Interview with Robert Gibbons

writer and producer of podcast play Playback

WORDS BY URSULA DALE

Ursula: First, can you tell me a little bit about Playback?

Robert: Playback is a podcast play consisting of three different episodes of three different podcasts and it follows one person who hosts all three, whose name is Kate Morgan.

U: What attracted you to radio theatre over a traditional dramatic format?

R: To be honest it was mostly the pandemic. I love in-person theatre and I love sharing space with people and I love the energy that an in-person performance has and the fact that it feels like it's all just there in the moment. Partially I think what it is that podcasting, which is the form that the play takes, has a similar improvisational quality and a feeling like it's kind of happening right in front of you. As a rule it feels very natural, so it's not in-person and it's definitely not completely ad-libbed, but that was part of it. So yeah, in absence of being able to be in a room with people, in a sense the kind of intimacy you get with podcasting is the next best thing. U: Has COVID-19 impacted your creative process? If it has, how so?

R: Yes, it definitely has. I mean COVID has impacted everything and the creative process is part of it. I suppose I'll start with the positives, which always feels weird given that we're talking about COVID, but like it has given me a lot more time to write and a lot more time to consume things and to watch. Like I've watched and listened to and read a lot more this year than I have in previous years. And a similar thing, I live way out in the country in County Meath and I live with my family and when I want to be alone I go on walks and I end up going on these long walks just through fields and fields and fields, which gives me a lot of time to think. In terms of negative impacts it's a lot harder to bounce ideas off each other – it's a lot harder to, you know, kind of have that contact with other people in that easy way. This is kind of all from a writers’ perspective, I wrote it and I did produce Playback as well, but from a writer's perspective I do miss just kind of sitting down with somebody over a coffee and chatting without having to schedule like an hour aside to do that.

R: One of the things I love about it is that, and I kind of touched on this before, is that they both have a very similar energy in terms of like an improvisation that is happening right in front of you that's in the present. With a radio play, because it's pre-recorded, it isn't [right in front of you] even though it feels that way, so it kind of creates this extra complexity to it that I find really interesting. That's something I really thought about when I was writing Playback. While, you know, traditional theatre is happening in front of you and it's in the moment, a radio play [also] feels that way and it sounds that way, but it's not that way. That is a very interesting thing to me, and this is further contrasted from like television where between, like, cuts and different changing shots of changing locations – it feels like it's not in front of you and you know that it's all filmed in the past. Radio theatre occupies a place in my mind where it feels like the present but it isn't the present, and that's what really drew me to it as opposed to doing a zoom play or filming stuff.

U: What inspired you to create Playback?

R: I've always been really interested in podcasting as a form. I think it's a really fascinating one in terms of, like, as I listen to a lot of podcasts with a lot of similar hosts and you get this image of them that, to a listener, kind of feels 3 dimensional, especially because they're so conversational and improvisational. In reality you know it's not [real]. A podcast is a form of performance as that type of conversation that doesn't actually exist, but it feels like it exists and that was a really interesting idea for me as a writer. Because all plays are also a performance, so like the way that podcasting blurs the line between performance and not performance.

Also just in terms of podcasts that specifically inspired the show, Do Go On was a big one which is three Australian comedians [who] tell each other a report from history every week. Three Castles Burning really inspired Act Three, it’s a podcast about the social history of Dublin. And for Act One I'd say it's a podcast called Finding Drago, which is described as a true crime podcast without the crime. It's about these two guys trying to find out who wrote a piece of fanfiction. U: Finally, is there anything the audience should know before listening to Playback? Do you have any advice for people curious about getting into Radio Theatre?

R: I always just recommend that people listen to it like it's a podcast. Don't sit down and feel like you're watching a play; go out and walk or maybe [while] you're cooking dinner or, you know, whatever it is you do when you listen to podcasts. Just do that and treat it like that, I think that's when it's at its best.

[In terms of] advice for people curious about getting into radio theatre, I would say think about why you're doing it as a radio play. What is it about this story that works best purely done through audio? Probably the best example I can think of a radio play is a radio musical 36 Questions where it's all told through voice notes on a phone. Within [that are] these musical numbers which are kind of more describing emotion. But yeah, so think about why the story you want to tell would work best purely done through sound and then kind of take it from there. I’m a massive proponent for thinking about the form as being just as [important], if not more important, than the content. Also make sure you have a team who you want to work with. I was absolutely blessed by having a phenomenal director in Gelsey Beavers-Damron and some just top quality, stellar actors in Juliet Arpack, Lauren Kelly and Oisin Reilly. And, of course, Grace Kim, who's a supremely talented composer who did all of the music that you hear within the show and was a dream to work with, and fantastic Jane Loughman who produced all the show’s gorgeous artwork. They were all just so great and so fun to work with and so collaborative. That really made everything so much easier, I mean that's obviously not just true of radio theatre, but you know what you make is never going to be as important as the people you make it with – that is what I believe.

What is Disney+, if not Marvel persevering? This episodic release strategy feels almost old-school, given the current trend of binge-watching Way back in 2019, when Disney announced that popularised by Netflix, but ended up working in WandaVision would be at the helm of Marvel’s first Marvel’s favour, keeping the show at the centre of official foray into the world of television, I don’t think hypothetical ‘water cooler discussions’ between friends even the most devout fans of the MCU could have and colleagues at a time where there is little else of note predicted just how much of a pop culture phenomenon to talk about. As such, speculation about the origins it would become. Prior to the Disney+ chapter of the of Wanda’s suburban paradise and the potential dark great streaming service saga of the 21st century, Marvel forces at play both within and outside Westview dabbled in small screen productions, mainly through spread like wildfire as the series progressed. As a a partnership with Netflix, with great (Daredevil) and self-proclaimed Marvel nerd, these weeklong debates not-so-great (Iron Fist) results. For better or worse, the were almost as enjoyable as watching the show itarrival of Disney+ renders these titles non-canonical, and self. However, in retrospect, many fans blew popular so begins an unprecedented new age for the MCU where theories, such as the secret involvement of Marthe big and small screen finally collide, starting with the vel’s devil-like figure Mephisto, completely out of tale of arguably two of their most side-lined characters. the water, which hurt their overall impression of the show when it eventually failed to meet these To use the synopsis derived from the trailers prior to its impossible standards within its limited run time. release, WandaVision appears to revolve around super-powered Avenger Wanda Maximoff (Elizabeth Olsen) and her sentient android partner Vision (Paul Bettany) as they settle down in the suburbs of a small town called Westview, through a series of rapidly changing decades. This premise is initially unsettling right off the bat given that the audience knows Vision is dead. The true plot of this series remained shrouded in mystery right up to its final moments, creating a nine-week epic of theorising and easter egg hunting across the internet unlike anything I’ve seen before. Given the existence of decades-spanning comic book lore, Marvel fans are no strangers to their theories overtaking the internet, but this was something else entirely. When a new MCU film is released, audiences have an idea of what to expect based on the several interconnected films that have come before, leading to some online buzz right before the film’s release, and directly after in anticipation of the next instalment of the franchise. However, with WandaVision, eagle-eyed viewers found a film’s worth of hints in each half hour episode, for nine consecutive weeks. . The most widely covered unmet fan expectation was in fact Marvel’s own doing. By casting Evan Peters as Wanda’s deceased brother Pietro (better known as Quicksilver), a role he has previously played in 20th Century Fox’s X-Men franchise, the internet understandably blew up, taking this choice as confirmation that the X-Men would finally join the ranks of the MCU. This assumption was fueled by Wanda’s own mutant history in the comics, as well as Disney’s recent acquisition of the studio. Instead of easily tying in the two universes through the reality-bending setting of WandaVision, in a move that would have started riots in cinemas had this been a film and not a series, Peters’ ‘Pietro’ was instead revealed to be regular citizen Ralph Bohner. To cast such a well-known actor, one that was always sure to send fans into a flurry, for the purpose of a simple phallic joke felt like a wasted opportunity at best, and borderline cruel at worst, but is an important reminder that, like any creative entity, Marvel does not owe the viewers anything. It is important not to conflate expectations of a series with necessities, and admit that you got caught up in the hype instead of claiming the showrunners have done you a disservice. This lesson is hopefully one that fans will take onboard going forward into the next series on the roster, The Falcon and the Winter Soldier.

As much as hearing Peters’ in-character chuckle at his own punchline of a last name was a bitter pill to swallow (although, admittedly I found the reveal so hilariously absurd that I still smile every time I think about it), it made sense in the greater narrative of the series not to include such a juggernaut of a concept. Despite what the rampant fan discourse would have you believe, WandaVision is first and foremost, Wanda’s story. By stepping out of the cinematic realm, Marvel was able to provide some much-needed character development for its remaining heroes, finally giving Wanda the depth she deserves by showcasing her journey through the grieving process. The ‘big bad’ fans were desperate to identify from the first episode was not the demon Mephisto, or even the delightfully wicked Agatha Harkness (Kathryn Hahn), despite the certified bop that is ‘Agatha All Along’, it was actually grief itself. This revelation is not something I can see Marvel getting away with in a blockbuster film, but, woven through a nine-episode story full of misdirects, it works perfectly. Additionally, despite the god-tier trolling of Paul Bettany teasing the major cameo of an actor that he’d longed to work with all of his life, with turned out to be himself, many hypothesised that anyone from Doctor Strange to Professor X would come in and save the day, but Wanda doesn’t need saving. This is a character-driven story, and any last-minute heroes would have defeated this purpose. Instead, WandaVision finally exposes the full magnitude of Wanda’s powers, far beyond the lacklustre red sparkle emitted from her hands in previous films. This vindicates people (like myself) who have championed her as the strongest Avenger from the beginning. I couldn’t help but shed a tear as the music swelled when she finally earned her ‘Scarlet Witch’ mantle, defiant in the face of all the loss she has endured.

WORDS BY CIARA CONNOLLY ART BY ANDRÉS MURILLO

In comparison to the blockbuster MCU films that have to move a mile a minute to pack in all the action and quips audiences have come to expect, the longer format of the show was utilised to put these emotional, character-driven moments at the forefront. This is best seen through the show’s greatest feat, actually making me care about Vision as a character. Since their first moments together in Captain America: Civil War, the idea of a romance between a woman and a synthetic humanoid felt comical, but throughout the series, this notion dissipates, and the love between these two characters begins to feel tangible and genuine. Despite not having a real heart of his own, Vision delivers some of the most moving lines of dialogue I’ve heard in a long time, retroactively giving emotional weight to his death in Avengers: Infinity War. By giving their secondary characters an opportunity to shine in their own right, Marvel have ingeniously set the stage for a post-Robert Downey Jr. MCU, in which other heroes that resonate with the audience must come to the forefront.

With a fresh format and the restrictions of box office numbers and a two-hour run time cast to one side, WandaVision was given the space to experiment with form and genre in a way that no other MCU property has before. This structure allowed the series to tie in with its comic book roots, showing different adventures every week gradually building into an overarching story. In creating the future of the MCU, and superhero TV programming as a whole, the series masterfully borrowed from the TV shows of the past, with Wanda and Vision’s journey through the decades inspired by legendary sitcoms, from The Dick Van Dyke Show to Malcolm in the Middle. As these facades began to crumble, the show took on an eerie, and at times horrific (I’m looking at you, corpse Vision) undertone. It was in these moments that WandaVision was at its best, well and truly free of the shackles of the typical Marvel formula.

In their quest for complete screen domination, Marvel have hit the ground running with WandaVision, adding an excitement to television viewing that has been missing for quite some time. Ever since the series ended, I’ve come to miss waking up on Friday mornings in fear of picking up my phone, desperately avoiding spoilers. If Marvel can continue to push the envelope on the small screen, and manage to tie these stories into the larger cinematic universe, the golden age of superheroes has a bright future indeed.

in the time of Covid

As Showtime’s Shameless draws to a close after twelve seasons, the infamous Gallaghers navigate Covid-19, and post-Trump America

Based on Paul Abbot’s UK series of the same name, and now concluding its twelfth season, Shameless follows the antics of the dysfunctional Gallagher family, led by alcoholic patriarch Frank (William H. Macy) on Chicago’s Southside. Although the release of the eleventh and twelfth seasons was delayed due to Covid-19, the latest episodes have taken the pandemic in their stride; the characters are masked to the nines, the schools yo-yo between opening and closing, and the Alibi bar owned by supporting characters Veronica and Kevin (Shanola Hampton and Steve Howey) struggles to survive under restrictions.

Although Shameless is endlessly outlandish, provocative and famous for its employment of shock value, it nonetheless doesn’t shy away from topics like the stark realities of intergenerational addiction, abuse, and poverty. Following eldest sister Fiona’s (Emmy Rossum) departure from the Southside in season ten, the remaining Gallagher children are left to take on the responsibilities of parenting the remaining minor in the family, Liam (Christian Isaiah). Where previously Liam mainly occupied the background, the latest season sees him take centre stage, particularly when exploring racism in post-Trump America, and what it means to be a young Black man today. In the initial episode of season twelve, Frank delivers a monologue lamenting the gentrification of Chicago’s Southside, wearing the now obligatory face mask. The camera then pans out to reveal a spray-painted mural of George Floyd with the words Black Lives Matter in large letters. While Shameless is known for its outlandish and comedic plotlines, the latest seasons have also explored the very real human consequences of political issues such as anti-immigration laws and restricted abortion access. The personal struggles of the Gallagher family take place against the brutal background of ICE raids and deportations which split countless families apart.

Middle child Carl’s (Ethan Cutkowsky) new job as a police officer sees him experience first-hand the corruption and racism within the Chicago police department, which is only complicated by the criminal behaviour of his immediate family members. Whether this story arc ends in a “good cop in a bad barrel’’ narrative, or a more radical anti-police conclusion remains unclear midway through the series. Next door, the racist Milkovich patriarch, Terry (Dennis Cockrum) poses a moral quandary for his son Mickey (Noel Fisher) who struggles to reconcile his estrangement from his homophobic father with his feelings of obligation to care for him as he is now paraplegic.

Although powerhouse Emmy Rossum’s departure from the show was a major loss, William H. Macy has, in this season, delivered his strongest performance yet, followed closely by Jeremy Allen White who plays eldest brother, Lip. Although the earlier seasons, which follow the Gallaghers’ adolescence, are firm fan favourites for a reason, the character evolution of Lip from child prodigy, to delinquent, to father and family man is handled with immense skill. Lip’s struggle with alcoholism is not only impressive in its grittiness and realism but also because it highlights the theme of breaking cycles of intergenerational addiction. Throughout all twelve seasons, both the Gallaghers and the Milkoviches struggle against the frightening possibility of turning into their parents; with Ian now happily married, and Lip and youngest daughter Debbie (Emma Kenney) now parents, all Gallagher children in some sense get their happy(ish) ending, in sidestepping the pitfalls of their parents and stepping up to care for their children.

While the direction Shameless will ultimately take is still largely unclear, if the first half of the season is anything to go by, fans are in for another six episodes which are funny, gripping, tragic, and above all, shameless. Although the pandemic may have delayed the release of season twelve, the manner in which the writers have incorporated not only Covid-19, but the realities of systemic racism, gentrification and political unrest means that the final episodes will be well worth the wait.

As days blend into each other, one year into our reality being shapeshifted, I’ve found myself being attached, more so than usual, to possessions, material or otherwise. Anything before circa 2020 is an heirloom of a past that yearns to be lived. Cancelled concert tickets, free passes to the Academy - to what extent can one latch onto the past to make sense of the present? While this notion of past-possession may seem dated, seeing as we are a whole year into this soul-crushing calamity, some of us - arguably, most of us - see the future as an extension of our past, not our present. Last year was 2019 and if people are to refer to 2020, they call it twenty-twenty.

The only way to retrieve the past, or make an attempt at reliving it is through the only tangible evidence we possess from it: photographs. I have admittedly found myself going through my Instagram profile time and time again, just to appease myself with snapshots of “what once was.” That freshmen reading week trip when I first got a disposable and clicked what I believe to be every window in Venice. Or the time we cut my friend’s hair in the cubicle that was halls’ bathroom. “Good old days” primarily exist in the face of monotony and after a year of being holed up inside, photographs have proven to be my sole antidote. This isn’t to say that yearning is constrained to a polaroid that captured a moment in time but to emphasise, in retrospect, how glad I am to have documented all my days.

Most ‘finstas’ as of late are less haha-cannot-post-this-because-I’m-too-embarrassed and more an archival account of life. The same people that often questioned (read: critiqued) the concept of taking a photo of every meal have now jumped on the bandwagon to click every outfit-of-the-day, be it just for zoom. This culture of embracing every passing second is new and surprisingly, it encompasses both active and inactive moments. At the expense of romanticising life as though it were a Pixar movie, people have found pleasure in the mundane. From trees to clouds, there are a host of accounts dedicated to what would once be deemed trivial. Had it not been for the pandemic and the subsequent lockdowns, would we have embraced St. Stephen’s Green as we do now? In this day and age of commodification, parks too have fan pages documenting all their seasonal glory. Unarguably, the best part about this newly established culture is people all over the world, espousing the same idea. Despite being separated by millions of miles, nostalgia for the past has universally united people and eerily enough, everyone is responding to it similarly: yearning through/for past experiences via amassed visual evidence.

Photography, I have realised, doesn’t have to be about the perfect subject, sight or lighting. More so than anything, it’s about finding a frame for that fleeting feeling. God only knows what ‘cloud’ is but with the way Apple keeps reminding me I’m out of iCloud storage now is...almost comforting. I can only hope it means the irrepressible amount of photographs that are stacking up.

is a playlist a clock or a mirror?

For many, this year felt like floating through endless space. With a sense that time was suspended, the signposts we use to map out the days passing became especially significant. For me, those signposts used to be playlists. I used to make one weekly, curating them with a mix of old songs and new ones I wanted to give a listen to. My old Spotify account is a crowd of these weekly curations. I thought I would be able to make a new faction of memory, that if I could adhere a week to a song, recalling that week would be as easy as listening back. As it turns out, it isn’t that easy. Memories are made up of more than background music. This is probably why I gave up that devotional curation for a more emotionally charged and occasional sort. My playlists have grown shorter and more precise. Maybe this means I feel the time that has passed differently, or maybe it means I want to remember things differently. Overall, I think everything nowadays feels more vague.

There’s a lot in a name when it comes to a playlist. What does it say about me if I set certain songs side by side, and call them “happy”? Even when it’s just a fitting lyric, a date, time, season or some nonsensical inside joke, the title we give to a playlist is always telling. They reflect the mood we were in when we picked those songs and might hint at where we will be emotionally when we revisit the playlist again. In choosing a name, we have acknowledged that by putting these songs together, we have made something that could almost be called new.

Honestly, I think playlists are another surface we can see ourselves reflected in. It used to be mixtapes with names scrawled on in marker, now they are an abundance of playlists to scroll through endlessly on Spotify. A playlist at its simplest is a collection of what you like at that moment in time. It is the same as collecting particularly nice stones on a beach, or bright leaves on a walk. It says simply: I’ve gone through life, and here are some of the best things I’ve seen so far. I’ve picked them up to keep them close to me. Here they are, set out side by side. Here is the name I’ve given them. It’s a fairly simple act of expression, but one I feel is built on an enduring love of collecting small moments that affected us. The act of putting them together is to make something that reconnects us to places, people and moments that we have passed by.

WORDS BY RÓISÍN FINNEGAN ART BY LINDSAY LEACH

THE CASE FOR RITUALS

WORDS BY SAM MAGUIRE

Rituals define us. Whether it’s the specific way you take your morning coffee, a twelve step Korean skincare routine, or simply making your bed and setting alarms, the processes of routine and ritual have far reaching consequences for how we perceive time, place and even ourselves. The two great forces of the modern age (Neoliberalism and Goop) seem to have us convinced that the modern condition is defined by a permanent state of want. The ever-growing chasm between our reality and our ‘best lives’ must be filled by an increasingly costly amount of wellness rubble: clearasonics, curated vitamins, diffusors, sprays, mushroom coffee blends and CBD tampons. The idea of ‘self-care’ in the age of Instagram starts and ends with what is in your wallet. The concept is entirely predicated on the idea that your brand loyalty and purchasing choices hold a meaning that goes far deeper than your shopping cart. I charcoal mask therefore I am. So, what is to be done? How does one make their life absolutely perfect, whilst at the same time, stay true to their (obviously extremely deeply held) anarcho-communist principles? The solution, dear reader, is ritual. Here are four points to get you kick started on your journey towards creating your bliss, aligning your intentions and um...manifesting?

1. Have a sleep schedule. The most ground-breaking thing I learnt at twenty-one was the idea of regular sleep and wake times. Lie-ins as an occasional treat are all well and good, but in order to get the right amount of sleep, the internal body clock must be set just right. Those mental health posters in doctors’ offices were not lying to us after all, you must ‘sleep eight hours to make the other sixteen bearable.’ Consider: eye masks, pillow spray and valerian root tablets.

2. Talk on the phone. Nothing will make you feel more alive than walking around the house, picking up objects and putting them down again, while basically recording a live podcast with your friend on the phone. If you’re lucky enough to still have your grandparents, ring them too; they miss you.

3. Move your body. At the risk of this sounding like some horrendous ‘mental health during corona’ advice article, creating some sort of scheduled movement, regardless of what it is, does wonders for fighting off feelings of existential dread.

4. Embrace fanaticism. Whatever it is that you enjoy, go all the way. The idea of doing things within moderation is simply a bourgeois tactic to keep us complacent. Increase the screen time! Drink the wine! Play the video game!

Life in the middle ground gets old very quickly; be fanatical. Rituals are all well and good, but fulfilment is not always neatly scheduled in; find time for passion.

Happy Birthday Instagram

WORDS BY CLARE MAUNDER

Ihave an on-off relationship with Instagram. At times we’ve been deeply in love and utterly inseparable, documenting each other’s moments (did it really happen if there aren’t any pictures?) and talking into the early hours. Currently though, we’ve been on a break since December. Since then I’ve been witness to my own rebirth into a life outside the confines of an app that has both shaped and been shaped by my identity for near to a decade. If the metaphor of rebirth sounds overly dramatic, perhaps a retrospective glance over the previous decade of Instagram’s growth is needed for a full reality check of how we came to this cyborg-esque place of app codependency.

Instagram celebrated its tenth birthday back in October. Founded by Stanford graduate Kevin Systrom in 2010, it’s packed a lot into its first decade of life - it’s the fourth most downloaded app of the 2010s, and has an estimated value of $102 billion. During this time the platform has steadily amassed other auxiliary functions to supplement its central photo-sharing mission - direct messaging, stories, live features, and reels are now part of its collective weaponry. What these channels have in common is a sense of connection, each a different language for users to employ at will. But Instagram doesn’t run on the metrics of fluffy concepts like friendship and authentic closeness. It runs on the quantifiable metric of profit, which it absorbs through the attention economy. Every second of usage the app squeezes from you is more money to line the app’s pockets. The fantasy we might light to swaddle ourselves in of Instagram’s existence to provide a space to explore the contours of friendship and self-expression online crumbles. This is something I think often gets forgotten when navigating the channels of social media. Or, in my case, an awareness that these technologies are designed to cleave attention away from my life and instead pour it into neat square boxes on an app, which has a palliative effect that absolves me of the shape of responsibility. I no longer have to bear the weight of managing my own time on devices and apps with the nihilistic end-point of what they’re designed, and designed very well, to do.

Instagram’s Systrom seems an alright guy - he seems to have sidestepped the evil corporate villain mould Zuckerberg fills out so well. But even so, he admitted in an interview with Silicon Valley journalist Kara Swisher that we’re at a stage where we know that social media works, but that we don’t know how it works. I wonder who decides the criteria of success that is used in this model. Odds on, it’s not the users of the app.

‘Social life not social media’ and ‘love not likes’ are phrases which might circulate the upper layers of consciousness when navigating Instagram and other platforms, but I wonder how deeply we believe the things that we say. I’m frequently amazed, and a little worried, by the mental gymnastics my brain performs to convince myself the photos and profiles I’m consuming are real, despite knowing they’re both constructed and curated. Instagram and social media don’t trade on the language of rationality though, and much of those well-intentioned messages are dissolved by the time the conversation has moved past paying lip-service to the relationship between social media and ‘real life’. We’re living in an age of an overwhelming number of channels to communicate with anyone and everyone around us, but let’s not confuse communication with connection, especially if the communication is not a two-way, but a three-way channel. This puts a new spin on the ‘three’s a crowd’ idiom - social media has muscled its way into the intimacy of individual friendships, a silent voyeur we forget is there.

Instagram has subsumed the world quietly, almost insidiously so. In 2019 it developed an option to allow users to complete in-app purchases; Instagram’s got the whole world in its hands. It’s now entirely possible to live out a life through their channels of communication, or, maybe, because of their channels of communication. Memory works differently in immaterial spaces. Clear physical signs of development and change are replaced by background system updates and font changes that are quickly forgotten by collective memory. Instagram’s replacement of their vanguard brown polaroid camera icon with a minimalist multicoloured indication of a camera registers as nothing more than a dim memory. It seems it’s always looked this way because on the internet things aren’t memorialised in the same way as the material world. The real world becomes untethered from the world Instagram presents to us as reality. A world without Instagram registers instead as an unsubstansive day-dream, as a memory we might have dreamed up before drifting off to sleep.

Ag céiliúradh ár dteanga i measc dianghlasála - agus an gá le hí a chéiliúradh

Airímid uainn uilig an saol roimh an phaindéim nuair a bhíomar ábalta bailiú le chéile mar phobal chun na rudaí móra agus na rudaí beaga a chéiliúradh. Mar mhac léinn na dteangacha, mothaím i mbliana chomh maith an tionchar dochrach de bharr na heaspa idirgníomhaíochta atá againn, ní hamháin sna léachtaí. Níl na deiseanna céanna againn bualadh le chéile agus ár dteanga a úsáid. Sin an fáth go raibh mé thar a bheith sásta nuair a chonaic mé na fógraí uilig ar líne do Sheachtain na Gaeilge 2021 - deis chun an Ghaeilge a chéiliúradh agus cumarsáid a dhéanamh (cinnte go leictreonach) le Gaeilgeoirí eile!

Tosaíonn Seachtain na Gaeilge ag tús mí Mhárta agus téann sé ar aghaidh ar feadh coicíse nó thart faoi sin de gnáth, ag críochnú ar Lá Fhéile Pádraig. Ní chaithfidh mé mórán a rá faoi stádas na Gaeilge sa tír seo. Tá pobal na nGaeilgeoirí réasúnta láidir — rud a táim thar a bheith bródúil as — agus tá sé ag fásadh an t-am ar fad, ach is í an fhírinne shearbh ná nach n-aithnítear an Ghaeilge le dóthain airde nó measa. Is seanscéal é: “buaileadh sa scoil mar ghasúr mé agus mé á foghlaim”, “tá an tuiseal ginideach sin do mo chrá”, “is teanga mharbh í”. Go bunúsach, níl tóir ag roinnt daoine Éireannacha ar an nGaeilge, ach le féilí cosúil leis an ócáid speisialta seo, feictear blas den dóchas agus is féidir linn taithí agus taitneamh ceart a bhaint as anam ár dtíre.

Tá na srianta ar fad ag fágáil na tíre faoi néal dubh faoi láthair. Is iontach an rud é go bhfuilimid in ann freastal ar imeachtaí ar líne ach bíonn gá ann caighdeán na n-imeachtaí a laghdú. Ach gan amhras, cuireadh iontas ormsa nuair a chonaic mé clár na n-imeachtaí a bhí á eagrú ag ár gCumann Gaelach féin sa choláiste! Léiriú a bhí ann ar phaisean don Ghaeilge i gColáiste na Trionóide. Bhí na ciorcail comhrá móréilimh ann, maidineacha caife agus neart ceardlanna. Eagraíodh díospóireacht agus plé painéil chun seans a thabhairt do dhaoine a scileanna teanga a chur in iúl agus a n-argóintí a roinnt. Sna tráthnónta, bhí na himeachtaí níos mó ar siúl, cosúil le Cúirt Éigse, imeacht ina roineann mic léinn a saothair féin as Gaeilge ó dánta go hamhráin. Is gnéithe tábhachtacha iad an litríocht agus an ealaín i dteangacha agus ní féidir a shéanadh ach go bhfuil an Ghaeilge lán le saothair agus scríbhneoirí iontacha. Chomh maith leis sin, bhí dráma ar siúl le rannpháirtíocht ó DU Players “Casadh an tSúgáin” le Dúbhghlas de hÍde, an chéad Uachtarán Éireann. Cé go rabhamar uilig taobh thiar de na scáileáin, mhothaigh mé an t-atmaisféar lúcháireach céanna agus mé ag freastal ar na himeachtaí. Agus níl dabht ann ach go raibh codanna eile na tíre ag céiliúradh sna hollscoileanna eile, sna meáin shóisialta, agus cibé slí eile a bhí ar fáil!

Tá sé tábhachtach nach ndéanaimid dearmad ar an ngá a bheith ag tacú le féilí cosúil le Seachtain na Gaeilge, go háirithe leis na cúinsí atá againn faoi láthair. Fiú roimh an phaindéim, bhí saghas stró de dhíth chun tionchar na Gaeilge a choinneáil beo. Is oth liom é seo a rá mar mhac léinn na teanga ach sin an chaoi a bhfuil sé. Agus uaireanta agus mé ag déanamh machnaimh faoi thionchar dosheachanta na paindéime seo don todchaí, imíonn mo smaointe go dtí an tionchar a bheidh le feiceáil sna cúrsaí cultúrtha, an Ghaeilge san áireamh. Leis an gcuid is mó den tír sa bhaile, níl an Ghaeilge mar chuid den ghnáthamh laethúil níos mó. Nílimid fiú ag éisteacht leis na háitainmneacha as Gaeilge ar an Luas nó na fógraí ar an mbus. Ní thugann neart daoine aird don Ghaeilge ar aon nós, ach mar a sheasann cúrsaí anois, níl an teanga mar pháirt an tsaoil ar chor ar bith do dhaoine áirithe. Tugann imeachtaí Sheachtain na Gaeilge deis do roinnt daoine an teanga a chéiliúradh, ach deis do roinnt eile a chuimhneamh go bhfuil an teanga fós ann. É sin ráite, is soiléir go bhfuil a lán gnóthaí Gaeilge ag dul i ngleic leis na dúshláin atá romhainn sna laethanta seo. Tá siopaí Gaeilge i mbun gnó ar líne agus cé go bhfuil deacrachtaí ann le scannánaíocht faoi láthair, thug mé faoi deara an lá cheana go bhfuil neart clár suimiúil ó chartlanna TG4 foilsithe ar an seinnteoir.

Is gearr go mbeidh an ghéarchéim seo thart ach caithfimid a bheith réidh leis an iarmhairt. Ní féidir liom míniú daoibh i gceart an saibhreas atá tagtha ar mo shaol de thairbhe na Gaeilge. Aon seans chun sult a bhaint as ár dteanga, tá dualgas againn é a thapú.

Deich mbliana ó shin, bhí telifís i lár ré órga. Bhí an tírdhreach flúirseach le cláir iontacha cosúil le Mad Men agus Breaking Bad. Bhí meánaicme rathúil, le tochaltóir gual ’s gluaisrothaí ciníocha. Bhí Community fós greannmhar, bhí rithim Parks And Recreation ag éirí níos sciobtha, ’s dhiúltaigh Kenny Powers a scaird-scí a dhíoladh. Agus, bhí clár beag faoi dragain ag tosú. Cúpla bliain níos déanaí, d’fhoglaim na Bluths nach bhfuil airgead sa seastán banana i gcónaí agus scrios an réabhlóid shruthaithe an tamhnach fhlúirseach. Tírdhrearch sceirdiúil atá ann anois. Tá cláir spreagúla fós ar fáil, cosúil le I May Destroy You, ach tá cuspóir nua ag cláir teilifíse. Ní chaithfidh cláir a bheith iontach, is fuaim sa chúlra iad. Caithfidh an lucht féachana tiúnáil amach ní isteach a thuilleadh. Thosaigh an clár teilifíse is mó a raibh tóir ag daoine air i 2020, i 2005. Bhí na cláracha is mó a ghiolc daoine faoi, The Last Dance agus Tiger King, imithe as cuimhne na ndaoine chomh luath is a tháining siad. Tá achar airde ag éirí níos giorra agus tá seo glactha le suíomh fís-shruthú. Bíonn The Mandalorian ag streachailt chun an t-am idir radhairc de Bhabaí Yoda a líonadh. An bhfuil suim ag éinne i bplota Bridgerton? An bhfuil sé fiú tábhactach? Tá comhéadan úsáideora Prime Video ag iarraidh a dtaisce a coimheád faoi cheilt. Maidir le Quibi, nílim chun caitheamh anuas ar na mairbh. Tá YouTube flúirseach leis an nuálaíocht ’s an úrnuacht atá ar iarraidh ó na suíomhanna seo. Ní YouTube Red nó YouTube Premium nó cibé ainm eile a chuirtear air atá i gceist agam, ach díreach gnáth-YouTube. Ní suíomh foirfe é YouTube. Léirigh sraith droch-fhíseán Videogamedunkey go bhfuil an leathanach treochtála briste. Gorlann d’éalaíontóir atá ann, ainneon an chuma athráitheach atá air. Is iad seo roinnt de na cruthaitheoirí is fearr de 2020.

All Gas No Brakes

Dá mbeifeá ag iarraidh dul siar ar 2020, ar chúis ait éigin, beadh físeáin AGNB an tslí is fearr é a dhéanamh. Bhí AGNB láithreach ag gach tráth sonrach, ó na hagóidí sráide i bPortland go dtí an chomhdáil AVN. Thaispeáin AGNB an fíor-Mheiriceá ina gcuid físeán: mórchúis na ndaoine a chuaigh go dtí an trá chun Lá na Saoirse a cheiliúradh i rith paindéime, an oibrí gnéis ag iarraidh a cíos a íoc, na coirpigh chogaidh gléasta i Reebok. Is minic a bhíonn magadh a dhéanamh faoi amadáin sna físeáin seo, ach bíonn muintearas ’s áthas iontu ar feadh bomaite fosta. Ritheann dhá shampla le Hollywood nuair a smaoiníonn siad ar shaol na tuaithe: bochtanas agus ciníochas. Ach, léiríonn AGNB an-chineáltas leis an muintir a dhéanann sé caidreamh leo. Is é a bhfiseán Bigfoot Hunting, go háirithe, scáthán álainn ar an saol. Lucht lán le creideamh atá iontu, cé go ndéanann beag dá gcuid oibre. Is domhan iontach a thaispeánann sé.

Conner O’Malley

Ceaptar go n-aithneofar uachtaránacht Trump mar ré órga sa gcoiméide. Ceithre bliana níos déanaí, tá Alec Baldwin ag glacadh an buíochas ar fad i gcomhair treascartha Trump agus tá fear céile Sarah Cooper spíonta amach ón síor-gnéas béil. Ach, tá laoch amháin ar YouTube a bhíonn ag cruthú físeán i gcomhair daoine le hinchinn leáite. Físéain trína chéile’s domhainfhriochta atá iontu. Téann fuinneamh d’athar colscartha trí gach seat fíor-gar-amhairc ’s léine smálaithe le hallas. B’fhedir go bhfuil aithne agat ar Chonner ón gclár iontach I Think You Should Leave nó fiseán suaimhneasach Joe Pera. Níl aon shuaimhneas sna físeáin seo, tá siad craiceáilte. Bíonn Conner ag rith idir trácht bóithre chun script a dhíoladh faoi Joe Biden ag sábháil an stocmhargaidh ’s ag caitheamh 500 toitíní chun an ghlas a bhaint de Verizon 5G. Rámhaille d’fhear mire atá inti, ach nach bhfuilimid go léir beagán as ár meabhair anois?

The Report of The Week

Má bhí Conner O’Malley ró-dhian duit, tá Reviewbrah mar óiche chiúin os comhair na tine. Tá a fhiseáin sólásach suaimhneach. Tá stíl mhodhúil ag na fiséain. Bíonn sé gléasta i gculaith i gcónaí agus ní déanann sé craos ar a mbéile riamh ach ní féidir leat do shúile a bhaint den scáileán. Caithfidh go bhfuil Reviewbrah ar duine de na haisteoirí is fearr nó an fear is croíúil ar an domhan. Tá roinnt ceisteanna faoi Reviewbrah nach bhfuil freagartha fós, ach tá an mhistéir níos fearr ná na freagraí.

SuperMega

Chaith Matt and Ryan ó SuperMega 2020 mar an chuid eile againn, ag caitheamh tréimhse fada ag imirt Animal Crossing sular stop muid gan choinne. Bíonn siad ag forbairt eaglaise i Minecraft, ag rangnú príomhach ’s ag aimsiú na gcluichí is macnasaí ar líne. Is féidir leat an grá idir Matt agus Ryan a mhothú i ngach físéan idir na scéalta greannmhara. In am nach féidir le daoine am a chaitheamh lena gcairde, nach álainn an rud é sin?

PHOTOS BY

MEGAN O’ROURKE & ELLA SLOANE