Dream A Little Dream

In the beautiful and desolate reaches of rural Ireland, a family leads a simple life. But beneath the fog of their poverty lies a kindling fire, exploding out in moments of music and heat and the frenzy that comes with long-denied want. A rich tapestry woven with the lives of five women, each overflowing with hope and resilience. Each thread vital to the strength of the whole. Immersive, poetic and devastating, with an incredible cast who can carry the weight of this family and send it floating like a kite on a chilled Celtic breeze. Running August 2 - September 27

Featuring Tracy Michelle Arnold, Nate Burger, Maggie Cramer, Colleen Madden, Elizabeth Reese, James Ridge, Laura Rook, Marcus Truschinski

Summary

Dancing at Lughnasa is a captivating exploration of memory and longing. In rural Ireland, the Mundy sisters seek solace in each other, and the radio that keeps them connected to their roots. As they navigate the challenges of family, love and societal change, the women revisit their rituals and memories of happier times. A poignant, poetic memory play that shines a light on the bond between sisters, and the hardships women faced in Ireland in the ‘30s, written by esteemed Irish playwright Brian Friel (Molly Sweeney, produced at APT in 2013).

Casting subject to change.

Dancing at Lughnasa - Portable Prologue (Apple Podcasts)

Dancing at Lughnasa - Portable Prologue (Spotify)

'Dancing at Lughnasa' at APT has its own unique accent
Lindsay Christians, The Cap Times

Poetic 'Dancing at Lughnasa' at APT keeps its secrets
Lindsay Christians, The Cap Times

Memory Lane
Janet Clear, Isthmus

'Dancing at Lughnasa': If 'Little Women' was Irish
Tara Awate, The Daily Cardinal

Director's Note

I often tell folks when they ask where I am from, “I lived on a small farm on a dead-end dirt road.” I admit that by saying it like that I always hope for them to ask for more. I want to tell them about my 15 siblings, the acre garden, the marauding rooster, Chucky, the mice in the silverware drawer, and the snakes my brothers would torment me with under my bedroom door. And the chores. All the chores. The milking, the walking beans, the bailing, the cleaning, the cooking and the laundry, the laundry, the laundry. Without a doubt, the work of a family set apart and on their own, to keep themselves fed and alive, is done without ever talking about it. It just is. It is necessary to make do. Snakes and all.

But even while I write this, I have to confess a tiny bit of pride, a shadow of satisfaction rests on my chest. I have a lump in my throat. I love my people. They are the people in this play.

Because like the Mundy sisters of this story, I understand that, between the cracks of the incessant work—the work of constantly making do—profound moments sink in. Moments of pure joy – sometimes almost imperceptible. Sometimes overwhelming.. Every one of them well-earned, desperately needed, and utterly gratifying.

If the art of “making do” results in fresh bread, bedsheets that smell like the breeze, homemade jam, hand-knit mittens, and dancing with your sisters in the kitchen, then there is something to this lump in my throat, this understanding of the contract we all made while we pulled weeds and scrubbed the worn-out back steps until you could eat off them. If we all did our part and said a few prayers, we would all be ok.

I love this family, the Mundy girls of Brian Friel’s beautiful, poetic, gauzy play. Because they are all kneading, knitting, dancing; quietly but desperately trying to stay away from the edge, the unspoken drop off; honing this delicate, fragile existence together. Knowing that by the grace of God and doing their part they just might have a chance of getting by. Or getting on. Or better yet getting out.

- Brenda DeVita, Director of Dancing at Lughnasa