Loretta Mauriello paid £1 for the first Irish dance class her daughter attended. The modest price, she explains, was part of the attraction. She was working
as a market trader and couldn’t afford much more. The irony isn’t lost on her.
Fast forward 15 years and she practically puts her fingers in her ears when you ask her to quantify what she has spent on her only child’s ‘hobby’, now that her daughter Simona is 21, and still dancing.
‘Oh, don’t go there,’ she shrieks. ‘I’ve never worked it all out. I’m afraid to. But yes, we’re talking thousands and thousands. She first travelled to America for a competition when she was seven, and we’ve been all over the world. Every penny – flights, hotels – has been paid for by me.
Dedication: Loretta Mauriello and her daughter Simona, haven't got an Irish bone in their bodies yet they star in Jig, a new documentary film about the often bizarre world of Irish dance competitions"
‘People think I’m loopy,’ she says, before anyone else can. ‘People who aren’t involved in this game just don’t get it. Parents who pay out thousands and thousands for their kid’s sport might have this dream that they will turn professional one day and become millionaires.
‘That doesn’t happen in Irish dance unless you are Michael Flatley. The best we can hope for is that Simona will make a living from it, but even that’s a long shot. All we really get back is a lot of plastic trophies and cups. She’s got so many of those that we’ve had to bin them. People ask, “Is it worth it?” I say, “Every penny.”’
Loretta and Simona, who live in east London, are of Italian origin, and laugh about the fact they haven’t got an Irish bone in their bodies. Yet they are two of the stars of Jig, a new documentary film about the often bizarre – and strangely compelling – world of Irish dance competitions. It is the brainchild of Sue Bourne, director of documentaries such as Mum And Me and My Street, and producer of the BAFTA-nominated The Falling Man.
Journey: Under the layers of make-up and over-the-top costumes, documentary maker Sue Bourn found something more touching"
found herself hypnotised. ‘Whether it was by the feet, or the wigs, I don’t know. But something odd happened. I felt I’d opened the door to this fascinating world that no one outside the Irish dance community knew anything about.’
She was eventually allowed to go behind the scenes at the world championships in her native Glasgow. Her team also travelled to Holland, Austria, Russia and New York to track some of the 3,000 dancers and their families involved.
‘If you’re like me and think Irish dancing is just about Riverdance, seeing what actually happens is a real eye-opener. It’s a global phenomenon, and there’s this showy side I was totally unaware of: the girls all wear big wigs and fake tan. The dresses are diamanté-studded. There are definite parallels with some of the big US beauty pageants.’
In lesser hands, the documentary – with its hyper parents, ostentatious bling and oceans of St Tropez – could so easily have turned into a more toe-tapping version of My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding. But under the layers of foundation, Sue found something more touching. ‘When we started filming it dawned on me that this wasn’t really a film about dance at all,’ she explains. ‘It’s a film about family, about parenthood, about the desires we have for our children, and about the sacrifices we make for them.’
Nicole Bitter has certainly made a few. Her son Joe started Irish dance classes at the age of eight near the family’s then home in LA. Before long he was insisting on sleeping in his dance shoes, tapping out jigs in his sleep and travelling all over the States for competitions. Then he started entering contests in the UK and Ireland – where the dance world is still focused – at a cost of thousands of dollars.
Fascinating: An eye-opening new documentary on the surreal world of Irish dancing will leave you reeling
The family’s solution?
They moved to the UK, swapping their lavish home with a pool in California for a property in Solihull. ‘It was mainly about being near one particular dance teacher,’ Nicole explains. ‘The Carey Academy in Birmingham is world famous. When it became clear that Irish dancing was going to be Joe’s life’s passion, we sat down and tried to work out how best to help him realise his dream. That meant moving to England. It was a huge effort. But what parent wouldn’t move heaven and earth for their child, if they could?
‘We looked on it as a family adventure, and we still do. It’s one of the best decisions we have ever made. Not everyone in Solihull understands us, though. When I tell them how we moved from California they say, “You poor, pathetic woman”.’ Nicole’s belief in her son has paid off, emotionally if not financially. Joe has now won three world titles and, at 17, is pretty much the David Beckham of the Irish dance world. What next for him though? Nicole is not entirely mad and is encouraging him to pursue a university education.
While Jig will offer Joe a mainstream platform, it’s also likely to make stars of some of the younger dancers on the circuit. John Whitehurst, for instance. John, 11, is the Billy Elliot of Irish dancing. He lives on a council estate in the Midlands. He has five brothers, all football-mad. His mother Mandy admits that most of her salary goes on his dancing, and is relieved he’s not a girl. ‘At least we don’t have the huge cost of dresses,’ she muses.
Not everyone in Solihull understands us, though. When I tell them how we moved from California they say, “You poor, pathetic woman”
Then there is Brogan McCay, also 11. She comes from Derry and is as infectious as they come. ‘I defy anyone who watches the film not to fall in love with Brogan,’ says Sue. Brogan’s main rival at the championships is Julia O’Rourke, another incredibly grown-up ten-year-old from an affluent area of Long Island, New York. Do they end up scratching each other’s eyes out in the final? Surprisingly not. ‘It was a lesson to us all to watch children as young as ten deal so graciously with defeat. It was one of the things that surprised me most about this project,’ says Sue.Just how pushy are the mums in this world? Nicole quibbles with the term, but concedes, ‘If by pushy you mean having high standards and encouraging your child to commit to something they feel passionate about, then yes I am.’ Loretta points out, ‘Simona is the one doing the pushing. She got the hunger to win when she got her very first cup. It has become her life.’
Where does it end? In the film, in triumph and tears, in the best entertainment tradition. In real life? For the best performers, they can look forward to stints on the stage in one of the many worldwide Riverdance-type productions. Loretta thinks her daughter is more likely to strive to open her own dance school, in time. But in purely financial terms, a glittering future is unlikely.
Has it been worth it? ‘Absolutely. I have a daughter who has never given me any trouble with drink or drugs. And she possesses a discipline and drive that most people don’t have, whatever their age. That will always make her a winner in my book.’
Jig is in cinemas now.
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