse their behaviour or character, but at least we understand its source and recognise some of our own weaknesses.
One of Chekhov’s great strengths is the depth of focus he gives to even the minor characters, as Conor does here. Each of them is given a story that reveals the heart of their emotional identity. The son Gene, who can’t bring himself to declare the truth of his love and need for Kate, and his disappointment for failing to make more of himself. The Burkes, who know but cannot admit the reality of their financial and emotional desolation. And even Mr Perry, for example, who we mostly feel a sort of disgust for because of his inappropriate pursuit of Marianne, but there is a moment when he speaks of how hard it is to grow old alone, with only the memories of the warmth of being with someone else. We feel some degree of empathy for his desire and sadness. I think Conor may have said that all modern playwrights follow in the footsteps of Chekhov, and I mean it is as a compliment to him that his play does so.
The songs and the play
Conor McPherson’s Girl from the North Country is an extraordinary collaboration between the playwright, and musician and song writer Bob Dylan. The resulting play with music is a distinctive and rich form, combining all of the effects and power of live drama: dialogue, character, story, staging, with the lyrics and melodies of the music. I was particularly interested in asking Conor how he came to select and meld the Dylan songs that he chose with the play, as he wrote it. His answer suggested that his choices were largely led by instinct. However I couldn’t resist myself trying to read connections between the songs and specific characters or themes of the play.
Some of the songs seem to have a direct connection: the story of the black boxer Reuben Carter in Hurricane has its obvious parallel with the character of Joe Scott, who is also on the run from the law. Mostly however the songs suggest a feeling or meaning that could apply to any of the characters – their hopes for love or honour – or they may reflect the mood and challenges of the times they live in. The lament: “How does it feel … to be without a home… having to scrounge for your next meal”, for example, from Like a Rolling Stone speaks for any of the itinerant characters drifting from one place to another. The plaintive gospel of Slow Train suggests that change in America is coming, albeit too slowly, especially in the South where racial laws are still outdated. And of course, many of the songs intone the ache of love lost or misplaced, which so many of the characters feel.
It was a huge privilege to talk with Conor about his magical creation. As he said, the theatre can be a spiritual place, like a church, and the music in the play certainly magnifies the drama in the way that music in a church can. With Conor’s assistance I was all the more grateful to be able to feature a few excerpts from the music in the podcast.
063 – Dancing at Lughnasa, by Brian Friel
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Brian Friel’s magical memory play Dancing at Lughnasa is set at the time of the harvest festival in rural Ireland in 1936. It’s account of the events of that summer in the house of the five unmarried Mundy sisters is filtered many years later through the memory of Michael, the son of the youngest sister. His memory is undoubtedly unreliable, but it is also funny, poetic and profoundly poignant.
Josie Rourke, who directs the gorgeous new production of the play currently playing at the National Theatre in London, joins us to explore Friel’s spellbinding masterpiece.
062 – Private Lives, by Noël Coward
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Noël Coward’s play Private Lives is both a dazzling dramatic comedy and an excoriating portrait of love and marriage among the disaffected elite of the Jazz Age. Coward himself starred in the premiere production in both London and New York in 1930, the critics acclaiming the show’s construction and wit, but predicting that it would not last. As a new production opens at the Donmar theatre in London, I ask Coward’s newest biographer, Oliver Soden, why the play has aged so well.
061 – Sea Creatures, by Cordelia Lynn
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Cordelia Lynn’s play Sea Creatures is a poetic exploration of loss and grief, its setting betwixt the sea and shore rich in metaphoric resonances. As we record this episode, Sea Creatures is playing at the Hampstead Theatre in London in a spellbinding production directed by James Macdonald.
I am delighted to be joined by playwright Cordelia Lynn to talk about her fascinating new play.
The 2020 Theatre Diary – March
Before the theatres went dark this month I was lucky enough to see Caryl Churchill’s A Number at the Bridge, and spend more than seven hours in thrall to Robert Lepage’s Seven Streams of the River Ota at the National. Plus, some thoughts on what we miss when there is no theatre.
The 2020 Theatre Diary – February
Another great mix of shows this month, from Tom Stoppard’s new play, to Ibsen, Beckett and newer plays in smaller London venues.
The 2020 Theatre Diary – January
The January roundup included both classic plays, such as The Duchess of Malfi, Uncle Vanya and Three Sisters, as well as recent musicals Dear Evan Hansen and Girl from the North Country …
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