Mary Kate O’Flanagan is an award-winning writer, journalist and an expert in Storytelling On The Screen. Her work in film and television has made her one of the most in-demand teachers of screeenwriting and script development in Europe. She works in The UK, The US, South Africa, and across Europe, as well as in her native Ireland.
Mary Kate works as a credited co-writer and an uncredited script doctor. With her sister Rachel O’Flanagan, she gives training in storytelling skills for professionals. They are particularly interested in the true-life stories that people and entities tell about themselves – how those stories inevitably shape their futures.
Mary Kate was Ireland’s first Grand Slam Champion Storyteller at The Moth. She was also a Grand Slam Champion Storyteller at The Moth in Los Angeles and a Champion Storyteller at The Dublin StorySlam on several occasions.
That story went viral on TikTok gaining over 1 million views and, possibly more notable, the comments section is (almost) entirely positive. It has been included in The Top Ten Stories on The Moth on PBS radio, as well as being named by many as their favourite Moth story ever.
Mary Kate has turned a number of her true-life stories into a piece of theatre, Making A Show of Myself which she is currently rehearsing for what will hopefully be a smash-hit-sold-out run, at Smock Alley Theatre in Dublin, in December 2023.
Curatorial text:
Firstly, I am fascinated by the tangible objects that create the intangible lights and colours and sounds that make up images on screen, almost to the point of revering them. The Luminous Work Table in particular, is such a solid and sturdy piece of equipment, transcendentally beautiful in its simplicity and pure, almost noble in its purpose – to bring stories to life on screen for the illumination and delight of audiences. Every single one of us who works in film and television is dedicated to the most painstaking execution of our craft, without which the illusion does not sustain, Without the focus and dedication represented here, we fail to meet the audience where they want to meet us, in the magical worlds we conjure through art. With it, we make work taht captures maginations.
The clapperboard is also a sturdy and no-nonsense piece of equipment that, out of context, could seem mundane. Yet, through cinema’s sometimes solipsistic gaze and intense love affair with itself, the clapperboard has become a piece of equipment that is familiar to audiences who have never been and may never be near a film set. It has become an iconic representation of the hopes and dreams of filmmakers everywhere. It has come to represent the key moment that the entire crew’s efforts will be captured on film. In and of itself, it is an object which has acquired a dynamic tension. How many takes will be necessary to capture the filmmakers’ vision? Will any of them be good enough to capture the audience’s attention, long enough for them to suspend disbelief and enter into the illusion created by all this hard work and machinery? The clapperboard is a simple and key piece of machinery in the dream factory. Its inclusion in this exhibition is a nod to the timeless connection between audiences and filmmakers.
The makeup set is the third 3-D object I have selected. Again we see a sturdy object which is designed to be lugged around and withstand bashes and bumps. It is of itself not at all ephemeral. But what it contains is a set of magic wands which can completely alter a character’s appearance. Makeup is fascinating for its playful relationship to transformation, on and off camera. It liberates us to play with identity, a key theme in cinema. One could argue that the skill of the artist is to conceal the craft in service of the story and this is particularly true of make-up – we usually don’t want to see the cracks. Like the Luminous Work Table this box represents dedication to the art which seeks no glory. The skills of the makeup artist are rarely seen. She works the long hours for the sake of her craft and pleasure in her skill in it.
The painting (White Moor) from Romanian animation studio Animafilm is a particularly poignant exhibit. It is a relic from the past (pre-1989 in Romania). Its existence tells us that even under the most difficult circumstances, dedicated artists were still creating work, telling stories and attempting to transcend their circumstances to move and entertain audiences. The fact that the studio faltered and then collapsed post 1989, a victim of the shifting political landscape, is peculiarly melancholy. The inclusion of this arterfact links us with that past, a bittersweet connection.
The other two 2-D exhibits I have chosen are the posters for Ghost Dog and Bugsy Malone. It’s no surprise that many film aficionados collect posters. They are often our first point of connection with the experience that we will have with the story on screen. As these two demonstrate, the language of graphic design, when well-executed, conjures the feelings that the film will invoke in the audience. The poster for Ghost Dog is deliberately jarring – blurry and difficult to comprehend in a glance. Like a lot of the work of Jim Jarmusch, Ghost Dog the film is demanding of its viewers, refusing to serve a story up without the audience working for it. In the case of Bugsy Malone, it is vibrant, exuberant, excessive. As contributor Larry Karaszewski says, it communicates to the attentive viewer, anything and everything is possible within film.