The Deadwood Encore

I have no idea how this reads for someone who's not from the Irish Midlands, but I found myself grinning throughout The Deadwood Encore—part in delighted recognition, part because it's just genuinely funny. Frank is in his early 20s and is trying to figure out who he is—a task which would be easier if he had a job, if his twin Bernie hadn't just told him something momentous, and if everyone in Carlow town didn't know him as the seventh son of a seventh son of a seventh son and thus possessed of the ability to heal. (He's pretty good at warts, getting better at ringworm.) Frank comes into possession of a statue which may house the spirit of his dead father (magical realism; roll with it) and things go from there.

Kathleen Murray has a show more marvellous ear for dialogue and for using it to reveal who someone is. Everything about how her characters speak rang true to me. (If the humour of Derry Girls appealed to you, you'll probably like this; it's in a similar vein only less, you know, Norn Iron.) The plot wobbles a bit towards the end and there's a gesture towards a romantic relationship that felt very perfunctory, but those reservations don't detract too much from what's still a wonderful slice of contemporary Irish life. show less