Cuckoo Time

Chris O'Rourke
1 minute ago
3 min read

Camilla Griehsel and Brendan Conroy in Cuckoo Time. Image, Beth Strahan

***

Back in 2010 Carmel Winters’ brilliant and brave B for Baby burst onto Dublin Theatre Festival like a breath of fresh air. A story about a woman who takes advantage of a mentally ill man claiming life is love. Fast forward to October 2025, where Winters premieres her latest production, Cuckoo Time, at Glass Mask Theatre. A story about a woman who takes advantage of a mentally ill man claiming life is love. Unfortunately, similarities end there. Where B for Baby was smart, brave and exciting, its production tautly directed, performed and designed, Cuckoo Time resembles its Dorian Gray portrait equivalent. A deformed resemblance of something once beautiful. Saved by a gutsy performance and a masterclass in acting.

Raunchy jazz singer, Lovisa, sporting a world weary penchant for booze, is lashing out because her recovering alcoholic daughter hates her. There’s also an accidental fire from way back. Exposition and backstory not being one of Cuckoo Time’s strengths. A Swedish immigrant to what we assume is the west of Ireland, Lovisa’s hard drinking, foul mouth and brusque manner alienates the entire village. Chucked from her job, her accommodation, and refused admission to her daughter’s flat, she manipulates the recently widowed Michael, suffering from dementia, to let her stay with him. Informing him she is going to love him and care for him rather than let his daughter send him to a nursing home. A chance at redemption for being a failed parent, or to love and be loved before death, or simply needing a place to stay and a source of money becomes a potent mix that never ignites. Leaving a mostly one-sided conversation interrupted by bird sounds and clever snatches of songs. Original music by Maurice Roycroft having its moments. For if Cuckoo Time begins like a play with music, much of it brilliantly demonstrative of Lovisa’s feistiness, it soon drifts clumsily into weak musical theatre.

Camilla Griehsel in Cuckoo Time. Image, Beth Strahan

Structurally, Cuckoo Time’s mix of screenplay, play and musical makes for an uncoordinated trio. Starting like a fragmented screenplay, promise rises as a theatre script emerges during a beautiful first encounter between Michael and Lovisa. But in no time we're back into unnecessary cinematic scene changes; a visit to the shops imparting exposition that could have been relayed without needing another scene. The cinematic framing also placing huge demands on tech. Sound cues, Bill Woodlands lights, and set designer Ciara Murnane all over burdened; Murnane having the impossible task of trying to serve as cinematographer for an entire movie with one stage set. The result a cramped, claustrophobic clutter of visual information, much of it confusing and unnecessary.

What keeps you engaged are two compelling performances, despite uneven support from Winters as director. Camilla Griehsel a revelation as the leopard print, torch singing chanteuse with a foul mouth and a quick temper. Yet under Winters direction Griehsel is never given expressive support to tease out the undercurrents of pain that fuel Lovisa. Instead, she’s always a shiny loud surface showing little of her underlying depths, a last song trying hard to cover the emotional distance. Leaving Brendan Conroy as Michael having little to lean on but himself. Conroy producing a masterclass of unparalleled intensity. Eyes forever searching, brightening with realisation, or clouding with confusion, Conroy never anticipates but awaits each moment’s newness so as to respond each time as if for the first time. His sketch of a character, barely a device, electrified with currents that compensate for huge deficiencies in Winters script, which feels like rejected bits from 2010. Issues an independent director might have challenged whilst supporting its invested cast in establishing a stronger connection. The chemistry is there, but the story and direction are not of a sufficient standard to harness it. Like watching two separate performances in the same play that never really connect.

Brendan Conroy in Cuckoo Time. Image, Beth Strahan

As the finish lines nears, Cuckoo Time doesn't end so much as suffer a long, lingering death. An abstract scene with an apology of wings looks like authorial self-indulgence rather than arising from character or narrative need. Undermining the finale which tries too hard and opts for the obvious. Confirming Cuckoo Time is not Winter's best work. Meanwhile Conroy reminds us that you should never pigeon hole an older actor. Else they might well remind you of why they've endured. Conroy a privilege to behold, taking the fishes and loaves offered him and turning them into a sumptuous meal for all. Griehsel no slouch either, her loud, larger than life Lovisa being something of a superstar.