Crocodile Fever by Meghan Tyler, directed by Mehmet Ergen
A storm is brewing in a quiet Northern Irish farmhouse… One sister’s devout, the other’s a disaster. The 80s are in full swing and the past is clawing its way back – ugly, loud, alive. Written by Irish actor-playwright Meghan Tyler, Crocodile Fever is a riotous, “gleefully dark comedy” (The Stage) that refuses to behave. This is sisterhood at full tilt: sharp-tongued and fuelled by Taytos, booze, and buried rage.
Joint interview with:
Rachael Rooney (she/her)
Meghan Tyler (they/them)
For both: How do you each navigate the balance between the play’s wild comedy and the deep undercurrent of generational trauma?
R: It’s all in the writing. The trauma is inescapable with how Meghan has written it, every pause, every interruption is the trauma threatening to come up. So I think it’s our job to have a laugh and have a good time together, and the trauma will come naturally through the text.
M: Balancing wild comedy and deep generational trauma is an inherently Irish trait, so navigating that isn’t alien to us. We have been through a lot of oppression and pain as a nation, it lives in our bones, so we crave, drive and fully embrace comedy; we thrive on levity. Look at our history – we’ve had to. That collective sense of humour says so much about the resilience of a people. And the people of Newry, where we’re both from, have been through a lot, so, naturally, we’ll show you a good time and have the best fuckin’ craic doing so.
For Meghan: What personal or historical resonances inspired you to write such an unapologetically messy and chaotic take on Ireland’s past?
M: I wouldn’t so much say Crocodile Fever is about Ireland’s past – that play would be at least seven acts and have me arrested for being a terrorist.
This play is about sisterhood. The war provides the backdrop for this play because, in the 80s, Irish women were being oppressed by the British Army/RUC, the Catholic Church, and the men at home.
Personally, my family have old photographs from the 80s of them as kids. It was a haunting Sunday afternoon when they pointed out all the children that the army shot dead playing in the street. The stories about how they’d dismantle a woman’s pram in the street. Poison all the dogs in the area.
On top of this, I was raised in a Catholic school ran by nuns at a time when they didn’t chase you with a ruler screaming, “DEVIL SPAWN!” and beat seven shades of shite out of you, and was still really damaged by how much “shame” was drummed into us.
And in terms of the general patriarchy? Well… who hasn’t suffered from that?
I was charged by my own past, my family’s past, and the future I wanted for women everywhere.
For Rachael: What aspects of Alannah’s quiet devotion and repression feel most challenging – or rewarding – to embody on stage?
R: Honestly it’s maintaining it as the night goes on. No matter how much gin is consumed, that call for devotion and repression keeps raising its head. Balancing being dragged into that darkness while joining in on the chaos is a fine line. But it’s definitely the most rewarding when you get it.
For both: As sisters on stage, how did you build a dynamic that captures both love and ferocious conflict in equal measure?
R: It really helps that I adored Meghan from the moment we met. We actually had to be told to shut up so I could do the audition. We’re from the same town in NI so there’s a natural understanding and chemistry there.
The people we love the most have the greatest capability to hurt us. We naturally need and expect from them in a very vulnerable way. Any conflict or anger that comes from this play arises from disappointment and feeling like the person you loved the most let you down. Love and conflict can’t actually exist without the other.
M: Oh, Rachael and I instantly clicked. I fell head over arse for her. Of course, we come from the same place, we’ve been through the same high school experience, but there was another electric chemistry. An unspoken guttural feeling. The universe took a deep, exhausted exhale and said, “FINALLY! Now, you two go play.”
On top of that, Rachael is someone who is impeccably detailed and wildly talented. It’s a pleasure to step into the game arena with her. So “ferocious conflict” – although appearing vicious and dangerous at times for the audience – is performed with absolute trust. As actors, we come to play, and we have each other’s backs. It’s a joy.
For Meghan: How does performing in your own work shape your perspective as a playwright compared to handing it fully over to other actors?
M: This took some convincing to do so, if I’m shite, blame Mehmet Ergen and Jimmy Fay (and I have their phone numbers!)
Handing it over fully is always mesmerising – watching very brilliant humans bring something to life that came out of your brain is a privilege. Actors are geniuses. They pick up on things, or do something with a line, that you never even thought of! Performing in your own work means you’re confronting your own text more, so you discover sticky bits or potential changes/cuts a lot faster. It also cranks up the pressure: there is nowhere to hide. As a writer, there’s a certain sense of anonymity in the bar afterwards. When you perform your own work, ye better strap in baby!
Crocodile Fever shapes my perspective as to what I’m putting an actor through. This play has its foot firmly planted on the accelerator. It’s a beast. It’s brutal work – exposing, relentless, and a fucking rollercoaster.
And that makes it so delicious.
Theatre can be so boring – my ethos as a playwright/actor hybrid has always been to write parts that an actor would LOVE to sink their teeth into, and to take an audience on the ride of their god damn lives.
And Crocodile Fever certainly achieves that.
For Rachael: Having already been praised for bringing complexity to solitary performances, how do you approach this new kind of intimacy and tension opposite Meghan?
R: It’s a totally different process. When you’re working opposite someone the control is gone. Doing a one woman show meant I was constantly playing with the audience and discovering new dynamics within myself. Whereas here? I’m totally at the mercy of who is in front of me. They could throw absolutely anything at me and I’ve got to hit it right back. It’s always a tennis match, but it’s lovely to be batting opposite someone this time.