On stage at the Abbey Theatre

Following a signal from the stage manager, I walked out, dead centre and stood facing the auditorium. Here I was, fulfilling a desire I had given scant attention to before - to be alone, on stage, at Dublin’s Abbey Theatre, facing the seats, facing people, ready to give my all, to start my performance, to do, as it were, what I do.

I took out my phone and took a photo.

It’s Monday morning and preparations are in full swing for a rehearsal of Tom Murphy’s The Last Days of a Reluctant Tyrant. Around me scaffolding is being dismantled, set pieces brought into place and position and lighting checks happen while in the auditorium, a makeshift desk holds a lot of monitoring equipment to ensure positions, sound, lighting and cues are all in place for the production.

I have a love for the Abbey - forbidding building though it may appear from the outside. The history of that building is, for me, an integral part of Dublin, even though the Theatre is just over 100 years in existence, located at Abbey Street since 1966. The names of Lady Gregory, William Butler Yeats, John Millington Synge, Sean O Casey, Oliver St John Gogarty, Brendan Behan, Samuel Beckett - many of whom would never have stood inside this building still dominate here for me.

I love the history of the place - the riots over Playboy of the Western World in 1907, the performances of Juno and the Paycock, of The Plough and the Stars, of Dancing at Lughnasa or Philadelphia, Here I Come or Hugh Leonard’s Da, the sheer volume of people who have been through the doors to enjoy the best of Irish theatrical performance - well, it’s something I love. I always have.

I’ve been invited along to have a look at this set, one of the more ambitious for the Abbey. It’s certainly big - I was there only a while ago for the production of Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing, where the set had to encapsulate a town, houses, an Abbey and more. Here we have what looks like a static set, interior to a big house with many levels. It’s solidly constructed, with stairways, balconies and stories, all relevant to the play and the drama that unfolds.

But this of course is theatre. Nothing is as it seems. There’s more to be found here.

Panels are brought into view. Stage manager Brendan Galvin directs his team with efficiency. There’s no messing here - the lads know what they have to do and where things have to go. it’s a tight ship. The actors arrive for rehearsal soon. The set designer Tom Piper is here with director Conall Morrison. They’ll be watching how the cast interacts with the set and how the set complements the drama that unfurls. This is vital to the story, to thre audience’s buy-in - their suspension of disbelief as they’re brought to an Irish estate, rather than Dublin 1.

To get some idea of the set of this play, I walked both behind and under it and out into the auditorium. I’d purposely not read up on the story of the play to afford myself my own assumptions. What would they be using the balconies for? Is the fact that there are five entrances significant? If you sit at the back, will you miss any of the action on the top tier? I’ve always loved this aspect of theatre - the smoke and mirrors that makes the magic work. How it all fits together, how it’s all done on the night, and the many nights afterwards.

Piper’s set doesn’t just fit on the Abbey Stage, it dominates it. From the seats, the vast scale of it is impressive - you wonder how they constructed it at all. No space is wasted, no easy option taken. This has been designed meticuloulsy and constructed efficiently - there’s more than the appearance at play here. How does the lighting work with it? is it safe for the cast and crew? Will all the levers and switches work? Will scene changes take a long time? Can we lower the curtain? Is there anything about the set that will interfere with the sound?

The variations in the construction of this are many. Up at the monitors, one woman takes careful measurements with a ruler of the stage map based on what she’s watching on screen, erases numbers and enters a new value. All of this matters. All of this makes it happen.

Still, everything is on a schedule. There is a set familiarisation due with the cast. There’s then a costumed familiarisation - will the wardrobe work with the scenery? Will the colours match? Does that matter? Are the props convenient to backstage to allow scene changes to take place quickly, or the actors to use them? Róisín Coyle and Elaine Walsh, the assistant stage managers are on hand today to work with the crew, finishing the lighting it seems, to practise the routine of the changes and get everything in place.

It’s not long before the rigging crew have cleared the scaffolding and the true majesty of this construction is visible. I’m impressed by the speed with which everything is accomplished - from a stage holding a construction site:

to an open space, ready to be inhabited by actors and their characters, performing for an expectant audience.

My camera in no way does it justice. I sit in the auditorium, just marvelling at the change between the set for Much Ado and this. I’m longing to see The Last Days of a Reluctant Tyrant now, simply to see what happens on this stage, how they use the set, how the “tragic story of a family disintegrating, having lost its moral values” plays out here. I haven’t got long to wait. At the time of my tour it’s only two days before previews.

People are arriving. I get to meet Tom Piper. I have a lot of questions for him. They’ve finished the light checks. The acoustics are being tested. The main production staff are gathering to look at screens, to discuss their satisfaction or otherwise - to see what needs to be changed. The cast are due for rehearsal.

As I leave I cast one glance back at the Abbey Stage, bedecked as she is now for her role in this production. It actually was a thrill to stand there and look out at the seats. To imagine a soliloquy, ready for delivery, spoken with passion, authority and verve. Be it Murphy’s Tyrant, Synge’s Playboy, O’ Casey’s Plough or Shakespeare’s Much Ado, or something else entirely, it’s no less than she deserves. I look forward to seeing her soon.