The documentary as artefact is a fascinating time stamp. That snapshot period when it was made can be more informative further down the line where it can illuminate an even clearer thematic message. So it goes with Ballymun Lullaby, Frank Berry’s acclaimed documentary from 2011. Ron Cooney is our lead in for the film. An optimistic and funny music teacher of the kind you dearly wished you had growing up. A film ostensibly about a music programme in St. Joseph’s school in Ballymun on the north side of Dublin, the opening sequences fill in the history of the area through archival footage. And what footage it is. We see protests in the 1960s about the rising cost of rent and people not being able to rent or buy homes. The high rise towers of Ballymun were seen as a response to the crisis. This scenario is extremely familiar to anyone in 2018 who notes with alarm the phenomenal rise in rents and the lack of housing, both with social housing and general stock. We seemed to be doomed to repeat mistakes. Berry is acutely aware (see also the excellent recent doc The 4th Act which explores this in more detail) of the toll this takes on the residents of the area. In that archival footage we note the lack of playing spaces for children after the flats were built. It happened again when the regeneration of the area took place. Ballymun is an area littered with broken promises and people with faded hopes. They are not unique across working class Dublin (and beyond) but the social experiment of the towers has meant that there is plenty written about the area.
Filmmakers have always been drawn towards working class stories and what they say about society. In Ireland we have had Lenny Abrahamson’s Adam and Paul, John Boorman’s The General, Alan Parker’s The Commitments to name a few. What marks Berry apart from his contemporaries in Ireland is the feeling of a hard earned authenticity. In Ballymun Lullaby it is his patient and intimate chronicling of the young people who are drawn to the music. In particular the ‘on the move’ interviews with older teenagers Tara, Darren and Wayne, who speak about their hopes and dreams and what the music program has meant to them These interviews are terrific, frequently punctuated by younger children mugging to camera at any opportunity. But it is the humanity that shines through, they trust Berry and seem to know that his camera will not betray them. In I Used to Live Here, the work with both Headstrong, the National Centre for Youth Mental Health and the young (and mostly first time) actors in preparation for the film pays off with remarkable and assured
He who cares, wins:
Frank Berry and the working class
Words: Jason Coyle
60 CinÉireann / April 2018