Back in the mists of time, Santa brought a present. Tickets for an event, at some unimaginable future date.
By Saturday afternoon we were ready. The route was printed. We ‘d found a carpark. Our friendly neighbourhood babysitter expanded her repertoire to dog walking duties.
The McSpecs headed south, to Dublin. We drove past the venue, parked where we’d planned. An amble down a busy street, through tourists and shoppers and statues of “random guys” figures of historical and/ or literary note.
A retro American themed diner. Shed loads of food.
Two doors down, the theatre.
TV talent show winners, dancing. Oh, such dancing. Irish dancing never used to be like this.
Footstorm is the original show devised by Prodijig. A time travelling, battle ridden story. Boy meets girl, boy loses girl, boy rescues girl. Good and evil. (We weren’t there for the story.) New music, fantastic lighting. Unlike any feis I was ever at.
My jaw dropped. The hair on my arms stood on end. Familiar steps, at great speed, but way beyond anything I’d seen before. Irish dancing, without the upright form or traditional music associated with ‘Irish’. Story telling, done well. Defying its form.
At one point I was admiring how well choreographed a battle scene was, when I realised I’d forgotten the feet. Their feet were continuing to do incredible things while the story unfolded. As with all experts, they made it look relaxed and easy.
We didn’t get lost. Girls slept on the way back, and I imagined Irish dancing to non traditional tunes by The Jam and Family of the Year as we headed home.
Anything is possible.
