A tender and powerful play for a solo female actor, My Name is Saoirse is a coming-of-age drama about lost innocence and growing up prematurely.
1987: Johnny Logan has just won the Eurovision, mobile phones are about to be invented and, in Limerick, Saoirse O’Brien is sick of her best friend calling her a frigid. Soon after agreeing to a night of drinking with the lads in Wilson’s Pub she discovers her pregnancy, and is forced to set out on a journey that leads her miles away from home and the carefree adolescence she knew.
Eva O’Connor’s lyrical writing makes for an honest and heartfelt narrative which pieces together snapshots like fabric for a quilt. As a girl with no women to look up to in her life, Saoirse loses a sense of herself as she succumbs to peer pressure from those around her. With only Saoirse’s voice to tell the story, the actor will relay a very personal account that resonates on a much larger scale.
My Name is Saoirse was first performed in 2014 before being revived at the 2015 Edinburgh International Fringe Festival and touring Ireland.
‘There’s such a lovely, elegiac quality to O’Connor’s tone and tempo . . . There’s a lyrical, grounded quality to her story, like an old Irish folk song or an ancient epic poem’ – Exeunt
To apply for non-professional performance rights, please contact email@example.com
|Genre||Coming-of-age drama; teenage drama|
|Length||25 pages; 1 act; approx. 1 hour|
|Fee||£75 + VAT per performance|
|Script||£9.99 RRP (deals available for multiple purchases)|
‘Saoirse O’Brien, I swear to God if you fucking leave now I’ll never speak to you again in your life.’
Before I could argue with her, the lads were back and I was hemmed in again on either side. After a while I relaxed a bit and stopped thinking about going home. I even chatted to the lads. I don’t really remember about what. Tommy kept on buying me drinks. Siobhán was langered. She spent the whole night eating the face off Eamonn. Every now and then she’d come up for air, lean her head on my shoulder, nuzzle my neck and call me her little chicken.
At closing time Arthur Wilson turfed us all out onto the street, and Siobhán banged on the orange door, screaming that it was a disgrace and an outrage, and me and the lads watched her from where we were sitting on the low wall across the road. Then when she got tired of banging she tried to cross over to us, but she fell in a big pile on her arse in the middle of the road.
‘You be careful with that arse of yours, Siobhán Cahill! It’s your most valuable asset!’ I helped her up and handed her dead weight over to Eamonn. We all started wandering up the deserted main road. That’s when Tommy asked me if I was going back with them. He said they were heading to Joe’s to drink the night away. His mam and dad were away at a christening and the lads were planning to drink all the whiskey in the house and replace it with apple juice in the morning. I wasn’t sure. It was getting fierce late, and it didn’t bear thinking about what Da would say if I didn’t come home. But I didn’t want to leave Siobhán on her own with the lads in such a state. And besides, it was the first time that Tommy had talked to me all night. I didn’t want to disappoint him. I could feel him looking at me, waiting for me to answer. I decided to be wild, just this once.
‘Go on so.’