Book Review: Ireland and Cinema: Culture and Contexts


Deirdre Molumby takes a look at Ireland and Cinema: Culture and Contexts, which offers a broad range of academic approaches to contemporary and historical Irish filmmaking and representations of nationality, national identity, and theoretical questions around the construction of Ireland and Irishness on the screen. The volume is edited by Barry Monahan, College Lecturer at University College Cork in Film Studies.

Initially it would seem that Ireland and Cinema: Culture and Contexts has chosen a vague, all-encapsulating title to sew together its disparate and broad range of content. Fortunately, this breadth is the book’s strength, and whether one’s interest is in Irish cinema or in a broader field of study – gender, politics, and international perspectives seem to feed into most of the individual essay’s subject matter – there is accessible reading and scholarly provocation for all. What Ireland and Cinema achieves most impressively is its capturing of this present, unique moment in the field of Irish film studies in which the work of a number of impressive new scholars is gathering momentum. Reference is made to what has come before, the excitement of what is occurring in academia right now is captured, and the anticipation of what is to come is evoked.

The foreword, entitled ‘Irish National Cinema – What Have We Wrought? Contemporary Thoughts on a Recent History’ provides an engaging opening to the book. It encapsulates an impressively neat summary of the subject in question, and includes a history of the Irish Film Board, a look at the international attention given to Irish cinema (initially through the seminal work of Jim Sheridan and Neil Jordan), the opening up of the Irish film and television industry to major international co-productions, the development of a film industry in Northern Ireland, as well as thoughts on Irish film studies as an academic field. The choice of writer for this foreword could not be more appropriate – the recently retired Martin McLoone has written key texts which would be most Irish film studies students’ go-to books, including Irish Film: The Emergence of a Contemporary Cinema (2000) and Film, Media and Popular Culture in Ireland: Cityscapes, Landscapes, Soundscapes (2008).

Editor Barry Monahan provides an introduction to the book which includes a contemplation of the meaning of national cinema and praise of the innovative work of Ireland’s academic commentators, before providing a practical summary of each of the essays included in the volume. Therein follows a vast range of rich, diverse and immersive essays. The contributors come from Ireland and Northern Ireland’s top universities, while alternative equally interesting perspectives come from France, Germany, Finland and America. A spectrum of researchers, lecturers, PhD candidates, sociologists and professors make up the writers of the volume, each providing thoughtful and confident viewpoints of their specialty field.

It is far too great a challenge to select the standout chapters with such a selection so only a summary to the collection, which simply cannot do justice to the vista of its content, will be provided here. Part I consists of an essay that contemplates historical and more recent ideological functions of home and place in Irish cinema, followed by a chapter on space, mobility and gender in the Veronica Guerin films. This section also includes a particularly intriguing chapter on representations of accents in Dublin-set films, and another on Snap, considering how trauma and sexual abuse are worked through in Carmel Winters’ film.

Part II opens with a riveting essay on female stardom in Irish cinema, focussing on the actresses Saoirse Ronan and Ruth Negga, which is followed appropriately by a contemplation of Johnathon Rhys Myers’ role in The Tudors, arguing that there is a particularly Irish masculinity in the construction of his character, King Henry VIII. The next essay explores ethnic and gender stereotypes in P.S. I Love You, followed by a review of His & Hers that mourns the documentary’s lack of transgression in its gender representations.

Part III consists of essays on Northern Ireland, including an analysis of a collaborative film project made on the experiences of women as workers and visitors of the Maze and Long Kesh Prison, and another on the political body in Steve McQueen’s Hunger.

Part IV presents some overseas perspectives of Irish cinema. The volume ends with an interview conducted by Ciara Chambers and Barry Monahan with Susanna Pellis, the artistic director of the Rome Irish Film Festa. The interview provides a compelling consideration of the role of film festivals in the industry, and, through discussions about prize-giving, finance, the future and other topics, aptly captures the recurring thoughts of the book – a celebration of the current state of Irish cinema (with regards both production and academia) and speculation for the years ahead.



  • Hardcover: 240 pages
  • Publisher: Palgrave Macmillan (26 Aug. 2015)
  • Language: English
  • ISBN-10: 1137496355
  • ISBN-13: 978-1137496355
  • Product Dimensions: 14 x 1.4 x 21.6 cm



Book Review: Seeing Is Believing: The Politics of the Visual



Seeing Is Believing: The Politics of the Visual

Rod Stoneman (London: Blackdog Publishing, 2013)


Barry Monahan is stirred and stimulated by Rod Stoneman‘s personal and analytical investigation into the politics of visual communication.


One might be led to believe, in the light of many recent public discussions on the development of the World Wide Web and its consequences for hard copy publishing, that the book as we know it is as dead now as was the author in 1967. Anecdotal evidence of young children (i-Kids?) dragging their fingers over glossy paper printed images, expecting them to respond to the touch, may reinforce the same thinking. A contemporary notion of “Western” literacy, it would seem, requires – or invites – more than an ability to recognise twenty-six letters and ten numerals, and to understand the syntactic rules by which they are arranged on a rectangular piece of paper, in order to be read from top-left to bottom-right. Even the most basic interaction with a page of material on the web can stimulate the eye and mind from regular two-dimensional linear reading, towards multi-layered, intertextual and inspirational digressions, diversions and distractions. It is not difficult to see why a certain pessimism about the fate of the traditional hard bound copy might emerge in the face of this new stimulating, multifaceted and almost synesthetic way of sharing knowledge. Traditional conceptualisations of reading and thinking may have now forever become just that: “traditional”.


It is fitting then, that a book whose very content asks probing questions about the construction of identity, our understanding of our planet and each other, and about what it means to be an observing individual in the 21st century, is as performative in its thematic observations as it is in its formal design. Rod Stoneman’s Seeing Is Believing: The Politics of the Visual is simultaneously a stirring assault on the mind and an invitation to engage with the flat page in a multi-directional, four-dimensional way. With a very non-traditional format, Stoneman’s text interacts with footnotes, referential comments and images with a wonderful dialectical layering that is both rich in information and creatively thought-provoking.


What’s more, the dialectical approach that Stoneman has used is not just superficial to the engaging design of the manuscript. Core arguments, propositions and polemical interventions that run through the book are interwoven with reflections that set personal memory in dialogue with the historical, the private biographical moment into conflict with the global political, and merge the mechanics of mediation with fields of ontological and ethical discourse.


Take, as two examples, Stoneman’s sections “Crying Wolf Too Late” (in the chapter Film/Television) and “Family Snaps” (in The Quotidian/The Strange). Stoneman begins the former with a personal recollection of a BBC Horizon documentary that, in the early 1970s, offered one of the most public declarations of the imminent destruction of the environment by mankind. He develops his thinking by making constant connections between his own personal experiences and the broader eco-political developments as they unfolded over three decades. A significant encounter in 2006 with a friend who worked in television news is used to bring his own involvement with the issues into contact with mediation of the same information, and the increasingly anxious contemporary political concerns on the matter. Having just met with “senior government scientists”, his contact expressed hopelessness at being unable to find a broadcast space of dissemination that could usefully relate the gravity of the situation to the public. Her feelings of concern and powerlessness to transmit the facts about the pressing issue leave Stoneman with similar exasperation and he concludes: “Whether it was the responsibility of a broadcaster or the worries of a mother, it was a serious epiphany, and by osmosis I felt the shock.” (119) At this poignant moment in the chapter, Stoneman juxtaposes his own feelings neatly with the words “broadcaster” and “mother” in a way that, so typically in the rest of the book, endows the individual with a responsibility that reaches beyond the immediate, private (domestic) and personal, towards processes of mediation, and the public and political spheres. “Family Snaps” also binds the private experience – as mediated – to the universal truth of mortality as inevitable confrontation. Although the section is no less politically probing its focus is more ontological. In this segment Stoneman questions the consequences for contemporary understanding about living and dying in a world of new digital technologies of communication. As polemical, and honest, as the preceding sections, he ends with a rhetorical suggestion: “We should repurpose pictures to develop more advantageous understandings of the world in our short life together before we cross the abyss.”


Stoneman’s preface is appropriately unapologetic when it comes to the polemical moral and ethical concerns at the heart of his thesis. The potency of the image – both beautiful in its transformative capability and perilous in its propagandist potential – is set out from the get-go. While he confesses to having had a position of privilege in relation to the management of certain aspects of visual culture, his implicit invitation is a call to responsibility to all of those who create, design, disseminate and consume images (a call to no less than every 21st century member of the human race). His critical influences are also foregrounded – Adorno, Barthes, Benjamin and Debord are all evoked – and their voices emerge periodically throughout the whole work. While there is no question that Stoneman rejects outright any pragmatic distinction held between active doing and dynamic thinking, and reflects affirmatively upon this epoch’s melting of “traditional distinctions between text and commentary, theory and practice” (10) – he calls these “advances” – his book engages the reader so intimately, and actively, that one can have faith in the sincerity of conviction held throughout.


Perhaps surprisingly, in the light of the analytical depth and empirical breadth which the reader is invited to explore peripatetically, the prose is always engaging, lucid and gently rich in the information offered. Note, as one example of this, how a single three-line sentence presents a wealth of evidence with prosaic simplicity: “Bataille was active in a tributary of French Surrealism and is directly connected with psychoanalyst and theorist, Jacques Lacan since they were both married to Sylvia Makles, the actress in Renoir’s Partie de Campagne, France, 1936.” (35) With a neat imbrication of historical account and personal reflection, Stoneman inserts the first person pronoun in ways that subtly transform ideologies into idealisms, and constantly reminds his readers of their role in moral issues that have often become in other writings too conceptual, remote and safely removed from individuals’ sense of responsibility.


Elsewhere, Stoneman removes himself from the commentary and lets the participating witnesses of history speak for themselves. On the infamous photograph of Nguyen Ngoc Loan’s street execution of a Viet Cong office, he notes: “Eddie Adams was haunted by the picture he had taken and its consequences: ‘The general [sic] killed the Viet Cong; I killed the general with my camera. Still photographs are the most powerful weapon in the world. People believe them; but photographs do lie, even without manipulation. They are only half-truths.’” (36) Then, with inconspicuous artistry, Stoneman immediately draws the reader directly back into the conversation, demanding reflection by presenting six hanging rhetorical questions, the penultimate one of which asks: “How is it possible to keep open a softness of response, a tenderness in relationship with as many aspects of the world as possible, when receptivity is hurt, shocked and hardened into something that is more able to deal with images like these?” (36)


Stoneman’s modulated personal interventions into his polemic – whether though direct personal reflection or opinion, autobiographical detail, or photographs or screen shots of himself or his family – are testimony to his deep-rooted conviction in the ideas that he presents. But they also invite implication of the reader into the political, historical, cultural and socio-economic realities that continue to perpetrate – increasingly potently, through images – numerous global social inequities in the 21st century experience. In spite of manifestly expressed disappointment, Stoneman ultimately offers hope, as individuals’ access to the technologies of production and dissemination of visual culture increases year by year and, even progressively, month by month.


This personal and political treatise offers from its core a reconsideration of the need to connect – and remind ourselves of the necessity to connect – the personal with the political. It enacts, in content and design, what it challenges its readers to do. It will stimulate thinking for anyone who loves to think: students (amateur and “professional”) of visual culture and of the contemporary global situation will find this publication stimulating, demanding and, ultimately, a thoroughly enriching experience. With the first modern technological intervention into the world of publication – “making public” – circa 1439, Guttenberg facilitated a connection between the individual and the masses; and the first web of ideas took shape. That it is now a worldwide phenomenon and mediation has become almost “immediate” is not evidence of the death of the book, a fact to which this innovative and avant garde work amply attests.



Dr Barry Monahan is a College Lecturer in Film Studies in the School of English at University College Cork. His main teaching and research interests are: the history and aesthetics of Irish and other national cinemas and film theory.


A Film Festival of Ideas: Reflections on the 7th Irish Film Festa in Rome



Ciara Chambers and Barry Monahan report from Rome, where the Irish Film Festa shone with stories and sizzled with ideas.


As has been the case annually since its inception in 2007, once again this year one of the triumphs of the Irish Film Festa (27 – 30 March 2014) was its amalgamation of a regular core structure with an interesting diversity of supplementary events. The festival used to be held in late-November but has now been moved to March by creative director Susanna Pellis for reasons of publicity (it’s closer to Saint Patrick’s Day) and practicality (it allows Pellis more time to gather her selection of films from the previous year’s festivals). Now in its seventh incarnation, the four-day event again offered participants and patrons a rich schedule of interviews, presentations, workshops, and question and answer sessions, along with the opportunity to see some of the best of contemporary fiction and non-fiction, short and feature-length productions from the island. With her ear close to the Irish turf, Susanna Pellis has always been quick to seize upon any chance to celebrate innovations in Irish cinema, and this year’s surprise was the screening of two of the four digitally remastered programmes from Bob Quinn’s Atlantean (first broadcast in 1984).


 Atlantean (Bob Quinn)

The eclectic miscellany of personalities and events that make up the programme contributes in a substantial way to the appeal of the festival and marks its distinction among others. This time was no different from any other season and, once again, invited guests included established and up-and-coming filmmakers and actors, practitioners, critics and journalists. Audiences were invited to engage actively in discussions with the participating artists and, this year, there was a strong sense that the conversations that took place on Irish cinema were not merely dialogues sharing ideas, but dialogues about ideas. In a post-screening exchange between Bob Quinn and Lelia Doolan – two of the creative intellectuals who were influential protagonists in the original and long-fought drive for government support for an Irish film industry – notwithstanding optimism for the future with a strong call to greater philosophical and aesthetic engagement with the medium by filmmakers, feelings of frustration were also aired. Ireland needs to be a place of more profound thought; where cultural texts express ideas, challenge diurnal attitudes, and propose radical concepts. The implication, needing no clarification, was that makers of cinema should be the avant garde of this revolution.


It’s no longer novel to proclaim the democratisation of the medium through individuals’ access to, or use of, the available filmmaking technologies; and no longer innovative to proclaim the fact that each of us with a smart phone and internet access can record material and make a film. What is at question is the quality of what is being produced in this mass tsunami of making and dissemination. We can send and see anything – that’s taken as read – but how and what are we seeing, and how profoundly and probingly this material is asking us to question our life in the 21st century, seem to be residual ideas that need greater mainstream interrogation. The talent and knowledge of a technical production of images for our screens is becoming increasingly widespread, but perhaps this breadth of experience has not been met with a commensurate conceptual depth?


Holding on to this thought, audiences were invited to see several recently-produced short and feature-length productions, all of which were generally representative of how filmmaking was developing in Ireland. While the festival director has stated that her ideal was that it never become an outright “competition festival”, patrons did hold until the last evening’s announcement of “Best Short Film in Festival” to see what the Italian jury endorsed from our output. The winner was Brian Deane’s Volkswagen Joe (2013) which had been contextualised for the audience by its main actor, Stuart Graham. Set in 1981 and following the financial and political manipulation of border-town mechanic Joe, it also leaves itself open to readings of current economic desperation for small business owners. Its powerful climactic standoff thus resonates with a range of local and international audiences. In terms of its programming, Volkswagen Joe opened the festival’s “Belfast Day” which also included a lively post-screening discussion about Made in Belfast with Ciarán McMenamin and Stuart Graham. The film is the first feature to be produced by Graham’s independent production company, KGB Screen, which he established with Paul Kennedy and Louise Gallagher. Shot over just thirteen days, the film repositions Belfast, so often the site of violent political conflict in cinema, as an evolving cultural centre. The film shows that the city has other stories to tell, but it also functions well in its coverage of writer Jack Kelly, returning home to visit his dying father, as a tale of post-conflict optimism. Jack must mend the rifts he left behind because of his bad behaviour towards his family, friends and former fiancée. He returns from his current home, Paris, to find a city in transition and he spends his time there making amends for his past actions. Once this is done, Belfast has transformed into a place he can consider living in once again, rather than one he must leave to escape further conflict. So much of this echoes in the on-going efforts of all involved in the complicated regeneration of Northern Ireland and its liminal spaces as part of the continuing peace process. Made in Belfast’s rousing soundtrack showcases a number of local bands, testifying to the diversity of ways in which the film displays the city, its locations and its local talent, and it offers a sign to other independent filmmakers that such production is possible. Belfast day concluded with another rousing and optimistic narrative in the form of Glenn Leyburn and Lisa Barros D’Sa’s Good Vibrations (2012), the tale of provocative local music producer Terri Hooley. The film acts as a musical call to arms, with the suggestion that shared cultural experiences can heal the wounds of conflict. All of the films included in Belfast day testify to the diversity of ways in which filmmakers are interrogating Northern Ireland’s troubled past but also recognising the range of other stories that its central city has to tell.

Stuart Graham receiving the award for best short for Volkswagen Joe from Ambassandor Bobby McD​o​nagh and creative director Susanna Pellis.

The features programming opened with John Butler’s raucous comedy The Stag (2013), an exploration of contemporary Irish masculinity and recessionary woes. Also included were the lighthearted romantic comedy The Callback Queen (2013, Graham Cantwell), the frenetic exploration of corrupt border cultures, Black Ice (Johnny Gogan 2013) and stalwart Neil Jordan’s visceral vampire epic Byzantium (2013). Perhaps one of the highlights was Steph Green’s charmingly melancholic Run and Jump (2013), which depicts one family’s struggle to cope with challenging circumstances after a young father suffers a stroke. A visiting American doctor, conducting research into the man’s health after the event, further upsets the fragile family equilibrium. The film’s musings on tensions between individual desires and family responsibility contribute to a contemplative and bittersweet portrait of an outsider’s interaction with the Irish family.


The shorts and animation programming boasted an excellent selection of films which were both thematically engaging and aesthetically accomplished. The animations included Damien O’Connor’s nostalgic tale of a Dublin doorman, After You (2012), Teemu Auersalo’s Learning to Fish (2012) a quirky animation with awkwardly angular seagulls fighting for fish, and the charming stop animation Irish Folk Furniture by Tony Donoghue. One of the highlights was Conor Finnegan’s hilarious Fear of Flying (2012), a film that definitely merits repeat viewings. The partially animated Two Wheels Good (Barry Gene Murphy, 2012) is a wonderfully evocative portrait of cycling that celebrates the pleasures of movement – both physically and cinematically. The joy of movement was also the focus of live action dance-based short Off Your Trolley (Terence White, 2011). The other shorts included the stylish supernatural drama Nocturne Passage (Amy Joyce Hastings, 2013), a nostalgic celebration of childhood in The Daisy Chain (Denis Fitzpatrick & Ken Williams, 2013) and an exploration of how one group of “shed poets” deal with life, love and loss in Tidings (Greg Colley, 2013). Michael Kinirons’ hospital drama I Can’t See You Anymore (2013) had a particularly interesting premise for an audience of devoted cinemagoers, and the heartbreaking drama Stolen (Yvonne Keane, 2013) provided a startlingly moving narrative twist. Cathy Brady’s Morning offered excellent performances from Eileen Walsh as a grieving mother and Johnny Harris as a tabloid photographer with a conscience. Tom Sullivan and Feidlim Cannon’s evocative drama Mechanic (2013) also boasted sturdy performances from Paul Roe as the suicidal central protagonist and Sil Fox as the older man who (perhaps) unwittingly intervenes in his plans for a quiet death.


Two Wheels Good (Barry Gene Murphy)

Audiences in Rome had an opportunity to see two of the four parts of Bob Quinn’s 1984 documentary, Atlantean; Quinn’s offering that proposes a cultural and historical connection between Irish and North African societies. The thesis of the programme presents the idea that there has been a greater influence on our heritage from that continent than from the Celtic European spread and developments of the tenth and eleventh centuries. Fundamentally, the episodes argue that cultural influences have moved more fluidly from the sea than from the land; thus connecting us more significantly to other sea-faring nations. The argument is only half of the substance, here, as so much of what Bob Quinn has done – with his typical naughtiness – is to play with the structure in which information is presented. His agility with the form and his brilliant creativity are so conceptually exact that it is very difficult to tie him down on the conviction of what he’s proposing. But this is not really the point. Ultimately, what Quinn wants to remind us is that history is “up for grabs”; that it can be – and is – written and rewritten, made and remade, that it is open to negotiation and debate. What he does with his documentary is invite our critical reflection on the material. Formally his process is profoundly innovative – as has always been the case with his work – he plays with interviews, voice overs, found material and the documentary style in a way that unceasingly challenges the spectator to think. His authorial commentary, by Alan Stanford, acknowledges with some irony the precision of his findings, but this specialist is only allowed to refer to the documentarian in the third person. What Quinn has done with this complex piece was so ahead of its time in 1984, that its relevance today on thinking about how and who we are, cannot but be held as an expression of what it is to make films about ourselves in the 21st century, and demand that we keep thinking about our national sense-of-self.


Following Quinn’s documentary, audiences were invited to Lelia Doolan’s Bernadette: Notes on a Political Journey. This film was more contemporary, deliberately politically focussed, and formally conventional, but just as powerful. Going back to the late-1960s, the film documents the activities of the 21 year old Bernadette Devlin whose struggle for social equality in Northern Ireland gathered a momentum that ultimately resulted in her being voted to the House of Commons. As the film charts Devlin’s political progress it demonstrates how her voice was variously used and misrepresented by opposing Republican and Loyalist sides in ways that falsely mobilised her agenda as sectarian rather than socialist. Her youth, brilliance and charisma earned her attention on both sides of the Atlantic and she explains in interview how meeting with African American activists during a visit to the United States crystallised her sense of the desperate need for the fight against societal inequality in all of its manifestations.  As surely as Devlin’s agenda was commandeered by the political apologists on both sides of the Northern debate, once the Good Friday agreement was signed, her public position seems to have been relegated, her voice marginalised by the same media that had once feverishly documented her ideological contentions. The documentary leaves her as an active member of the South Tyrone Empowerment Programme – an organisation that she endorses in its “grassroots” affectivity – with some comment offered on her feelings about the jailing of her daughter in Britain as negative consequence of her own personal profile and political struggle.

_PER4551 Lelia Doolan (left) Q&A after the screening of Bernadette, with Susanna Pelis.

After the screening of each film, we had the chance to hear from the directors, who were present. Whatever about the rarity of this kind of opportunity, to be able to access the thinking behind the creative process and listen to the philosophical perspectives of the filmmakers is a complement to the screening that is unfortunately too uncommon. Bob Quinn and Lelia Doolan spoke about the processes of the productions, and the motivations behind them, and then also entered into a dialogue with one another. The conversation about the contemporary state of Irish film was richly addressed by two contemporaries whose productions, created almost three decades apart, shared a number of implicit ideals: that we need a greater cinema of ideas; that our films must continue to entertain but should never avoid taking a political stance and asking difficult ideological questions; that we should never stop questioning our cultural situation; and that our cinema ought to endorse, defend and challenge our sense of what it is to be Irish in the 21st century.


The excellent features and shorts programming was further bolstered by a focussed set of workshops including an opportunity to “Meet Ireland on Screen” facilitated by Enterprise Ireland and the Irish Film Board and an “Acting for Camera” session by Academy Award nominated director Graham Cantwell. Aine O’Healy’s interview with Kate O’Toole offered a fascinating portrait of her father, Peter O’Toole, which was humorous, moving and certainly left the audience wanting more. Simona Pellis’ talk on the festival’s recommended reading, quirky Belfast novel Eureka Street by Robert McLiam Wilson, further testifies to the rich interdisciplinarity of the festival overall, as it tapped into themes of identity, memory, history, music, acting, and the politics of filmmaking itself.


There’s an implicit expectation that, over the course of their development, film festivals grow and become more diverse in the design of their menu and the range of what they offer. In this respect the Rome Irish Film Festival has constantly out-performed itself: with appearing guest filmmakers and commentators; with the breadth of short and feature length documentaries and fiction films screened; and with the number of additional presentations and workshops offered. The vision and design of its Artistic Director – Susanna Pellis – is evidentially spot-on, as large queues of Roman audiences flocked to everything they could possibly attend during the course of the four-day event. She has successfully developed a celebration of Irish cinema that has garnered the support of enthusiastic Italians and, increasingly, the attention of some of the most interesting Irish women and men working in the industry. Her innovation and creativity are relentless, and we should acknowledge, from home, our fortune at having such a dedicated cultural ambassador inviting audiences from overseas to celebrate what is, still regrettably, a small part of our creative output.


It is certainly humbling, for enthusiasts of this medium, to have such recognition and support from patrons of the nation that gave us Neorealism in the 1940s, and directors like Rossellini, De Sica, Fellini, Antonioni, Bertolucci and Leone. That our cinema is being seen, and furthermore discussed, in this kind of forum is enough to demand that, back on Irish shores, we seek to facilitate similar engagement with, and discussion around, what is increasingly the most significant cultural format of our lives. If festivals like this in Italy prove that Rome is truly an open city of ideas, let us embark upon a similar agenda of critical reflection on our cinematic cultural production when we gather to celebrate our filmmaking at home-based festivals.


Ciara Chambers (UU, Coleraine) & Barry Monahan (UCC), April 2014