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Malaprop Theatre
Tiger Dublin Fringe
Studio One, The Lir Academy
BlackCatfishMusketeer takes place in a strange space. Its two protagonists never meet face to face, yet develop a deep, possibly romantic, connection – all within the domain of a dating website. The two characters, both in their late 20s – played with brilliant authenticity by Catherine Russell and Ste Murray – message each other on a dating app. They strike up a conversation that engages them both, punctuating their chat with pictures, GIFs, and links, which they sustain for quite some time. Then, they agree to meet up, which proves more problematic than they expected.
The play is most interesting in what it achieves with its smart dialogue. Free from adhering to the constraints of natural speech, the actors deliver their lines with telling earnestness and vulnerability. They never speak to each other, instead addressing the audience, whether they are flirting, pouring out their confessions, telling jokes, or expressing anger. The effect achieved is disconcerting, reminding us that even at their most open moments, they are actually alone. They never do meet face to face, but come tantalisingly close at two brilliant moments. These moments are conjured vividly through the dialogue of the messages they send to one another while – sort of – sharing the same space.
The show toys with philosophical quandaries, some relating to the improbability of actually forging a connection with another human being, especially online. Against all the odds, these two characters do relate and manage to forge something approaching intimacy. This is reinforced by the sense that they are intensely human – two brilliantly written characters who are both flawed, but somewhat aware of their imperfections. They are given equal weighting, and significant histories. They come to each other not as two souls forged by nature and chance to suit each other, but as two refreshingly real people. At times it is disquietingly easy to forget that these characters are speaking online, and that they might not be who they purport to be.
They are joined onstage by a third character, played by the very funny Aoife Spratt, who embodies a sort of personified internet presence, dressed as a parody of a secretary, dictating things like “I’m a picture of a cat with sunglasses…” as she lifts a brightly coloured box of files from the heaps of them on the set, sometimes wittily commenting on their use. This grants literal presence to the assortment of pictures and links shared through the conversation, and also makes a subtle point about privacy – even when you think you’re speaking in confidence, you never know what kind of presence is listening in. Molly O’Cathain’s clever set reflects this, with piled up boxes which are shunted around and sometimes assembled to represent the collection of images and articles the two have shared.
The narrative arc unfolds fairly standardly, the points of tension and revelation controlled well within the scope of the play. The show also addresses questions of language and meaning, with alternating levels of playfulness and profundity, as well as interrogating notions of authenticity and the capacity for two people to forge a connection. It is in equal parts funny, touching and smart, closing with a slightly ambiguous ending for the two characters that is refreshingly realistic, allowing a tentative note of hope at its finish.
