Ní Liomsa an Teach Álainn Seo (This is Not My Beautiful House)

Seoirsín Bashford in  Ní Liomsa an Teach Álainn Seo (This is Not My Beautiful House). Image uncredited.

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Illusions can be powerful motivators, evident in Anna Ní Dhúill's ambitious but flawed one person debut, Ní Liomsa a Teach Álainn Seo (This is Not My Beautiful House). Its premise supremely simple; to articulate what non-binary identity means. Alas, that’s not quite what we get. Preaching to the converted, what emerges is less a polemic so much as low hanging gender representations. Masculinity lashed to the wheel of reimagined myth, the latter refitted to suit the crimes, the former serving as misdirection. Feminism amounting to women as sensitive, loving supporters, despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary. The tragedy being that, in the end, it’s not cliched masculinity who emerges worse off but non-binary identity, reduced to an emotional footnote in a play purporting to give it voice and context. Obscuring, in the process, the immense value of Ní Dhúill’s Irish language text which, though overwritten, is rich in rhythmical magic.

Initially things look promising as a lesbian artist waits for her partner to come home so she can confess a potential infidelity. The infidelity being with herself. Or, rather, with who she imagines her self might be. For she has accepted that she is not a woman and is wondering if she might rather be a man. Soul searching, she’s been painting in secret. Works involving the Brown Bull of Colley, the legendary bull from An Táin, which she conjures and converses with about her prospective transition to masculinity. A series of to and fro arguments sees the alpha bull recasting the tale of Queen Meabh to make himself the legend at its centre. Foregrounding the notion that men have to sacrifice themselves for the love of a good woman so the artist needs to grow a pair, metaphorically and literally, if she wants to be a man, or a woman. A come-to-Jesus tirade sees the artist reject what’s on offer in favour of a third way, referencing the two soul gender identity of certain cultures in the closing moments. But by then its ninety-five minutes are up and the status quo has been re-established. Men are baddies, women are loving and nurturing, and the third way is as unclear as it ever was. Leaving you marginally more educated and better informed than when you went in.

Presenting a foregone conclusion masquerading as a debate ensures even brilliant points begin to look suspicious as you examine the terms of reference. In which cliched portrayals of toxic masculinity reinforce a lopsided binary structure. Especially as femininity is unquestioningly recycled as the loving carer. This despite the most vehement arguments against non-binary and trans often coming from prominent women. The recent British Government ruling on a legal definition of gender being a case in point. Then there’s Queen Meabh’s complex story and personality replaced by a reimagined bull suggesting projection rather than salient insight. Presenting masculinity as a singularity, synonymous with misogyny, risks looking like gaslighting. Evident in a rejection of an Up The Ra, male Irishness, even though it’s the Irish Women’s Football team who are most prominently associated with celebrating Up The Ra. Such gender complexities ignored as Ní Liomsa a Teach Álainn Seo (This is Not My Beautiful House) spends most of its time reducing masculinity to aggression and strength. Indicative of a power dynamic based on an understanding of power dismissed in the 80’s by Foucault. Power being far more complex. As are masculinity, femininity and non-binary.

Theatrically, Ní Dhúill as director shows flair in utilising space and props. Yet a hugely impressive Seoirsín Bashford is rendered guilty of the most basic of sins; the distracting tendency to deliver lines to the floor or to some vague somewhere out there, something the director should have corrected. The error distancing the audience from the experience of being confidants and making Bashford look like they’re struggling to remember their lines. Not helped by surtitles, sure to enrage the grammar police, which are often out of sync with dialogue. A hairy coat and removable horns might aim to evoke the Brown Bull of Cooley, but married to a laddish, swaggering Dublin accent it's more evocative of a trumped up pimp. Highlighting the benefits of engaging an experienced, independent director. One who might have tackled Ní Dhúill’s overwrought script, which labours its points to the point of lecturing. Risking promoting long held illusions just as often as it challenges them.

Ní Liomsa a Teach Álainn Seo (This is Not My Beautiful House) is supremely sensitive to the lived experience of non-binary individuals. Yet as long as non-binary discussions preach a reductive, singular masculinity and a saintly femininity, and preach only to the converted, they reinforce the very process they’re trying to escape; that of defining oneself in terms of opposites, in which opposites are made to fit the argument as ‘other’. Repeating the same old same old and hoping for a different outcome. Still, something important needs to be remembered; Ní Dhúill is to be applauded for creating a play about not belonging to either gender camp on which little of real substance has been written. In the process, Ní Dhúill shows huge bravery, compelling promise and genuine sensitivity. The problem is their aspirations and finer moments hold them to account. Even so, Ní Liomsa an Teach Álainn Seo (This is Not My Beautiful House) suggests a significant artist in the making, one whose use of Irish language speaks of great promise for both artist and the use of Irish language in performance. One final criticism. On Smock Alley’s webpage the play was said to run for sixty-five minutes. It ran for ninety-five minutes. Which might explain the gentleman leaving after an hour, and the mad scramble out the door at the end.

Ní Liomsa an Teach Álainn Seo (This is Not My Beautiful House) by Anna Ní Dhúill, presented by Kilkenny based Cult Collective, ran at Smock Alley Theatre April 17 and 18.