WORDS Katherine Murphy

Rehearsal spaces are usually uncluttered, neutral in colour, and the walls are often covered in mirrors. There tends to be a director giving instructions to a large cast, and a frenzied atmosphere that does not abate. However, on walking into the rehearsal room for Mirjana Rendulic’s one-woman show, I was met with none of these things. 

There was a bed (duvet included), a sideboard, and the general untidiness you would expect in a bedroom. Rendulic’s greeting is equally down-to-earth, as she joyfully gestures around the room crying “This is my bedroom”. Her unassuming and unencumbered way of speaking seeps into Stone’s Throw’s premiere production, Broken Promise Land. The description places phrases like “war-torn country” and “Dublin lap-dancing club” alongside “MTV hits and Hollywood sitcoms”.

IN MIXING IT WITH FICTION IT BECAME ART 

And according to Rendulic, this is the key to the way Stone’s Throw craft their vision – as one that doesn’t create “a heavy experience” of subject matter that could be perceived as heavy. Rendulic dismisses the “based-on-her-own-experiences” aspect, and instead emphasizes the rehearsal process and how “in mixing it with fiction it became art”.

 This wonderfully astute observation is almost naïve in its conception, which is in keeping with her positioning in the Irish theatre scene. From Croatia originally, she has been living in Ireland for eight years and has been keenly interested in theatre since immigrating. “I only feel like I’m part of the theatre scene now,” says Rendulic, adding that she is “almost still a beginner”. 

Discussion leads naturally to shows like Shibari in the Dublin Theatre Festival, which foregrounded foreign-nationals on Ireland’s national stage in central roles. “People tend to see you as an Eastern European person rather than an actor,” she notes, but Rendulic is quick to shed any sense of being victimized. When discussing consistently-staged Irish playwrights, such as Brian Friel, she realizes that she “could complain about [not being cast], but [she’s] aware that it wouldn’t be realistic”. However, she laughs easily at the irony that in college productions of Greek tragedies the “Irish were playing Greeks and [she] was playing the tourist”.

 This exclusion of non-Irish actors from the scene is beginning to break down, “on the verge of change”, she says, and Rendulic represents one of “the experimental bunnies”. Again she laughs freely as she discusses parts she has been cast in where “the lines were in broken English” which she “found hard to learn”. And this is where the newly-emergent Stone’s Throw comes into its own.

Rendulic hopes that this company can help foreign nationals to “create [their] own space”. Looking to future productions, the names Friel and Shakespeare are cited: “I can imagine this in any country”. Referencing her work on a recent television show, Amber, she discusses the difference in mediums which boiled down to two comparisons: that it’s “more subtle” and “the people are better looking.” This quick wit and ability to laugh at herself make way for more contemplative sentiments about the “neutral look” of the show and, more importantly, its ability “to be anywhere”.

 This universality of the text of Broken Promise Land is one that is summed up in her description of the show as “a playful show about this character that goes upon a strange journey”. It sounds almost fairytale-like, as compared to the gritty reality of lap-dancing clubs and Dublin streetscapes. This innocence seems to be the defining factor of the show, especially when Rendulic discusses her childhood. “I was constantly doing drama shows around our hood, sitting around every day creating stories,” she confides, and in the rehearsal room both Rendulic and the director, Aoife Spillane-Hinks, “felt likes kids again”.

 She credits much of her energy and exuberance to her work with youth theatres around the country and the National Association of Youth Drama, claiming that it “improved [her] acting more than any course could [as] everyone is so open and loves to be with one another, imagining together and playing games”. It’s from this sensation of playing games that the body of the show emerged, and using the word body is no coincidence: “Theatre comes from the body. There is something so different and so special about that.” This statement is realised in the very way she uses her hands as she speaks, employing gestures to great effect without becoming over-animated.

 So with Broken Promise Land opening this week, what does Rendulic hope to achieve with this one-woman show? She wants to show people a young woman “who could be a victim, but instead shows them a story of you [that is] not a rant, and not giving out”. In this respect she warms towards the possibility of a theatre “about immigrants, done by immigrants [in the process] bringing new audiences in and involving them”. This may seem like a huge goal, but Rendulic is already using her own life as source material without letting it overwhelm her: “As soon as it becomes a play . . . it’s away from you.”

She is acutely aware of the unseen boundary between life and art, between her own story and theatre, but it’s her bubbling energy that leaves a lasting impression. Speaking of the future once more, she ends on a question, gleefully asking, “Who knows what will happen?”. After checking the lights, turning off the heater, and with a heartfelt hug, she springs from the makeshift bedroom into the streets of Dublin.