Meet Mary: fresh from the slammer (post a short stay for a truculent nightclub attack on another female). Mad? Less crazy, more irate, Mary is defiant, candid, questioning – and increasingly typecast in her small-minded hometown of Drogheda (one of Dublin’s oldest villages). Shot in warm cinematic hues, this setting is initially homely and appealing. But the atmosphere is quickly turned up too high, pushing it into hotly uncomfortable territory. In Drogheda everyone knows your business. The parochial pressure of sameness and the cruelty dealt by an expectation of so-called normality overbears and constricts: it’s sincerely mean-spirited.
Having returned to this controlling collective ego, Mary’s on a hasty track to becoming the ugly duckling of the village – and as a species in contrast to the majority of the sanctimonious folk here, she’s increasingly perceived as outlandish, even hazardous. An easy target to judge and alienate, the actions of an impious Mary seem only to increasingly inspirit this perception. Yet, gratifyingly, the narrative does a stellar job of reversing the ugliness: as such, it squarely belongs to the smug. Mary exhaustively challenges the norm. It’s uncomfortable and f#&*kn awkward. (Yes, there’s a hell of a lot of swearing. It’s Ireland.)
Seána Kerslake brings balmy discernment to her portrayal of Mary, slyly bringing an enigmatic style to a boldly objectionable character. Her rebellious integrity makes Mary a shockingly likeable human to hang out with for 90-ish minutes. Full, resonant, rounded and exclusively female main characters keenly coalesce harsh comedy with fervent drama. This is a portrait of a feisty young woman identity fighting with convention – and we’re on her side.
Times & Locations for ‘A Date for Mad Mary’
