I would've almost missed this one. Gratuitous violence gives me nightmares - I wish they didn't, since I think I can intellectually argue with myself about the different facets of violence. So, when The Lieutenant of Inishmore began laying at the Curious, and all I heard was cats and humans being blown up, flung about or chopped up, I told myself there was no need to go see on stage what I can't see even on fast-forward.
But I did go (clearly). And saw dead cats, and a live one. Live humans being made dead. Spurts of laughter, spurts of blood.
"Lieutenant" is unapologetically a farce...and knowing Ireland has finally found the peace needed to be once again discovered by tourists allowed the laughter to be raucous. But I laughed the loudest at several critics and audience suggestions at the post-show talk-back of the cats - the dismembered and the intact - being the metaphors for Ireland - and all the accompanying sentimntality. Maybe so, but in a view utterly from the present, wouldn't it be more shocking if one didn't retreat into a metaphor and let it be unapologetically farcical about pet-lovers? Only ever so slightly more deranged than the regular ones. And yes, with Irish accents.
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