By PM O’Sullivan
Philip Hardy’s life, so productive in his chosen field, turned into a Kilkenny life.
His course could have tilted in several other directions. Not away from the world of theatre, not after he left his teens, by which time that passion had begun to rustle and ripen. But certainly along different paths, different countries. There was no guarantee that he would found Barnstorm Theatre Company in 1991 and enrich Kilkenny’s cultural life for more than three decades.
“I suppose the roots were there,” Hardy notes. “My mother is pure bred Inistioge. But my father was from Dundalk. They settled in Dublin, and we were brought up there.”
He takes me to his primary school: “I was a boy soprano. When I was 11, they decided my voice was no longer any good. What they didn’t say was: ‘Your voice is changing and therefore…’ They just said: “You’re not in the choir any longer.” And I was absolutely disgusted, gutted.”
He elaborates with enjoyable wryness: “To make things worse, they cast me in a Nativity play. But we were an all boys school. And what was I cast as…? The Virgin Mary. With a Pocahontas wig. Black plaits.
“I never sang again. I did nothing in theatre.”
He takes me to his teens: “But I did have an absolute passion for film. I was working in a restaurant job in O’Connell Street, and I hated it. Shift work, and I’d be thinking: ‘What am I doing with my life at all?’ I was 18 or so at the time.
“I remember looking at the Yellow Pages to see if anything interesting was coming up in film. And I found the Brendan Smith Academy of Acting – by pure fluke. It was a one night a week academy in Dublin. So I applied.”
Some inchoate but powerful dynamic gathered. As Hardy recalls: “That academy cast me as the lead in one of their shows. And the bug bit. I then went to the Guild Hall [School of Music & Drama] in London and trained.”
That young man returned to Dublin after graduation. Philip Hardy has a creative restlessness, a productive discontent with received ideas. As he recounts: “Back then, I worked with fellow actors preparing for auditions. We realized there were no female playwrights in Ireland. We set up a process to find some.
“I knew, through the Abbey [Theatre], this young woman had a brilliant script. And I just bumped into her on the street, and said what I was at. She said: “Can I come along?” And I said: “Of course.” And she did.
“We devised a play with her, produced in the Project Arts Centre in 1989, called ‘Low in the Dark’. It was by a completely unknown playwright who is now world famous, Marina Carr.”
Momentum sped: “That play became so successful that the Abbey decided they’d take up the option on her first one. Marina was a brave young woman and said: “Only if Philip directs it.” And they went: “No way.” I had only directed Low in the Dark by fluke. But Marina wouldn’t budge.
“Anyway, the Abbey offered me two shows as an Assistant Director. Then I could direct Marina’s play, Ullaloo.”
Another helpful contingency came stepping: “I met Patrick Mason in the street. He asked what I was at, and I told him. He said: “Do you know, I’m about to do a new play in the Abbey, and I need an Assistant.” He gave me a script called Dancing at Lughnasa.
“And of course that Brian Friel masterpiece took off, and I with it. I ended up going to the National Theatre in London, because the show was transferring.”
But life intervened. A family tragedy brought Hardy back home. “I was still in London,” he reprises. “Working in the National Theatre, as a staff director. But I didn’t particularly like it. So I left the National, went to Inistioge. And decided to give up theatre, completely.”
But a fire was merely smouldering: “A few months passed, and then the need came back. So I went into Kilkenny and met the Arts Officer, an absolutely amazing woman called Margaret Cosgrave. And she blocked everything.
“She said: “Here it is, for me. I’ve come across you, and your type, so many times. Three months down the road, you’ll be gone, with all the effort I put in gone too.” And I said: “Well, it won’t happen with me.” And she said: “Right, then. Let’s go for it.” And we did.”
He enlarges on this new life: “I started with the Youth Theatre, in September ’91, and founded Barnstorm. Two months later, the Abbey phoned, to say Dancing at Lughnasa was transferring to New York, and to ask: ‘Would you go with it?’ And I was immediately saying: ‘Wow…’
“I was to get back to them on a Tuesday – this was a Friday – to sign contracts. And over the weekend Margaret’s voice came into my head and I thought: ‘It’s only because it’s Broadway. I’ve done this show before. I promised I wouldn’t back out after three months.’ So I phoned them and said: “No, sorry, give it to somebody else.” I stayed.”
To many Kilkenny people’s tremendous benefit. But that Philip Hardy, still in his early thirties, remained undeceived: “I was not a theatre director. Not really, not yet. So we started by doing all different genres of theatre, to find out how you make these things. We did farce, Restoration comedy, Irish classics. And the Watergate [Theatre] opened in 1993, managed by Ger Cody, which was a massive help.
“Then another question: how do you make theatre for young audiences? How could we open the temple of dreams, as the theatre building, for children and young people? Be accessible, above all else.”
Hardy had found his quest. Initiative followed initiative: “We introduced ‘The Strolling Players’, a community based project where we went to villages and town squares and encouraged the local community to create a festival around the show.
“Then we moved to Castlecomer – lock, stock and barrel – for 16 months. And devised and created what became The ’Comer Story, a community play, and it was huge. So was our Millennium play, River Through Time, where we worked with 350 people in Burgess Court in Kells.”
He continues: “Around 2006, I started the Adult Theatre Club. For adults wanting to explore theatre. A two year course. It was a real success, that course.
“In 2016, I approached Ger about another project. We decided to present what we called ‘the curriculum play’, the play on the Leaving Certificate curriculum and so on. Ger went into partnership with us. We have had students coming from Dublin and Limerick to see these plays.”
There is no let up. “Janice de Bróithe took over in January as Artistic Director of Barnstorm,” Hardy emphasizes. “She’s already developing the next play, Brendan Murray’s Hair and Tortoise.”
February 2025 will see a much anticipated rerun. As he details: “We started our lunchtime theatre season in The Home Rule Club, aimed at people who might not normally go to plays. Started it with The Quiet Land by Malachy McKenna. Turned out great. And we have done two more since.”
He clarifies: “This new version of The Quiet Land is a joint venture between Barnstorm and Lake Productions. But we decided on an evening show this time. We reckon it will sell out. It’s a small audience, only 60.”
Another hinge, another departure. Philip Hardy concludes with a smile: “People keep saying that I’m retiring. I’m not. I’m actually just stepping away from Barnstorm. I still love theatre.
“I just wish Margaret [Cosgrave], that great woman, was around now, because it’s 33 years of not backing out.”
‘The Quiet Land’ by Malachy MacKenna and featuring Brendan Corcoran and Ger Cody runs at the Barnstorm studio on John’s Quay from Thursday January 30 to February 2 at 7pm nightly. The production is being run to coincide with the Saint Brigid’s festival .
