It happens every year around this time (okay, maybe it’s slightly earlier this year). As the evenings draw in and Christmas nears, Christmas lunches begin. And come 5.30pm, roaming the street like zombies are lone business men, in expensive suits, staggering from side to side as they desperately ponder where they may have parked their car.
I love seeing them. Their faces are all squirmed up in a weird expression, presumably their attempt at looking sober. They confidently put one foot in front of the other, but unfortunately their body doesn’t want to follow, so they hobble backwards a few feet. Walking in a straight line is not an option.
The first sign of Christmas is not the Budweiser adverts, it’s not the Christmas lights on Grafton Street, it’s not the first Christmas card you receive, it’s the drunken businessman with a bit of tinsel in his hair, staggering towards home.
Catherine Eaton sold out Carnegie Hall with her one woman show, Corsetless. Written by and starring Eaton, it tells the story of Olivia, a woman confined to a psychiatric ward. She’s been locked up there since the death of her grandfather, who was her sole guardian. Olivia chooses to speak only in Shakespearean text. Her doctor, who has known her since childhood, had her committed. Olivia wages a linguistic battle against the doctor and the medical team she believes is holding her in isolation, arguing that it’s her decision to take on this acquired language, that it’s a reasonable choice. Relaying a tale of mental illness through the use of Shakespeare’s text is an impressive project and one which has really piqued my interest.
Tomorrow night, Wednesday 26th November, Eaton brings her show to Greystones for one night only. I love Shakespeare and I’m fascinated to see how his text will be used to tell this story, so I’ll be heading down to see it. Anyone like to join me?
Privacy & Cookies: This site uses cookies. By continuing to use this website, you agree to their use.
To find out more, including how to control cookies, see here:
Cookie Policy
It happens every year around this time (okay, maybe it’s slightly earlier this year). As the evenings draw in and Christmas nears, Christmas lunches begin. And come 5.30pm, roaming the street like zombies are lone business men, in expensive suits, staggering from side to side as they desperately ponder where they may have parked their car.
