After World War II, a small French village struggles to put the war behind as the controlling Communist Party tries to flush out Petain loyalists. The local bar owner, a simple man who ... See full summary »
After the bankruptcy of their father's stonemasonry firm, brothers Nicola and Andrea emigrate to America to restore their fortunes. After many adventures and near-disasters, they end up in ... See full summary »
Joaquim de Almeida,
After another cardiac arrest, Armand knows he doesn't have long to live. But after more than 70 years in the same house, he doesn't want to die anywhere else. His wife, Rose, has secretly ... See full summary »
Jean Pierre Lefebvre
J. Léo Gagnon,
Catherine, a concert pianist, is surprised one night by the arrival of her best friend from childhood, Marie-Alexandrine (Max), whom she hasn't seen for 25 years. Catherine and Max were ... See full summary »
An ex-convict struggles to survive by brute force alone in a turn-of-the-century slum in Braila. Codine (Alexandre Virgil Platon) is the thug who served 10 years for murdering a friend. He ... See full summary »
Alexandru Virgil Platon,
A young boy tells the story of growing up in a fatherless home with his unmarried mother and four spinster aunts in 1930's Ireland. Each of the five women, different from the other in temperament and capability, is the emotional support system, although at times reluctantly, for each other, with the eldest assuming the role of a 'somewhat meddling' overseer. But then into this comes an elderly brother, a priest too senile to perform his clerical functions, who has "come home to die" after a lifetime in Africa; as well, there also arrives the boy's father, riding up on a motorcycle, only to announce that he's on his way to Spain to fight against Franco. Nevertheless, life goes on for the five sisters, although undeniably affected by the presence of the two men, they continue to cope as a close-knit unit... until something happens that disrupts the very fabric of that cohesiveness beyond repair. Written by
BOB STEBBINS <email@example.com>
The play originally opened in Dublin, Ireland in 1990. It opened on Broadway in New York City, New York, USA on 11 October 1991 and closed on 25 October 1992 after 436 performances. In the cast were Brid Brennan, who originated her role as Agnes and won 1992 Tony award as Best Featured Actress, and Gerard McSorley as the adult Michael, the narrator in the movie. The play also won a 1992 Tony award as best play. See more »
The radio is one of the first ever made, so it's a tube radio, which would not be able to come on instantly like the later transistor radios; it would have needed a while to warm up before there would be any sound from it. See more »
Kate 'Kit' Mundy:
Does Mr. Evans ever wonder how Christina cloths and feeds Michael? Does he ask her? Does Mr. Evans care? Beasts in fields have more concern for their young than that creature has.
Agnes 'Aggie' Mundy:
Do you ever listen to yourself, Kate? You are such a damned righteous bitch! And his name is Gerry. Gerry. Gerry!
[Storms out of room]
Kate 'Kit' Mundy:
Don't I know his name is Gerry. What have I been calling him? Saint Patrick?
See more »
What distinguishes stage from screen? If a viewer had only Brian Friel's play, `Dancing at Lughnasa' and its cinematic adaptation to judge from, he or she might be tempted to answer that, while stage is highly engaging and meaningful, screen is superficial, insulting, and thin in content. Friel's play is structured in such a way that a film version necessarily provides a fascinating comparison of the two mediums. However, director Pat O'Connor's efforts tend to demonstrate the weaknesses of cinema rather than the strengths. Adapting a play to the screen has often proved to be a tricky business; it involves some pitfalls which this film does not manage to avoid.
Screen is extremely literal. It allows for--in fact, often demands-- a sense of realism seldom conveyed on stage. The makers of `Dancing at Lughnasa' are clearly appreciative of this fact, and have made valiant, if not always successful, allowances for it. The primary result of their efforts is a heightened sense of setting. The world these characters inhabit feels real. We get shot after shot of Irish countryside; set and costume design seem perfect for Ireland in the 1930s. Mark Geraghty's production design is one of the best things about this film. Additionally, excellent accent work by all the actors proves perfectly convincing and adds depth to the setting.
However, such a literal medium has its drawbacks. In particular, young Michael's narration, which was used to achieve a specific effect in the play, seems unnecessary here. The play's Michael is full-grown and speaks young Michael's lines as his `memories' take place in the action on stage. The film makers did well to recognize that there was no cinematic equivalent for this; having the adult narrator speak the child's lines would have seemed ridiculous. However, in removing that aspect of the narrator's role, they stripped away most of his significance, as well. The film's narrator seems like an afterthought, occasionally intruding into the action to tell us that what we are seeing is a memory. We could easily forget that the events are, in fact, happening in flashback.
While some of the abstract elements of Friel's original play do not translate well onto the screen, individual performances are only aided by the medium. Since film is not hindered by the simple vocal requirements of stage, the actors are able to convey much more subtlety of meaning. The players in this film version are, without exception, excellent. Meryl Streep stands out as the proper, reserved Kate. Her manner is nervous and slightly shrill, but conveys genuine concern for her sisters. When Kate opens up and allows herself to dance, Streep shows a joyful abandon which is believable and pleasant to see. Another standout performance is delivered by Michael Gambon in the role of Father Jack. His lines are spoken with calm assurance, betraying Jack's senility only by their complete lack of relevance. Gambon's distant eyes and quiet detachment reinforce the feeling that he exists in a world entirely different from the rest of the family, a point which is absolutely crucial to his character. Supporting characters are also portrayed dead-on. This film has some of the best acting that could have been hoped for.
Despite these considerable advantages, the movie runs into trouble when it tries to adapt Friel's plot to the screen. Film is so much more visual than theater that it demands a great deal of variation in order to keep the viewer interested. Since we do not have the benefit of the actors' physical presence, we need other things to hold our attention. In attempting to add variety to the play's structure, screenwriter Frank McGuinness breaks up Friel's original dialogue into smaller scenes, most of which involve household chores. McGuinness also tries to represent some events which the play's dialogue only alludes to. The result is a film which is so fragmented that we lose sight its content. Friel's dialogue is integrally important to his play, and the same is true for the film. However, the way that the film breaks up this dialogue among tiny scenes is extremely distracting. We lose sight not only of the dialogue's meaning, but of the relationships between characters. Since the adapted structure requires that the five sisters rarely appear in the same scene together, it is very difficult to get any sense of the dynamic in the household. Ultimately, so much time is spent with action rather than dialogue that the characters lose a great deal of their depth. Perhaps film makers did not trust their audience to be as interested in the characters as in the events.
It is somewhat unjust to evaluate an adapted play simply in light of the original. However, this cinematic version fails to hold up even on its own terms. It is difficult to conceive what value those who have not been exposed to the original play could see in this adaptation. What we get is a good-looking, but ultimately insubstantial, portrait of five women who could all stand to let their hair down a little bit more than they do. I can't help but think that Friel had more in mind than demonstrating the value of letting one's hair down.
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