Jennifer Carroll is a 21 year old actor and writer. She first began writing for the Uxbridge Cosmos in 2007 when she had the opportunity to share her experiences as a Canadian ambassador for an international conference for women in Dubai. At the beginning of 2008, she moved to Ireland to pursue a career in theatre and film. Far From Home is her monthly account on living and working in Dublin.
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The Big 'R'
This article will mark the one year flag for Far From Home. Twelve months ago I was writing about a starry eyed, ambitious, challenging adventure, with no idea of what the outcome might be. This dream of Ireland, with its history, intrigue, charm and inspiring theatrical community filled my head and my heart. I've fallen deeply in love with the country, especially with Dublin. But I've been in a somber mood lately, my optimism weighed down with the hefty and continual presence of the 'R' word… that dangerous word that the Irish don't even like to say out loud.
It disheartens and incenses me that the arts community the world over will suffer first and longest in economic unrest. Theatre somehow seems to end up as the ruffles, the sequins on culture's gown, a luxury deemed necessary only in times of excess. As soon as communities feel a push to tighten belts or guard pocketbooks, they dismiss theatre as unessential and disposable.
Yet there is nothing superfluous about theatre. When people begin to suffer, to sacrifice and compromise on account of financial stress, I argue that then, more than ever, they need to see the greatness of man, the courage of man and the love for life that theatre is meant to portray. The stage is the perfect arena to remind humans of what it means to live. That life force is the reason I'm addicted to spotlights, to scripts, to applause. When in reality all you see is pessimism, corruption and disheartenment, it feeds the soul to see a character fight for the best in themselves. You can carry that onward and it will carry you forward, through all the muddy, unclear choices that may otherwise beat you down. I understand the reality of financial responsibilities, but I also believe in the power of art, and I hate how quickly people disregard that power. Ireland is frustrating in a lot of ways. It didn't gain independence from Britain until 1922. It didn't gain financial stability until the 1990's. However with the 90's, Ireland finally found itself in the middle of a period of unprecedented economic growth, suitably nicknamed the Celtic Tiger. After a lifetime of poverty, emigration and repression, Ireland had a staggering GDP growth rate and a wealth it had never experienced before. For over ten years this country enjoyed the luxury of shaking its third world status and living like the rest of the western world. Dublin went from a quaint old city, tired and divided, to a desirable destination, a city with a competitive future and unending possibilities.
Over the last year, it's become very clear that the Celtic Tiger is dead. And while it was possible to make what economists call a “soft landing”, Ireland's economy has done nothing short of crash. Hard. And every day I watch the news, disgusted with the irresponsible, corrupt greed and the dangerous spending that has ruined this country once more. Do people ever learn? The radio reports hundreds of lost jobs weekly. Banks have hollowed out their worth with unrealistic lending practices. Young people are starting to leave the country once again. Ireland's most tragic export is its young blood, talent and ambition, and it's marching out by the boat load.
Where is the Ireland I saw in my head? Was it completely fabricated? Was I seeing this country through emerald-tinted glasses? I'm afraid. I'm frightened that I'm in the wrong place. I'm nervous that I'm beating on the door of an industry long past its expiration date. I'm scared that I'll lose any hope and direction by staying in a country that isn't able to make difficult, responsible decisions. I'm tired of people looking at me quizzically when I tell them I moved here specifically for theatre. I had an encouraging meeting with an agent this month, one who has started sending me on auditions and given direction to my career. But for all my excitement to have a foot in the door, I couldn't ignore the growing shadow of doubt in the corner of my mind. Why am I fighting for this? Yet even as I type it, I know why I'm fighting. I'm fighting because I can and I know I have to. Even if in 10 or 20 years I look back and see I was in the wrong place, I feel as if I have a stake in what's happening here. I've seen the b e a u t y that mirrors the tragedy in this city, the intelligence that mirrors the irresponsibility. And artists here are fighting for their lives. The Irish have never had it easy, yet they've turned out some of the best literature and art in history. Is it not through adversity that we find the most inspiration?
I'm not here to focus on the mess that (fine, I'll say it) the recession has caused, but to see if I'm cut out to battle past what's difficult for what's good. And besides, the whole world is suffering. I may as well be in a city I love. Those infuriating Irish have a contagious charm. And when they get theatre right, they really get it right. I cherish the moments during a play when I'm moved to tears, moved to laughter, moved to my feet, because I know I can carry it onward, and it will carry me forward
