Every year for the past 46 years, from all over the world they come. Like the theatrical rogues and vagabonds of that bygone age they pack their sets and their actors in the back of a lorry and descend upon the sapphire of the South East, the fair Déise land. And all in the hope of walking away, after two weeks of FEROCIOUS competition, with the coveted trophy (and perhaps a few other titles for good measure) and the chance to be remembered forever on the hallowed walls of the Munster Bar.
Alright, maybe I'm being a bit dramatic.
But the Waterford International Festival of Light Opera (WIFLO to those in the know), which is between 10 - 14 nights of musicals presented by amateur, semi-professional and sometimes semi-amateur societies, can always be counted on for a few laughs, even more beers and a lot of drama. Especially this year. There was a Waterford society in competition. And Waterford societies take the festival very, very seriously. Big time. In the history of the festival a Waterford show has never won the coveted title; The International trophy. A few have come 2nd alright. So what could this society (the newly formed Flaggy Lane Theatre Co.) do that other societies before them couldn't? Well, they could do 'The Hot Mikado' for a start, that jazzed up version of the G&S favourite, a real crowd pleaser and former festival winner. Then they could hire probably the best Musical Director in Ireland who would bring with him some of the best musicians in the country. And they could bring back to the Waterford stage, to play the lead, that huge personality (if small frame) Mr. Richie Hayes. Check on all counts. These guys were armed for bear and not talking any showbiz prisoners in their quest for that trophy. The gloves were off and loyalties were discarded because this was war. It's a very interesting thing to watch. And watch it I did.
I had returned to My City of Music and was knee deep in working on the music for Lord of the Flies. To be honest I was finding it a bit difficult sitting at me computer trying to get the inspiration to write. It had been a year since I wrote a note of music and it felt like it. I was musically unfit so to speak. But what'll help that? Beer of course. My first week back, while it didn't consist of a session every night, did include me birthday, me sister's engagement party, waking up on Mick Q's couch after drinking gin and watching Borat......twice, and a last night party for the Hot Mikado which went straight through to the next day. No sleep Beamish here had to go to the bus station straight from the party and pick up the affable Richard Hardwick (Who was on tour in Cork with 'Grease'.) for more drinking.
I was back home so.
But for there to be a last night party there, of course, had to be a first night. And I was there. As is customary you do a run of the show before it goes into the Festival and 'The Hot Mikado' were doing it right by putting it in front of a crowd merely two weeks before it. Clever. And it was good. Very good. Not perfect but it was better than a lot of first nights I've seen (and been in) in the good old Theatre Royal. Like I said, all good stuff, with Richie Hayes having the audience in stitches, the great Gary Power looking like Colonel Sanders and Ray Collins proving that he's still probably the best singer in Waterford and wasted there to boot. But towards the end of act one the biggest wig I'd ever seen came onstage and with it the lovely Vicky Graham playing Katisha. Always reliable, I knew I was in safe hands with Vicky on stage. . . and then she opened her mouth to sing. Holy shit! The hairs on the back of me neck were giving her a standing ovation and it wasn't even the interval. I had never heard her sing like that. Jazzy, ballsy, absolutely brilliantly. And that was the clincher for me. They now had a show to be reckoned with. Vicky's singing was that extra bit of class they needed. They might just do it.
So the festival kicked off in its own inimitable style. Before I proceed though I have to tell you that I was a festival geek when I last lived in the Sunny South East. For the last two weeks in September I would try and see every show that was on. No matter how shit it was, I was there. And I always got a ticket. One night I even started singing outside the Theatre Royal when the chances of getting a seat for a local production of 'Chess' seemed extremely low. I got a ticket at 5 to 8. Thank god for peoples pity. I was such a regular fixture in the Gods in that theatre that in my later festivals I was asked by the legendary Jimmy Finn to help him out tearing tickets, for which my reward would be to sit on the stairs and watch the show.
'Don' shay no'hin te Larry fannin'!'
It was a job I was well proud of and I did it to the best of me ability but I could never surpass the master.
'Tchicketss Pleeaszze!!!!!'
It only ever sounded right when Jimmy said it. Four foot nothin and you never got past him. The God's are angry Mr. Finn.
I'm starting to sound like fecking Frank McCourt here! So the Festival meant a lot to me. It still does. This was my first Festival since 2000, but this year was different as the official purpose I was home was for Lord of the Flies, so of course that was taking up my time and attention and that meant my festival going was down to a bare minimum. The shows that is. Not the festival club! The place (the Tower hotel generally) you scheme over to after the Munster to drink and sometimes sing the night away and then fall home in the small hours and hope to christ you don't have work in the morning. Ahhh the festival club. Eases the pain. So (apart from the afters) I gave myself 3 shows I wanted to see; 'The Hot Mikado' (what? again? Oh yes for a local show in the Festival must be given all the support possible), Honk (A dublin show which had won AIMS, the Irish musical society oscar) and Little Night Music (which was being performed by the shit hot Trent Opera Co. who were 2 time winners already). These were the three hot tickets but would they be the top three at the end of the day?
The Hot Mikado was shit-hot on the night! I arrived to the Theatre a bit before to pick up my tickets and I bumped into the world and his wife there; that traveling balladeer Mr. David Flynn (as opposed to the wealthy builder); the funky fish himself and friend of Matthew Kelly, Mr. Fintan Kavanagh; the nemesis of elderly gentlemen on the terraces at a hurling match Mr. Kevin Kehoe and the list of criminals goes on. The lights went down and you could cut the buzz with a knife, the Gentlemen of Japan, a bit of nerves, a couple of dropped hats but nothing to worry about. This was hopping! Richie Hayes had the Royal in the palm of his hand, the singing was brilliant and Vicky Graham was even better than the first time I saw her! Jesus! The audience are clapping and lapping up every word and by the time the second act kicks in they've really hit their stride. Nice one! The adjudicator comes on at the end to give his customary crit. How the hell is he going to criticize that? He doesn't. He praises it big time. But there's something about the way he's doing it. He's being very cool about it. He's not going apeshit for it like I thought he would. And I don't know what he really thought. The lads however are in brilliant spirit and the buzz in the munster after is mighty and its even better in the Festival Club. So good in fact that the hotel manager announced that for an hour there would be a free bar. 4 lovely red bull and Vodka's and I'm all over the shop! And how bad. So bad in fact that I'm a member of a select posse still left in the hotel foyer when a member of security, being an asshole and trying to get us all out, is a bit insulting with one of the lads and a certain person who won't be named called Seamus goes ape and they threaten to call the cops. Some threat.
'Call the fuckin cops so!' quoth a man you should not mess with. We left somewhat less than quietly.
The following morning I had inadvertently agreed to lunch with two different parties. the first being the butcher of the Déise broadway, Munster Express theatre critic mr. Liam Murphy and the second being Mr. David Hayes (if carlsberg did musical directors they would look something like him.). The first bit of grub was fine but I was seriously wilting by the time i got to the second. David's a mate but the chat swings to business and I drop it in that I'm free this xmas. Well it turns out that Tony Finnegan (Good head and the best actor/director in Bettystown) is doing a production of the Wizard of Oz at the National Concert hall and David himself is involved in a panto up there as well. Lovely stuff! Distinct possibilities! I mean I've already given my Lion to great acclaim at Birmingham rep last Christmas. I bump into the aforementioned Mr. Finnegan for a few beers in the festival club the following night and in short order he tells me that he's doing 'The Wizard of Oz' to which I am overcome with surprise;
'Really!? Aw that's a deadly show boy! Sure I played the Lion in it at Birmingham Rep last year!' hintingly quoth I.
'That's funny! Cos I'm playing the Lion in our production!' Devastatingly quoth he.
Ah shit! That's the end of that then. But wait, what about Mr. Hayes' panto? Well I get an audition the following week, off I trot to Dublin, in I go, give it socks, they seem REALLY interested and .......... I never hear from them again. Y'know I don't think I'm ever going to be on stage in Ireland again. Of course I spoke too soon. The phone goes. It isn't the agent funnily enough, its Michael Grant, former king of Tops of the Town asking me if I'd be interested in performing in a variety evening, 'The Way We Were', that he's producing for the Waterford Arts Festival. There's no money for it but they'll sort my expenses. I say yes. Then I start crapping me pants. I Haven't been on the stage of the Theatre Royal in 5 years. I'd have 2 rehearsals before I head off to York and wouldn't see a soul until the morning of the first show. Is this feasible? Am I going to end up looking like a knob on a less than triumphant return to the Déise stage. Well, we'll see.
'We don't give a crap about you, what of the festival?' I here you cry. Well there had been nothing to cool down the Hot Mikado's chances but Honk was on its way and a serious contender. I go to see the show with Sinéad Kiely, the best soprano Waterford city never had (she's from Dungarvan you see) and we settle back in the Gods to check out this musical tale of the ugly duckling. We were like the two boys out of the muppets as we sat there and critiqued all the way through the show. It was good though, but for my money not Hot Mikado good. Then the adjudicator came on. He went mad for it. So much so that when he started to describe one particular sequence he got choked up and shed a little tear. And as I sat there aghast at all the gushiness, I could see the lad's chances slipping away. Not one to mince his words Flex Browne beside me proclaimed:
'That's it. They're fucked so.'
I was inclined to agree. That said though I was in the festival years ago and the adjudicator was so emotional at the end of our show, she came on and was unable to give an adjudication, she was so overcome. I turned to Ray Collins and said: 'We've won it boy!' ...........We came 6th. But the buzz now was that Honk had taken the lead. Dirty Dubs. And the feeling in the Munster and festival club that night was a bit subdued. We still got battered though (Lord of the Flies was going great - when I could see it through the drunken haze or when the music didn't hurt me head). Lots of people now had Honk 1st and Hot Mikado 2nd. But I wasn't sure about that. I still thought the could win it and in the following days there was no shows to change that opinion. Until the third heavy hitter arrived. 'A Little Night Music'. Sondheim's wonderful celebration of love in waltz time. Was this the show to beat them all. I don't know. I didn't get to see it. As bad luck would have it one of my favourite actors (the brilliant Donal O' Kelly) was doing a one man show about James Joyce in Garter Lane theatre. Well there was no way I was missing that. Sure didn't I play Joyce's son Giorgio in Calico? And brilliant it certainly was. Now that's the kind of actor I want to be when I grow up! Brilliant! And so, it seems, was 'Night Music'. Pure class in what had been a slightly lacklustre program. The buzz in the Munster was that these were now the boys to beat. Of course I had missed it! That was the Friday and the results were the Sunday.
Sunday! The last day of the Festival when all and sundry descend on the Munster and drink and sing through the afternoon and head off home in the evening for a bite to eat and a shower and come back in to hear the results and drink and sing some more. Except that is for the true, hardcore Festival goers who don't go home but instead stay in the Munster straight through to the results with the only respite being a chip and a batter sausage over the road. That'll be just me and Raymond Collins then. While there was a lot of drinking there wasn't as much singing as usual. There wasn't a piano or a piano player to be found that day so they rang me. And while I gladly gave them the use of my keyboard I refused to play the thing point blank. I couldn't think of anything worse. It wasn't too bad mind. After a short time of singing unaccompanied some guys started playing guitar and one guy could play the keyboard after a fashion but informed Ray that he doesn't do intros. Oh happy day. I gave reputation-destroying renditions of 'Oh What a Beautiful Morning' and 'Patricia the Stripper' and I wasn't even drunk. 1 pint of water for every two pints of beer, for it was to be a long night boy! So the sing song was alright in the end but you could feel the nervous energy already and when the lads from the Hot Mikado arrived back to the pub all spruced up it got worse. A lot worse! You could feel the Jitter going around the room as if Waterford was a point behind in the closing minutes of a munster final. They believe that 'Night Music' was going to win but there was this little glint of hope within them, hanging on. Maybe, just maybe they might have it. It could still happen. By 9 O'clock you couldn't move in the Munster it was jammers from top to bottom. I was hanging on to sobriety by the skin of my teeth and running a little book on the results as I've always done. On the radio the last night concert was being broadcast but there wasn't a sinner listening. They only cared about the sound of one man's voice. Brows were beaded with sweat, who would go home with the crystal?
10 O'Clock. Adjudicator onstage and he wastes no time. Straight into the individual awards. There's grown men shaking beside me. First award. Adjudicator's award. To ... Richie Hayes for the Hot Mikado! And the crowd goes feckin wild!!!! The place erupts. How bad. One down many more to go. The next few are spread between Honk and Night Music but then best Choreographer? HOT MIKADO! The crowd nearly do themselves damage!!!! Good stuff. Next one, Best Comedienne.....Vicky Graham for HOT MIKADO! At this stage I would have to equate the reaction to the reaction when Paul Flynn scored his goal in the Munster final this year! Delighted for her. Thankfully there was no casualties. i could then see a glint in the lads eyes, hope was suddenly building. But then the next slew of awards all go to other shows and mostly Honk or Night music. Not good. That said I remember a festival where the winner had only gotten one........hang on! Third place! HOT MIKADO!!!
AW YES B...................NO!
shite
Some of the crowd went fairly wild. But only fairly. There was an air of disappointment in the room and a few tears were shed (I'm not saying who). Of course there was. The last time I was home for a festival a Waterford show lost as well. I was starting to be a bit of a Jonah. I kept that thought to myself. Honk came 2nd and Night Music won but the Gentlemen of Japan were long past caring. A few pints and large bottles in the festival club will sort that out. Like I said before, Ahhh the festival club. Eases the pain. it certainly did and some night it was too, so much so that on my way to a party at five o'clock that morning I hit the drink threshold and jumped out of the cab when it passed near me house. Remember I'd been at it non stop since 3 that afternoon. I slipped off into drunken dreams about a Waterford show winning the festival. For that's what it still was. A dream. Another Festival and no International Trophy to proudly display in the Munster.
To quote a lyric from the winning show.
Well maybe next year.
