Sherman Cymru’s ‘Clytemnestra’

"When we've killed all the animals 

Men will be next."

Jaye Griffiths 

I absolutely love Greek Tragedy. Drama based on human suffering often provides fantastic opportunities for powerful, compelling staging, and being promised dramatic story-telling from the former National Poet of Wales, Gwyneth Lewis and bold direction from Amy Hodge, I was understandably excited. On seeing the set I was even more convinced that what I was about to see would not only be powerful, but gripping and bloody. The set, a dystopian abattoir with blood splattered up the white tiles, was intense and macabre; the production had amazing potential. Enter writhing, heavy breathing actors: evil spirits utilised to urge characters to perform heinous deeds whilst simultaneously meant to represent the traditional Greek Chorus. It’s frustrating when a production refuses to let the audience witness the inner mental turmoil of condemned characters without insisting on external devices. Not only is it slightly patronizing to an audience, but it’s extremely distracting; at one point I was so close to a contorted spirit, I had to tuck my legs in from the stage. These creatures were inexplicably physical, rolling about the stage and talking in shrill whispers. It left me incredibly unconvinced of Clytemnestra’s mental instability, and made me question her motives, when ordinarily said motives should have been obvious. Having said that, an image which was extremely powerful and ensured a feeling of warped sympathy was the image of Clytemnestra, knelt down in a dreamy bewilderment, rapidly scooping the ashes of her daughter into her open mouth in order to re-consume her child.
 
Gwyneth Lewis manages to include a clear narrative, but I couldn’t help but feel that this was done in an untactful way. At one point, an abattoir worker stands looking offstage filling the audience in, but doing so in such a way, it sounded as if he was reading from an internet information page. I must observe however, that the scenes at the abattoir with the three workers, although slightly jarring with the scenes of Clytemnestra’s descent into madness, were a highlight. The dialogue was fast-paced and amusing and provided a small amount of light into an otherwise dense production. 


Clytemnestra herself, played by Jaye Griffiths, had fantastic potential as a character. She was essentially a female Titus, cascading into a grief ridden hysteria which would inevitably drive her to murder. Why then was this descent so anti-climactic?  Shakespeare wrote, “Extremity of griefs would make men mad”, but I couldn't help but think that the extremity of Clytemnestra’s grief made her merely ‘temporarily irrational.’ Agamemnon hands over his and Clytemnestra’s daughter Iphigenia to a feral gang who brutally rape and murder her. The severity of such barbarous acts committed against her child surely provides an enormous opportunity for a tremendous act of revenge. So she stabs him offstage then re-enters wearing some fancy red-laced gloves. There was potential here for her to re-enter covered in her husband's blood, stood centre stage brandishing the knife, her terrifying psychological destruction visible in her emotion. This was the climactic ending the play, and indeed the audience, deserved. But it never arrived. Instead, Agamemnon’s corpse hung upside down at the back of the stage as a visual representation of Clytemnestra’s revenge. It just wasn’t powerful enough.
 
At the Edinburgh Fringe last year, I went to see Action  to the Word’s production of ‘Titus Andronicus’. Similar to the story of Clytemnestra, Titus is a play which requires visual atrocities and bloodshed. Although this is not always enjoyable in a production,(at one point, Tamora spat her flesh pie out into the audience and it landed happily with a dreadful splat on my leg) sometimes a narrative calls for it: Clytemnestra was one of these narratives. It’s a shame it never got that. I believe that by pushing the boundaries that bit further, the production would have lived-up to its potential. But maybe I’m just gore obsessed. In a purely theatrical sense of course.

 Clytemnestra runs from April 18, 2012 at 7:30pm to May 5, 2012 at 9:30pm
Location: Sherman Cymru

Action to the Word's 'Titus Andronicus' in Edinburgh

A Statue of Dylan Thomas

My last blog post was before Christmas. There was a moment when I considered the possibility that this issue may be linked intrinsically to a bout of festive laziness. However, this moment was a brief one, and the thought was quickly dismissed. I then began to wonder whether  the lack of blog post was due to a lack of Welsh Theatre, but then I remembered I’d already written that blog, so I couldn’t go down that route for fear of becoming tedious and languorous, repeating the same old concerns(what do you mean you haven’t read it? Go and read it, then come back to this blog, and appreciate the reference. It might even make you laugh. That’s a bit presumptuous actually. It would be more of a light titter if anything. A playful smile perhaps. But again, I’m being presumptuous.) I have therefore come to the conclusion that I simply haven’t written a blog since December because I had nothing to say, and as tragic as that sounds, I really was just saving you all the bother of reading pointless drivel.  You’re welcome.

I should have written a review of ‘Deffro’r Gwanwyn’. I should have done that. I took notes on the performance and everything. I had a special private preview of the show with the director Elen Bowman in preparation for my impending review subsequent to its performance.  Now I wish I had written that review, because the production was really enjoyable, and coming from a musical pessimist, that statement in itself is a favourable review.  I think the show really struck a chord with me because it harked back to my school days. I found the whole experience extremely nostalgic, and as a great believer in the cathartic nature of Theatre, the fact that this production was able to affect me in this way is surely an indication of its merit.  Perhaps it was something to do with bumping into my school drama teachers in the foyer, but I like to think it was largely due to the former reason.  The translation of the music (my particular favourite, ‘Totally Fucked’ translated to ‘Dwi’n Fucked’) and the immaculate choreography were the productions strongest points. Aled Pedrick took on the lead role of Melchior, and gave a strong performance.  I think his performance probably would have had more of an effect on me had I not witnessed his talents several times before at school (naturally he was often the lead, and I was usually on a wall or squashed against the lighting box as part of the chorus), so I was definitely expectant of a flawless vocal performance, and I was not disappointed. I was slightly more mesmerised by the performance of Iddon Jones, who played the sexually naive Moritz. In fact, I found myself retrospectively wishing that I’d held onto his hand a little longer than is perhaps socially acceptable when I was introduced to him at one of the rehearsals in Carmarthen.  So, consider that my compressed review of ‘Deffro’r Gwanwyn’ by Theatr Genedlaethol. I’m glad I got that off my chest.

This blog post isn’t just to vent repressed theatrical criticisms. Oh no, it is so much more than that. Actually, I feel that comment might be slightly misleading, in the sense that I’m potentially building this up to be more than it inevitably will be. Don’t be disheartened by my own pessimism. I’m being modest.  Unless you think that’s somewhat arrogant, in which case, the blog is what it is, but I think you should continue reading. Moving swiftly on...

This year proves to be an exciting one in terms of Welsh arts. With the re-opening of Sherman Cymru looming, I’m highly anticipating the first production of ‘Sgint’ by Bethan Marlow, directed by Arwel Gruffydd.  Significantly, a Welsh language play signals the launch of Sherman’s new programme, which can only be a positive signifier of the near future for Welsh language writing, something which I feel is integral to the preservation of our heritage and culture, as many do. So much so in fact, that I’ve already booked my ticket, a rarity for me let me assure you. Review to ensue. This year looks to be a massive year for National Theatre Wales too, with Welshman Peter Gill’s production of ‘A Provincial Life’ beginning in March at the Sherman. From then on, we look set to be bombarded with an array of innovative theatre from the company.  I’m particularly looking forward to ‘Little Dogs’, a production inspired by Dylan Thomas. Being a native of the Swansea valleys, some may think it’s predictable that I would be interested in this specific piece of theatre, but in all honesty, I’ve never been much of a fan of Thomas. This statement is practically blasphemous where I come from. Yes, I’m implying that Thomas is a sort of holy figure in Swansea and its surrounding valleys; it’s difficult to argue otherwise.  There’s the Dylan Thomas centre, a theatre, a school: the list goes on. In fact, I recall having my photo taken with a metallic statue of him on Swansea Marina one summer.  A photo with a statue of Dylan Thomas: for me, that epitomises his fame and legacy for us Welsh folk. I’m not sure why I never bought into the whole ‘Dylan Thomas’ hysteria, especially considering the fact that I have a literature degree. I’m often caught out in situations where somebody will discover that I never actually finished reading ‘Under Milk Wood’. I’m met with looks of horror, exclamations of disgust. Somebody was sick once. Ok, that’s definitely an exaggeration, but that really is the severity of the situation. I don’t have an excuse for not reading it. I’ve picked up a copy of it countless times. I remember sitting in the Arts and Socials library on a rainy Monday afternoon with a copy of it in front of me. I may have been heavily procrastinating with various pieces of literature, but a couple of pages in, I reverted back to my essay on the religious homilies allegedly depicted in Shakespeare’s Histories plays. I am however quite fond of the short story ‘Extraordinary Little Cough’. I particularly enjoy the conclusion:

“And when I stared round at George again he was lying on his back fast asleep in the deep grass and his hair was touching the flames.”

That image is really interesting. Ordinarily, such a statement would signal the beginning of a tale, but in this case, Thomas uses it as an ending.  I never even saw the film ‘The Edge of Love’, despite my curiosity surrounding the execution of the Welsh accent depicted by Keira Knightley and Sienna Miller. I was in Cardiff museum this week, and found myself standing for a good ten minutes in front of a water colour portrait of Thomas. He really was unfortunate looking. He sits snugly next to a portrait of the Polish painter Josef Hermann, an artist who I am extremely interested in mainly because he lived most of his life in my home village of Ystradgynlais. His paintings are so fantastic, and really capture the mood of the repressed, coal mining valley of the 1940’s. Rolf Harris visited Ystradgynlais as a result of this connection. A big day for us in the village. Interestingly, there now also exists a large photo of Michael Sheen in the same section as these portraits. It’s hidden in a corner, almost as if it’s aware of its inferiority. That’s not a personal opinion. I love Michael Sheen. I think it’s just an issue of maturity, both in subject and art form. There’s also a large photo of the Welsh harpist Catrin Finch. For some reason she’s seemingly naked and wearing some sort of furry hooded cape, with a naked pregnant stomach making a disturbing appearance. Also, there’s no harp in the photo, which I think is slightly misleading.

So you see this blog wasn’t just a backdated review. It was in fact a long tangent of issues related to Wales, mainly Dylan Thomas. Ironic really, considering the fact that I always tried to avoid writing about him during my Literature degree. A legitimate theatre review will be my next blog post, I promise. I’ll leave you with a portrait of Thomas, the very same which I stood in front of and undoubtedly, albeit subliminally, aroused this apparent need to write about him.

“Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”

Dirty Protest’s ‘Office Christmas Party’

‘Five new plays exploring the world of the office Christmas party.’

The concept behind the whole event was an extremely intriguing one: a small conveyor belt of original writing excerpts situated in different venues on Cardiff’s city road.  It was difficult to know what to expect, but this ambiguity transpired to be one of the attractions of the evening. Starting at the conservative club next door to Milgi, we were ushered inside and divided into three groups.  A choice of chocolates and festive gifts greeted us as we got upstairs before we were invited to get a drink at the bar and take a seat. As 8pm neared, the place had really started to fill up; the turnout was excellent. It just goes to show that people are still interested in innovative new theatre projects.

A scene by Aled Roberts entitled A Cold Coming signalled the beginning of the evening’s performances. A dead body was carried through the crowd and put onto the table in the middle of the room. The fifteen minute scene, which centred on the desired last rights of a Catholic man, was a pleasing piece of script despite occasionally slipping into some clichés. An extract written by Beth Granville entitled Foiled followed. The script was slightly more generic than the first. The performance was punctured slightly by members of the cast forgetting lines, but on the whole, it seemed to appeal to the audience. Next up was Mistakes have been made by Duncan Macmillan situated in Ambala, an Indian takeaway.  This small one-man play was, in my opinion, the strongest of the evening. The piece recounted the history of a disliked, corrupt Regional Manager of a company, perfectly portrayed by Ceri Murphy.  The audience were forced to become a part of the scene taking on the role of his employees. Rich in sarcastic wit and amusing anecdotes, the piece ended with the sabotage of the Manager’s toast as he was manhandled into the toilet by two plants in the audience. Arguably more  daring than the other scenes, I felt the piece was perfectly rounded for such a short performance.

Nestled in the cosy Milgi’s Yurt, the next scene took place. Written by Alan Harris, Before I go was another one-man play which explored the feelings of a man jilted in love and ignored by an unsuspecting co-worker. The script was enjoyable, but didn’t really take off; perhaps this was due to the time constraints of the evening. The last performance  required us to be squashed into a small bus stop on City road as we listened to the ravings of Mary, depicted wonderfully by actress Hanna Jarman. An extremely eloquent and well written piece, The Demise of Photocopy Boy definitely differed from the other excerpts. I couldn’t help but wish that the conclusion didn’t see Mary saunter off casually to commit a murder, as the script up until that point had been perfectly plausible. However, this could be considered as pushing the boundaries and venturing into the unconventional.

Considering the nature of the event, the organisation of the evening was fantastically smooth. There were occasional delays, but nothing that wasn’t to be expected from such a creative venture. Hopefully, similar events will occur more often; the turnout certainly indicated the public’s desire to see new writing outside the conventionality of the Theatre. Hats off to Dirty Protest for succeeding to showcase original, new writing talent in innovative and creative ways!

Why to England? The lack of Welsh Criticism in Wales.

Originally this next blog was meant to be a review of Theatr Na n’og’s Welsh language production of ‘Salsa’, but after the performance, I couldn’t quite bring myself to write about it. I’m not saying it was all bad. For what it was it was perfectly enjoyable, if the thing you enjoy is sexual innuendo and a recurring ‘falling down the stairs’ joke. Which, incidentally I don’t, but each to their own. After feeling slightly disheartened, the next night I went to see Hamlet at the Young Vic, and my faith in Theatre was thankfully restored. Of course it was: Michael Sheen took the leading role in an Ian Rickson production. This complete contrast in quality of productions made me see a possible answer to something which I have often questioned: why do the Welsh go to English Theatre? I’m not saying that English Theatre has a better quality, far from it. In fact, I have often argued the opposite. I simply think that this is stemmed to a bigger problem, one which applies to both Welsh playwrights and Welsh actors, and that is, the lack of criticism we have here in Wales.

Just to look at it simply to begin with. I search both phrases ‘Salsa reviews’ and ‘Adolygiadau Salsa’, the bilingualism potentially an advantage. A mere six reviews is nothing to compare with the endless pages of results I get with my search for Michael Sheen as Hamlet. Arguably, this could be down to Theatr Na n’og up against the Young Vic; of course the results are going to be fewer because ‘Salsa’ is a Welsh language production. However, the same lack of results comes up for National Theatre Wales’ production of ‘The Village Social’. Why? Is it any wonder that the Welsh cross the bridge?  In London you can see countless shows every night of the week. In Wales, you’re lucky to find one every few weeks, and then a lack of critical acclaim will follow, which will then continue this cycle of a poor number of Welsh productions. So why is there such a lack of criticism? Critic Megan Jones asks the same question. She observes, “Even after the excitement generated by various Welsh productions staged across Wales, something important is missing-Theatre Critics.” [1]She believes this is linked to a lack of National newspapers, as The Western Mail is generally the only Welsh newspaper that publishes Welsh theatre reviews.

Last month, National Theatre Wales held an event to pose these questions raised by so many recently. The event’s objective was to encourage and perhaps instruct in the craft of new theatre criticism in Wales. One solution raised at the event was to potentially create a Welsh website similar to the Artsdesk, a website used to promote new criticism. I believe such a website would encourage younger people to write reviews and publish them online rather than focus on getting the reviews in the limited Welsh newspapers. More reviews would lead to more people going to see these Welsh productions, which would hopefully increase the productions available to an audience in Wales.

I truly believe we are in the middle of something: the rejuvenation of Welsh Theatre to be precise. National Theatre Wales’ explosive innovative Theatre is an exciting prospect, as is Arwel Gruffudd’s takeover as Theatr Genedlaethol’s Artistic Director. The opening of Sherman Cymru next February is edging closer, and with the release of their fantastic new programme, I think it’s safe to say that Welsh Theatre is on the up. So why can’t the same be said for Welsh criticism? Maybe that comes with taking a risk. Staging Welsh theatre at the risk of not receiving the acclaim it deserves. Maybe that’s what needs to be done, and if enough people are aware of the problem, then hopefully we can surface from this rut and make new Welsh criticism as exciting as new Welsh Theatre.

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[1]Jones, M, 2011, Dydd Y Farn? [online] Barn available at http://www.cylchgrawnbarn.com/index.php?option=com_content&view...

Cipolwg 'Deffro'r Gwanwyn'/ Sneak Peak 'Deffro'r Gwanwyn'

'S'dim dwywaith amdani. Dwi'n fucked.'

Ges i’r cyfle i eistedd mewn ar un o ymarferion olaf ‘Deffro’r Gwanwyn’ bore ddoe. Mae’r sioe gerdd yn agor  ar y 9fed o Dachwedd yn adeilad cartrefol cwmni Theatr Genedlaethol Cymru, sef Y Llwyfan yng Nghaerfyrddin. Mae rediad y sioe yn dilyn llwyddiant ysgubol y daith gyntaf yn 2009. Yn seiliedig ar ddrama Frank Wedekind o 1892, mae’r cyfieithiad Cymraeg o’r sioe gerdd ‘Spring Awakening’ yn archwilio canlyniadau anwybodaeth rywiol sydd wedi cael ei achosi gan gymdeithas gul ac adwasgol. Cafodd y cyfieithiad Cymraeg gan y dramodydd Dafydd James ei lwyfannu’n wreiddiol yn 2009, a nawr mae Theatr Genedlaethol Cymru yn ôl gyda thaith newydd a ffres gyda pedwar aelod newydd i’r cast. Ond dydi’r ffaith bod y sioe wedi cael ei llwyfannu yn barod ddim yn effeithio’r broses baratoi o gwbl. Wrth wylio’r ymarfer mae'n amlwg bod y broses yn fanwl ac yn drwyadl iawn. Dyw hynny ddim syndod gydag Elen Bowman yn cyfarwyddo, ac mae’r actorion yn treulio amser yn ceisio deall y cymeriadau er mwyn cyflwyno’r perfformiad gorau o fewn eu gallu. Gyda chymaint o ffocws ar ansawdd y cynhyrchiad, mae’n argoeli i fod yn sioe well nag erioed.

Yesterday morning I had the opportunity to sit in on one of the last rehearsals for ‘Deffro’r Gwanwyn’. The musical opens on the 9^th of November in Theatr Genedlaethol’s home building Y Llwyfan in Carmarthen. The show’s  run follows an immensely successful first tour in 2009. Based on Frank Wedekind’s controversial play from 1892, the Welsh translation of the musical ‘Spring Awakening’ explores the consequences of a sexual ignorance caused primarily by a repressive society. The translation, by Welsh playwright Dafydd James, was staged originally in 2009, and now Theatr Genedlaethol is back with a fresh, exciting tour and four new cast members. The fact that this is not the show’s first run doesn’t seem to have affected the rehearsal process at all. Sitting in on the rehearsal, the process seems to be extremely thorough and in-depth. With a director like Elen Bowman, this isn’t really a surprise, and the actors spend time trying to understand the characters and their motives in order to give the best performances they possibly can. With such focus on the quality, the show promises to be better than ever before.

Dyddiadau ‘Deffro’r Gwanwyn’

9-11 Tachwedd, 7.30 y.h, Y llwyfan, Heol y Coleg, Caerfyrddin.

15-17 Tachwedd, 7.30 y.h, Canolfan Hamdden Glaslyn, Porthmadog.

21-22 Tachwedd, , 7.30 y.h, Canolfan Hamdden Y Flash, Y trallwng

25, 26 a 28 Tachwedd, , 7.30 y.h, Canolfan Hamdden Pontardawe

1-3 Rhagfyr, 8 y.h. Stiwdio Weston, Canolfan Mileniwm Cymru, Caerdydd.

2) National Theatre Wales- 'The Village Social' review

‘Because beneath even the most respectable exterior will lurk some strange impulse, some irrational craving, some inappropriate imagining.’

This is National Theatre Wales’s first visit to Neath Little Theatre, and it seems the whole community has turned out to witness the event. Following a highly successful Edinburgh Fringe with their devised piece ‘The Dark Philosophers’, National Theatre Wales return to their homeland with a surreal musical theatre piece. Created by Welsh playwright Dafydd James and fellow writer Ben Lewis, it has been described as ‘The Vicar of Dibley meets The Wicker Man’, a bizarre yet accurate comparison to which the piece most certainly lives up to. Music is at its heart, and is a device often utilised to represent contrast. Music becomes the precipitating factor for the descent into psychedelic hysteria, whilst previously it had represented the more traditional aspects of community life.

We are welcomed into the village hall of Cae Bach, walking directly into the scene with characters milling about preparing the hall for tonight’s event. The set creates the perfect atmosphere; balloons, flags and a ‘glamorous’ gold stripped tinsel backdrop all work to convince us of an authentic, poorly decorated community hall. We are greeted by Lawrence (Darren Lawrence), joined by Yvonne (Carys Eleri), Lisa-Jên (Rebecca Harries), Dave (Oliver Wood) and Jean (Sue Roderick), who welcome us to Cae Bach’s autumn social. The piece adopts a Brechtian technique by ‘breaking the fourth wall’, forcing the audience to become a part of the scene with characters acknowledging the audience’s presence as they happily wander from stage to audience. What struck me most of all, was how easily the audience bought into the pantomime act. Prompted by a single arm movement, the audience enthusiastically joined in the action consequently becoming the community of Cae Bach. As the piece progresses, we are made aware that we are waiting for a special guest, Madam Isis. Due to her late arrival the characters begin to stall, singing and relating myths allegedly associated with Cae Bach. Although these stories may seem irrelevant, they are obviously being set-up for a greater purpose later on. Dion (Gwydion Rhys), Lawrence’s son, brings on a selection of youths and together they perform a song that is perhaps overly long and slightly irrelevant. Unfortunately, several plot plants are heavily dropped into the light-hearted script, which is slightly jarring.

The piece then slips into the Horror Film genre, when a power cut affects the whole hall. We as the audience are placed in the same position as the characters onstage, continuing our role as the community of Cae Bach. This is done subtly with lighting that is so smooth you don’t even realise the change. Realistically and cleverly lit by candles, we witness the characters expressions as a veiled, hunched figure emerges from the back of the hall. This is obviously Madam Isis, who apologises for being late on account of her Sat Nav being broken and having to rely on the spirits to guide her to her destination. At first Madam Isis begins as a poor medium, relying on the gullible Yvonne to feed her the information she needs to perform a badly prepared act. Then it begins to get a bit more sinister. She relates information about the characters that is completely personal; things that only they themselves would know. Even as Madam Isis begins to reveal the true gory details of that ‘bad situation’ previously alluded to, the audience continue to laugh, whether awkwardly or not, it seems they have failed to grasp the severity of the situation. Madam Isis then disappears in true pantomime style: all that is left is a scarf and a puff of smoke.

After this, characters begin to leave one by one returning later in various excessive states. Jean enters with a dead dog on her head, followed by Dave dressed as ‘the small girl who danced herself to death’ depicting a story earlier told by Lisa-Jên. Yvonne joins the stage again representing an earlier story of a disgusting monk, whilst Lisa-Jên and Lawrence depict an act of sexual lust. Before long, the stage is a host of excess and hysteria, but the audience continue to laugh. The significance of the symbolic Bacchus head hanging on the tinsel backdrop is obviously lost on the audience: the characters are blatantly being affected by the ritual and madness of the God Dionysus. The scene reaches its climactic point when the God himself enters, lusting for a sacrifice. The characters must choose which of them must serve their community, and what better way to decide than by conducting a raffle (I knew I shouldn’t have bought two strips). The lights come up, and we slip back into the ridiculous façade of the autumn social, much to the relief of the audience. The last ticket to be drawn is the ticket of the damned. Stopped at the last second by Dion who has been seemingly absent for most of the social, he removes the Bull’s head and begins the last story of the night. As he recites the story in a hypnotic trance, he admits to spiking the characters with psychotropic drugs, inducing their hallucinations. It becomes apparent that Dion had not in fact been conducting the meetings of the Woodcraft Folk but had instead been conducting the meetings of a secret pagan cult. In a truly powerful ending, Dion’s symbolic suicide takes place. The audience sit for a while apparently confused by the contrast, but never-the-less commends the cast with raucous applause.

Although collectively a strong cast, Gwydion Rhys gives an outstanding performance as both Dion and Madam Isis. The piece was genuinely enjoyable and fantastically rich in myth, but I fear the twisted humour of the piece may have been slightly misunderstood by an older audience. The piece slips easily from the light-hearted, stereotypical Welsh community hall into the more serious dramatic action which has become an archetypal factor for the company: it just seems this was more confusing than engaging for some. How do I feel I can conclude this? As the community filed out of the hall, amongst other confused reactions, my favourite was definitely, “Well it was different. Peculiar, like. A bit like Midsomer Murders.” Despite several confused responses, I for one feel incredibly excited for future projects by the company. National Theatre Wales is truly taking a step into the future with innovative, affordable theatre.

1) Introduction: Welsh Theatre in Edinburgh.

There’s definitely a certain ignorance surrounding Theatre in Wales. Is the term ‘Welsh Theatre’ used specifically to define Welsh language theatre, or does it simply mean Theatre in Wales? I would prefer to argue the latter. Welsh theatre doesn’t necessarily need to be written in Welsh to evoke a Welsh sentiment. Some of Wales’ greatest writers wrote in English, albeit occasionally for the sometimes simple reason, they were unable to speak the Welsh tongue, arguably one of the greatest tragedies of modern Wales.  Dylan Thomas, Gwyn Thomas: These significant Welsh novelists and dramatists, who were so popular in their time, wrote in English, but more often than not, they wrote about Wales. As important as this is in the definition of Anglo-Welsh fiction, I believe this also to be an important defining factor of Welsh theatre. To truly evoke a Welsh feeling, it must at least be written about Wales. Glyn Jones, an Anglo-Welsh literature reviewer, believed that “the only English thing about an Anglo-Welsh writer ought to be his language”. For the sake of consistency, this must be true for Welsh Theatre too.

For people who believe Welsh Theatre to be on the decline, they might just be in for a shock. Ok, so when we think of Welsh Theatre, we might think of Gwenlyn Parri or Saunders Lewis perhaps, both exquisite Welsh language writing talents, but what of contemporary Welsh Theatre? For many, the Welsh presence at this year’s Edinburgh Fringe Festival eased these doubts. National Theatre Wales staged their highly successful production which consisted of a combination of Gwyn Thomas’ works, and Sherman Cymru took the lead for Welsh language theatre with their production of ‘Llwyth’ written by Dafydd James. I suppose the term ‘Renaissance’ is perhaps slightly melodramatic, but if the English had one, then surely we can too?

It certainly felt like a kind of renaissance for me as I have always been eager to combine my passion for Wales and Welshness with a love for theatre. Being lucky enough to purchase tickets for National Theatre Wales’ The Dark Philosophers in advance, I squeezed myself into one of the last remaining seats in the overwhelmingly packed Traverse Theatre in Edinburgh. Being already a massive fan of Gwyn Thomas, I was intrigued to see the translation of such a culturally rich novella, and was not disappointed with the theatre’s fantastic adaptation. A combination of three of Thomas’ works, the lights came up to reveal a quirky set, consisting of several different doors on different levels representing Thomas’ iconic terraced houses. Out of these doors, characters, or ‘elements’ as Thomas would have referred to them, would appear and disappear seamlessly. Thomas himself was considered to be the embodiment of the spirit of the valleys, often encapsulating this through his writing. The production therefore had a kind of duty to preserve this, to preserve such a feeling of Welshness. The show featured singing and mining, something Artistic Director John Mcgrath considered to be ‘Classically Welsh’ in the most respectful sense. There were fantastic performances from a solely Welsh cast, with most actors doubling up and displaying a variety of different skills. I’m not sure why, but Welsh accents really made a difference, and although added to the humour, did not detract from the more poignant scenes. Gwyn Thomas was cleverly represented as a character, following the other characters around the set, chipping in with witty additions in true Thomas style, and occasionally directing the characters onstage. Glyn Pritchard perfectly emulated Thomas in his speech and his way with flowing rhetoric, appearing onstage in the first scene, reassuring the audience in a thick Rhondda accent, “Don’t worry, I’m dead.” One of my biggest concerns was how the theatre would handle the representation of Oscar, the protagonist of the eponymous novella. Being rather a symbol of sexual and authoritarian oppression as opposed to an actual plausible character, Oscar is reminiscent of the big bad giant often featured in children’s fairytale stories. National Theatre Wales however, stepped up to this challenge and enlisted the help of a puppeteer. They created a grotesque representation of the capitalist oppressor onstage in a fantastically symbolic way. By doing so, they managed to preserve a primary message of the original text which simultaneously happened to be a particularly Welsh aspect of the text; Welsh oppression. Humour and poignancy were beautifully crafted into this powerful piece of theatre, and I’m glad to say that a feeling of pure Welshness ran through its veins.

Running across the road to St George’s West On my first day in Edinburgh, I hurriedly took my seat in the front row ready for Sherman Cymru’s production of Llwyth. Having gotten myself ridiculously lost on the way to the venue (I’d managed to misplace my map somewhere between the Royal Mile and the Castle) I had prepared myself to be sat in a relatively empty theatre, especially following the rather unenthusiastic responses from friends earlier in the day when I asked the question, “Who wants to come and see some Welsh language Theatre with me?”  Retrospectively, I probably should have mentioned the fact that it was subtitled, so being non-Welsh speakers, I can’t exactly blame them for their refusals. I was pleasantly surprised when I looked round to see a substantial audience, most of who it seemed, were reliant on the English subtitles.  Described as a ‘flamboyant fantasia on gay identity and Welshness', Llwyth was so stylistically Welsh. I’ve been trying to think about what I mean by this statement for a while, and the best way I can think to explain it, is that the production just felt Welsh. The monologues flowing seamlessly into dialogue between characters, the perfect combination of humor and poignancy: it had the structure of the classic Welsh dramas.  It was something I would have studied in school, but it was also something exciting and new; something which combined the old Wales with the new. The language ‘barrier’ didn’t seem to be an issue, and it was refreshing to see a representation of current South Walian dialect. For want of a better phrase, it was beautifully written in Wenglish.  It’s impossible to select specific scenes from the play that really stood out, because together they all perfectly created the complex plot. The performances strayed away from often portrayed stereotypes and were performed with tact and humility. Simon Watts as the aptly named protagonist Aneurin gave a phenomenal performance. A lyrical poet, a Welsh hating Welshman, a character generally full of angst, Aneurin breaks down as the play reaches its climactic point after Aneurin has managed to isolate himself through his tyrannical behavior. In the play’s perhaps most poignant scene, he reveals the reason behind it all (which I will refrain from announcing here, as it may spoil it for some). Aneurin as this combination of the old and the new, a gay Welsh poet,, was what the play was all about: the combination of the old and new Wales. The play is significantly Welsh, but its issues are universal. It just felt wonderful to be able to watch something like this through our own language, but to also know that it reached a bigger audience.

I can honestly say that after a week in Edinburgh, countless fantastic shows, these two Welsh productions were my highlight. Ok, so maybe I'm biased, but it's true. Perhaps the future for Welsh theatre isn’t looking so bleak after all. If it can impassion one young Welsh Theatre lover, then I have no doubt this can spread to a far bigger audience. It has to; I need to make a career out of it.