Not "goodbye" but "see you" to Dublin and this year's festival

Why do I feel like I'm at church? Well, the cross-shaped "altar" with the awards...the lectern that sent me back to the days of "This is a reading from the Acts of the Apostles." Though we didn't have a giant rainbow-colored bottle of vodka stage left of the altar, and it wasn't Oscar Wilde with a green carnation in his mouth looking down on us all. Except if you are in Dublin!

We gathered at the Button Factory, a large venue often used for concerts and dances, just off Temple Bar early Sunday evening. I'd spent the day re-packing, writing a little, and preparing a little party at my suite for the EAT/TOSOS gang and our friends. What's the good of having a full kitchen & living room if you don't use it? I wandered up George St. to the Dunnes Store, and picked up wine, pate, baguettes, a really cool chocolate cake, hummus, and sparkling juice. On my way back, I realized I hadn't had a pint of Guinness the whole week! To remedy that, I stepped into the Auld Dubliner on Temple Bar (yes, it's touristy, but locals go there as well), and sat down to enjoy the stylings of the guitar player. Across from me were two young nuns, one tall and skinny, the other small and energetic. They waved their cups of tea as he sang, and one of them picked up their two spoons and clapped them together. They finished their tea, and danced out the door.

The guitar player seemed to have a "one everyone can sing to" and "one I like" system, which worked for me. I was surprised/appalled at the reception of "Sweet Caroline," which has had a long and apparently immortal life in pop music. I blame the Red Sox fans. He also sang "Leavin' on a Jet Plane," which I think can be called a true folk song. Brought tears to my eyes.

Then back to the hotel and to quote Hedwig: Put on some makeup/turned on the 8-track (well actually the "on demand music system" in the flatscreen), and had a little glass of wine. The party came in around 6 o'clock, dressed in glad rags and bearing more food. The customer service manager of the Morgan swung by and took me on a quick tour of the hotel, including the amazing duplex penthouse with grand piano and stairs up to the roof, on which there is an actual retro-fitted period Airstream trailer, and a propane barbecue. Glamor!

I was happy enough in my apartment on the third floor, and soon rejoined the guests, and we toasted a time or two more, and then made our way down the block to the gala.

I'd also been asked to present an award, and was told to present myself backstage at the interval. The Pig Tale boys were also presenting the Mama Truth scene in the gala, and Adventures of was the last selection. So we sat back and enjoyed the first half, which included scenes from plays I'd seen (and ones I wished I'd seen) interspersed with the awards. The winners and nominees are listed here. A lot of the nominees came from the first week; I wish I'd had the time/money/superpowers to come for the whole festival. (That would include the superpowers of flying and turning back time, also needing no sleep).

At the interval, I went downstairs and all the actors were getting ready for their scenes, running lines, and practicing their staging, changing from dresses and dress pants into their costumes. I love being backstage when I'm actually supposed to be there, and watching as the transformation is prepared. Sometimes what goes on backstage is more interesting than what you see out front. (But not with any of the shows in this festival, she hastened to add).

I got to present the Eva Gore Booth award for Best Actress; Eva Gore Booth (as we learned last year) was an Irish lesbian, who with her partner, Esther Roper, were lesbian/feminist activities in the early 20th century, and even published the first lesbian magazine. Eva's sister was the Constance, the Countess Markewicz, who was imprisoned for her part in the 1916 revolution. Carolyn Gage's "The Countess and the Lesbians," was written after her first visit to the festival, and was done by an Irish company last year. That's Constance and Eva to the right...at the opening of a creamery. Which would seem to be the reason they are dressed in such milkmaid-inspired costumes. As I stood backstage with Brian and John, one whispered to me: of course you'll say a few words. And I knew it was "pull it out my ass" time. In blue velour. I commented that I was probably Facebook friends with half the people in the room, which got a laugh, but is also true. And is one of the reasons why word spreads about this festival, and who ought to go to it, and how well they treat you. I mentioned how wonderful it was for us all to see shows from England and Ireland and New York and Indiana and Poland and Russia, and even more next year. And I said I'd see them all right back here next year. And the award went to Diane Wilson, from Careful, the lovely South African actress who was in Fiona Coyne's two-hander. (And dear Elizabeth Whitney was also nominated for Wonder Woman).

Then I got to go and sit down again and watch the rest of the thing (whew!) We were thrilled when the stunningly fit Mr. Hunter Gilmore was nominated for Best Actor, the Micheal Mac Liammoir Award, for both his parts in Break and Adventures of... Deb and I and J. exchanged terrorist fist bumps, and shrieked. Ooh! Look at Hunter on the red carpet! May it be the first of many trips to awards ceremonies for him. Looks like all those vegetables were worth it.

Of the stuff I got glimpses of, but didn't actually see, I wish I'd been able to go to Two Boys in a Bed, from which Scott Cunningham did a powerful monologue. (They're doing it this summer at the Arthouse in P-town!), and Silenciados, the performance piece from Madrid that won the "Aspect of Production" award (and they all look like Almadovar heroes). Also in the first week was Broken Nails, a Polish production with a puppet Marlene Dietrich; I Love You Bro, from Australia, Lord Arthur's Bed from London, and Minor Gods from Washington, DC, and Walnuts Remind me of my Mother, from Ireland. And a production everyone raved about, The Bird Sanctuary by Frank McGuinness. I'm also going to catch up with Dan Bernitt on this side of the ocean; his Phi Alpha Gamma is nominated for a Lambda Literary Award, and I'm going to the ceremony next week.

While we'd played to sellout houses all week in the Shorts, there were lots of people who hadn't been able to see the shows (those with other 8 o'clock performances, for example!) So it was a pleasure and an honor to be able to show them all the great things about EAT: the actors, the directors, the overall quality of our company in NYC. The boys, as usual, adjusted to the new space. Jamie projected into the large space with the very last of her voice. (J. took the wonderful pictures of me at the podium, of Hunter, and the one of "The Adventures of" below).
The crowd got every bit of it, and roared at the denouement. (Or the "payoff" as my fellow Ambassador of Love, Roy Gardner, called it).

Then they called all the volunteers up on stage, and everyone held hands and sang "Seasons of Love," and there was not a dry eye in the house. We all got fabulous goodie bags on the way out (with chocolate and liqueur, and a calendar of handsome men), and proceeded across the street to the Front Lounge, which was not nearly as crowded on a Sunday night as it had been the previous night, which was a comfort. I got myself a cosmo, and circulated among all the people I hadn't had a chance to talk to yet, for this was the last night.

Fiona Coyne (playwright of Careful), Chris Weikel and I bonded instantly, joined by Roy Gardner (we exchanged kisses as each hemisphere's Ambassador of Love). And made the Irish kids promise to come over to New York as soon as they absolutely could, and told the Indy kids to GRADUATE and come to NYC, and the "Dog Called Redemption" folks to get their asses to NY because their play will rule, and so on and so on...

You don't really care how late you stay out on the last night, because you know you can sleep on the plane (maybe) the next day. And you keep wanting to stretch the good feeling just...a...little...bit...more.

I cleaned up the remains of the party back at my room. Finished the pate, left the unopened wine & beer for the housekeeping staff. Went to sleep knowing it had been a good festival, and knew that even though I'd said to myself before I left: well, I really shouldn't go every year. That's a lot of time and effort for a short play...and I should probably check out some of the other...HA! I know I'm coming back. The folks in Dublin are family, and I'm the loopy foreign cousin they welcome with open arms each year.

I'll carry out my ambassadorial duties by scouting out new talent for the next festival, and the next one, and make sure they are the Right Sort (and if they ever act the diva or insult our hosts, I will get all New York City on their asses).

So I've accomplished, in some way, what I set out to do with this blog: track my experience of the festival (and finish it within a week after I got back). This bodes well for a very full summer I think. With more writing (got to figure out what to bring next year!) and activism and enjoying the good weather and WNBA basketball. (I am a woman of many interests).

One thing I particularly love about Dublin is that wherever you go, there seems to be music; younger people and older people, playing guitars, harps, drums, flutes, horns, you name it. Playing trad and pop, stuff of their own. Singing and singing and playing and playing. I don't know if there's that much music left in New York City these days...carefully penned off as official subway music, or in monitored free festivals. In Dublin, if there's a wide spot in the street, someone has a guitar case open and is singing Bob Dylan. On my last day, coming down Bewley Street, I saw three guitar players, who broke into a beautiful harmony on "Knockin' on Heaven's Door," in the wet morning. The woman's voice took the lead, and the guys chimed in. It was their lives. It was so beautiful, it made me want to cry. It's a good memory to carry around for a year. Or forever.