RTÉ’s panic was palpable – writer tasked with creating ‘Toy Show’ musical recalls fear of it ‘ending up before an Oireachtas committee’

As a writer of scripts and other things, I stick Post-its on my office wall to remind me of it when I’m working.

So, allow me tell you a story.

Enter the month of March 2022, from stage left, with a phone call from RTÉ, asking me would I write the script for a new musical about the Toy Show. Production was planned for December. Of 2022.

The time frame was bonkers but I genuinely believed we’d just about get it over the line.

On April 13, 2022, I officially signed on (remember this date). I entered the story of Toy Show The Musical very late indeed. It was like jumping onto a moving train, travelling at the speed of light, with no clue as to who was driving.

My job was to deliver four drafts of a script, which, realistically speaking, always turns out to be more.

Three of these drafts were due before August and the last one right before rehearsals began in October. At which point, I would sit in rehearsals and rewrite up to and including the first preview. This is normal practice in theatre.

Let’s flash-forward in the story for a moment to a Grant Thornton report released on January 25, 2024. In it, there is plotline worth noting. In a meeting of the board of RTÉ on April 28, 2022, there’s an allusion that the project was a fait accompli, complete with script, cast and a venue.

Dramatic pause… what? If I entered the story on April 13 and I delivered my first script on May 6, how does that add up?

Also, how do you cast a show without a script? You don’t. It wasn’t. ​

But let’s go back to May 2022, when the action really kicked in. I experienced my first workshop of Toy Show The Musical (I gather there had been others before) with the early script I’d scrambled together in less than four weeks.

Soon enough, I got my first taste of RTÉ’s management style. It was a heady mish-mash of “computer says no” and Caesar’s thumb turning downwards in a Roman arena. Then a short but important scene happened off-stage. I found myself in a toilet cubicle in the workshop venue, with my head in my hands.

“This show is going to be a nightmare.” These words were my inner monologue I didn’t dare to say aloud. But on went the big girl pants. The show must go on, right?

There was an abundance of passion for this project. Cynics can (and did) pooh-pooh the idea of a musical version of the beloved Toy Show. But every person involved in it cared and believed in its potential so, so much. Me especially.

After two-and-a-half miserable years of a global pandemic, the possibility of bringing magic and light to the world felt really good. This is a crucial nugget of the story: it is the reason I hung on as long as I could and fought so hard for it to be done right.

The night of the big launch arrived on May 12, 2022. Press releases and publicity bounded centre stage after it was announced live on The Late Late Show. Tickets went on sale. For a show that was not yet fully written.

But here comes June 2022, a new character in our story, bringing with it a second-draft script. I know from years of experience that scripts develop and improve over time, but my employers did not.

The sense of panic and pressure emanating from RTÉ was palpable.

“This is going to end up in front of an Oireachtas committee,” I said to my husband.

Little did I know that my own third act was around the corner.

July burst on stage like a bat out of hell. An unwieldy, crazed character determined to upstage the dramatics of the previous months, my fate on Toy Show The Musical was about to be sealed.

RTÉ wanted a completely new (to me) direction for the story and tone of the show. They were so fiercely protective of the Toy Show brand, it proved too much to hand over creative control.

The external workers hired for this project collectively had about a century’s worth of theatre experience. But when the rubber met the road, most of our advice was not heeded.

I took a strong stand against this “new direction”, both its quality and content. Then I went back to the costume box for my big girl pants and assumed a “disagree but commit” professionalism.

Whatever they threw at me, I typed it up. Like a pliant wizard, I assumed my new role as a typist. ​

In August, I was canned.

The news was delivered in a meeting with no witnesses. A “more experienced” writer with musical theatre experience was coming on board.

Writers get fired all the time, it’s part of the gig and nothing personal. Maybe questioning the unorthodox practices of the project made me a target. Maybe they thought I was a s**t writer. Who knows? But after this point there was no full-time, professional writer on this project.

An update to the Grant Thornton report came out yesterday, naming previously anonymised sources. Only executive level or above are named in association with Toy Show The Musical.

And then there’s me. The publicly listed writer of this hot mess who wasn’t even in the room where it happened.

RTÉ deserves all the credit. To this day, I don’t know who wrote what actually went on stage in Dublin’s Convention Centre. And so I am a memo on a Post-it note, who entered a story late, and exited early.

It’s been hard to have my name attached to something that isn’t mine. But behind every story is the truth. And the truth might set me free.