Youth's the Season - ?

Eoin Fullston, Jack Meade, Sadhbh Malin, Mazzy Ronaldson, Molly Hanly and David Rawle in Youth’s the Season - ?

Image: Ros Kavanagh

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Youth’s the season to be jolly. Is it? In Youth’s the Season - ? a twenty six year old Mary Manning marinates an Irish Vile Bodies in a Noel Coward drawing room comedy with just a dash of haphazard expressionism. Written in 1931, a year after Evelyn Waugh’s classic satire about privileged English youth, similarities between Manning’s promising debut and Waugh’s novel are undeniable. Manning going so far as to brazenly reference Vile Bodies’ Bright Young Things. Yet the comparison doesn’t serve the play well. An in-crowd you wouldn’t want to be seen out with, Manning’s wild things couldn’t be more tame, conventional or house broken. Even so, Manning’s lightweight tale provides a peek at Anglo-Irish concerns in the years following Irish independence, along with those whose sexuality made them anathema to the rising Catholic norm.

David Rawle and Ciara Berkeley in Youth’s the Season - ? Image: Ros Kavanagh.

Full of great lines, Manning’s reclaimed opus is not a great play. Indeed, it struggles to meet the mustard of being a good one. Structurally it moves uncomfortably between realism, farce and expressionist frames, the latter proving weakest of all. Set in Dublin, a group of petulant, privileged, self pitying poseurs prepare for, play out, then ponder the aftermath of a tame, twenty-first birthday party. A party whose upsets are so conservative even its participants agree it’s terrible. Decadence amounting to getting moderately drunk, trying to make your emotionless fiancé jealous, and trying to decide between which of two men to love. There’s even a scandalous kiss and such dull dancing as to leave you breathlessly snoozing. Action culminating in self-pitying posturing passed off as soul searching the following morning. Even so, some touching moments evoke the pain of rejected sexuality in search of a society and of independent women being undermined, the latter theme tempered by comedy. A final, supernatural twist gets tediously drawn out by way of a meandering monologue in which a gun is wielded. To conform or not conform? Is he mad? Do we care? Thankfully Manning’s comic touches, though hit and miss, provide much needed comic relief when they land.

Jack Meade and Valerie O’Connor in Youth’s the Season - ? Image: Ros Kavanagh

Yet Youth’s the Season - ? is not a comedy. Indeed, it’s not much of anything for trying to be a little too much of too many things. Tensions director Sarah Jane Scaife doesn’t cohere so much as compartmentalise, shifting uneasily between farce, realism and abstract expressionism. Sabine Dargent’s gorgeously opulent set speaking to the confusion. Its recognised realism offset by floating vases and symbolic cracks in the wall. More grounded are Sinéad Cuthbert’s superb period costumes and Val Sherlock’s divine hair which teases out a Louise Brooks bob. All tempered by an otherworldliness evident in Stephen Dodd’s excellent lights and Rob Moloney’s stirring sound and composition, descending from sweeping score into discordant, darker places. Evoking, at times, the forgotten charm of B-movies that endlessly reappear on retro TV channels reminding you why they’ve been forgotten.

Kerill Kelly and Lórcan Strain in Youth’s the Season - ? Image: Ros Kavanagh

Like an old necklace on Antiques Roadshow, Youth’s the Season - ? isn’t quite the heirloom you hoped it would be. Still, there are some genuine jewels in the guise of memorable performances. Ciara Berkeley’s vivacious Toots cementing Berkeley’s reputation as a rising star. Sadhbh Malin’s independently minded Deirdre and Molly Hanly’s wanting the best of both worlds Connie are both terrific. All upstaged by Valerie O’Connor as a scene stealing Miss Millington. In fairness, O’Connor’s ditzy mother is pure comic relief and doesn’t have to navigate the play's shallower waters. Evident in a bunch of histrionic men who, like its women, want change yet want nothing to change. Youssef Quinn as conventional husband material Harry, along with David Rawle’s gender bending Desmond, and Jack Meade’s conservative Gerald all terrific. Meade showing excellent comic awareness playing straight man to his own and other’s benefit. Kerill Kelly terrific in the thankless role of a misery loving Terence, a poet without poetry, along with his ever silent companion, Lórcan Strain’s Egosmith, a symbol so painfully obvious it doesn’t bear stating. A delightful Mazzy Ronaldson and Eoin Fullston rounding out an impeccable and impressive cast.

Mazzy Ronaldson, Molly Hanly, Eoin Fullston, Ciara Berkeley and David Rawle in Youth’s the Season - ? Image: Ros Kavanagh

If youth is a season sure to pass, you can be forgiven for wondering if The Gregory Project is ever going to pass. Thankfully The Abbey’s line up for 2025 gives cause for hope. Like the misjudged Grainne, Youth's the Season - ? feels more an academic victory than a theatrical one. And a pyrrhic victory at that. Unlike its obvious inspirations, Youth’s the Season-? is never wild, brave nor decadent enough. Never funny, clever nor witty enough. Never aesthetically nor philosophically subversive enough. True, there’s something going on, there’s just not enough of it. Historically, Manning’s dated play might have been hugely popular in its time, but so were Showaddywaddy. With both looking neglected today for good reason, despite some enlightening moments. Indeed, in a climate in which limited resources and opportunities place huge restrictions on artists, the hidden cost of other voices losing out needs to be tallied when reviving such expensive, cultural curios of B-movie quality.

Youth’s the Season - ? By Mary Manning, runs at The Abbey Theatre until May 3rd.

For more information, visit The Abbey Theatre