Jake Mace
Note: We watched a script-in-hand version of this show.
A would-be journalist obsessed with the old myths and legends of Ireland is invited for a job interview in the little-known village of Dunluth on the misty shores of Lough Neagh – the only problem being he’s never been published before, and has no idea how the Editor of the local paper has found him. Our nameless writer traverses County Antrim and winds his way down old country lanes to the mysterious town, soon finding himself entwined in the very myths that the old stories warned him of.
Magill proves himself to be a phenomenally captivating and commanding storyteller, traipsing a lyrical, lexical script that could well work as a radio play or even novella. The writing is so deeply sensory, ephemeral, and we are transposed upon every interaction our writer has with an immense amount of detail – from the sound of the gulps as he drinks a pint of Guinness or a cup of tea, down to an exploration of the cold and haunting shoreline of the Lough. This detail paints a vivid, lucid picture of the landscape and those who inhabit it.
The general perspective is from the other side of this sordid ordeal for the writer, reflecting back but trying to create a memory of the experience with this town of oddballs and hauntings that is forensically formed. A mind palace written with painstaking detail to make sure the emanations and discrepancies our writer found in this town were no trick of the mind. This constant unity of time-and-place slips away as our writer descends into madness in the latter sections of the show, and this arc is traipsed beautifully by Magill.
His descent into frenzy and eventual encounter with the Eldritichian horror that lays buried in amongst the ancient myths and legends of Ireland is performed with such revelation, cathartic panic, and desperation that you cannot take your eyes from Magill’s performance. You cling to his every breath as he convalesces and coaxes out the depths of this uncanny, bone-chilling ordeal. His vocal register flickers out of the writer’s poetic and rhythmic tone into something that portrays the gruesomeness of what we’re seeing with deft, honed skill.
Witnessing this show script-in-hand meant we missed some of the intricacies that Magill will no doubt seek to create in the time to come with developing this show – especially as his eyeline is drawn away from the audience or his surroundings into the script. There were moments where the piece felt a little too static for the visceral world that was being described, but the pure richness of the text and its enchanting delivery keeps you hooked throughout.
The love and care of understanding Irish mythology is placed at the very heart of the show – it throbs through the piece’s every vein and Magill brings it to life with such pathos and rhythm in such a way that you can’t help but be totally engrossed.
There comes a moment toward the end of the show that I feared it was rushing too much into over-conclusiveness. It somewhat lacks an ending that sparks the same curiosity and vivid moroseness embodied in the rest of the story. Giving our Writer a neatly wrapped up ending left me feeling a little unsatisfied, as I like to spend the time after a show wondering what might happen next. Still, the central mystery to the story itself is left up in the air – an eternal cliffhanger, a macabre supernatural fable for the ages.
Recommended Drink: Head down to the Elk and grab yourself a pint of the Black Stuff – just mind the eyes of the old men watching you.
You can catch The Screaming Over Dunluth tonight, 16th September from 19:00 at Sweet @ Keiller Centre. Tickets are available through the Dundee Fringe Box Office.
Phoebe Bakker
