The Beach: Prestatyn

National Theatre Wales’s collaborative production with Hide and Seek, The Beach, transforms a stretch of North Wales coastline, scattered with run-down resorts and neon flashing, music blaring amusement arcades, into a giant playground for adults and children alike, with not a single slot machine in sight.

This show, directed by Catherine Paskell, is as far removed from traditional sit down and shut up theatre as possible. Here, the audience has no choice but to actively participate in the quirky competitions on the sand. However our role in the production is much more than mere participants, we are continually shaping, changing and influencing it as we make decisions, develop our own ideas and act upon them.

From the very beginning we are immersed in the show as the motley crew of individuals on the beach is divided into six teams with a shared goal. That goal is to help Charlie (Mathew Lloyd) and TJ (Michael Humphreys) to bring the Missing Generation (twenty-somethings who have left to find work and better prospects) back to Prestatyn. This is no mean feat due to the persistent harassment, bullying and awkwardness of the Curtain Twitchers: the cold-hearted conservative people of the town who refuse to let young people camp on the campsite, drink coffee in the cafes or any activity that might include an ounce of enjoyment.

Following the “Curtain Twitchers” theft of the “elements” (pictures representing items that could be used to lure back the Missing Generation) each team is thrown down the gauntlet of completing a series of strange and surreal games as the only method of reclaiming the elements.

The games test our physical, musical, dancing, acting, logistical and communicating abilities, as well as our willingness to get wet and wind-swept in the process. Our team starts by endeavouring to transport cardboard cut-out adults, children, dogs, prams and all manner of luggage on a miniature cable car. This game was devised by a bitter, tortured (self-appointed) genius with an appetite for endless rules and regulations.

Then our team is sent to contend with a crazed mobile aquarium owner who challenges the participants to fill his fish tanks with water from two paddling pools using a random selection of items including a wellington boot, a colander, a gravy boat and a funnel.

The next foe is an enraged milk-maid/ cafe owner who insists that each team milk her rather lifeless cardboard cow until each glass at her cafe’s counter is full of milkshake, followed by a hostile encounter with a woman who forces the team to participate in a game of kazoo charades.

Each team returns with its hoard of “elements” to create the ultimate plan to entice the Missing Generation back to Prestatyn. All the ideas are pitched to the Curtain Twitchers who must choose their favourite (or should that be least hated). As the winners are declared everyone is invited to write a message in the sand to his/her hometown.

The production’s ability to convince grown men and women to partake in often ridiculous games is down to the success of our interaction and rapport with our enthusiastic and charming guides for the evening TJ (Michael Humphreys) and Charlie (Mathew Lloyd). Their energy is the driving force of the show, giving what could have been a rather uncomfortable, even slightly embarrassing evening of childish games, a real sense of character, and an over-arching purpose.

This production pushes the boundaries of what is possible in the theatre in Wales, as well as challenging assumptions about what is theatre. But far from being merely a series of albeit enjoyable games, the show questions and challenges our definition of home and our relationship with that place.

A Picture of Evil (or the Duality of Man)

Both The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, and The Picture of Dorian Gray tell us about the very nature of being human; the struggle within all of us to keep the fragile balance between good and evil. However, both novels are on the one hand similar in the way they deal with a man’s weakness, his willingness to succumb to temptation and sully his own soul. But at the same time, they differ in the way the fallen protagonist is portrayed.

Wilde’s Dorian Gray is a complete, complex character, who is more or less, responsible for his own downfall. Lord Henry Wotton, may have influenced Dorian, and introduced him to a new way of thinking, and the novel that will become a blueprint for his own life; but it is Dorian’s decisions and actions alone that lead him astray. The Dorian who tries to resist, who tries to mend his ways, tries to better himself (even if this is for only a very short period of time) is the same Dorian that causes Sibyl Kane to commit suicide, who kills Basil Hallward and blackmails an old friend to dispose of the body. Within this character there is both good and evil. Dorian has the power, and the ability to choose his path, and he knowingly chooses to act in an immoral, debauched and heartless manner.

Whilst Dr Jekyll, although the same individual as Mr Hyde, seems to be two completely different beings. This is due to the change in name, change in appearance, and the complete change in attitude, actions and opinion. Dr Jekyll (or should that be Mr Hyde) is not a good man doing evil deeds, rather Dr Jekyll is a good man leading a good life, whilst Mr Hyde is an evil man leading an evil, immoral life. This character is not a complete character, within which lies both good and evil, rather he is one individual that has both a completely good and virtuous persona, and another completely evil persona. Dr Jekyll is not responsible for the actions of Mr Hyde, and Mr Hyde feels no obligation to Dr Jekyll.

The physical battle between good and evil may be more pronounced in The Strange case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde due to the fact that both men cannot exist at the same time. If Mr Hyde goes on a rampage, stealing, attacking and killing, this is only possible, because at that exact moment Dr Jekyll does not exist. Mr Hyde conquers and overpowers Dr Jekyll, until, in the end, Dr Jekyll ceases to exist. Only Mr Hyde, only the purely evil individual prevails.

The mental battle between good and evil is more pronounced in The Picture of Dorian Gray, precisely because the battle is waged within the one individual. Dorian does, at times, doubt the path he has taken, and regrets some of his most callous and heartless acts. Dorian shows that he is not completely evil, but loses the battle with his darker side. Evil prevails because Dorian allows it to prevail, believing that he will never face the consequences of his actions.

However, the end result in both novels are scarily similar good does not defeat evil. The individual, the human being dies, leaving a legacy of evil and suffering.

Longing for the impossible?

Have you ever read a book, seen a film, or watched a performance and then thought I wish I could go back in time, or experience a different culture? I must admit, I have always had an over-active imagination, and find myself enthralled by the locations of books, dramas and films. This is usually quite harmless, I will become obsessed with discovering as much information as possible about the country or historical period, before I move on to the next object of interest.

I don’t attempt to temper my curiousity, but see it rather as an opportunity to discover new places, peoples and cultures (even if this is only through reading books). However, at times the smallest reference to a place can fire my imagination: I was reading The Odyssey when the mere mention of the Nile caused a huge urge to go to Egypt (I would have gone immediately if I had the money). This is part of the joy of reading a book or watching a play, the curiousity it creates and the longing to learn more.

However, what happens when a piece of art makes you long for a place that has never existed, and never will exist? By this, I don’t mean Dr Who creating a longing for alien planets or Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings creating a longing to live among elves or dwarfs, but rather a piece of work that creates a by-gone era, seen through rose-tinted glasses. It could be a production that creates an image of a close-knit community, that was never in fact that harmonious, it could be a portrayal of happiness and co-operation, where in reality there was only ever strife, or it might create a political or ideological utopia, that is impossible to realise.

That is the double-edged sword of effective, moving art: whilst transporting its audience from their hum-drum lives to its own world is a pleasure, the journey back to reality can be a let down.

More than a feeling?

So far I have been to see four of National Theatre Wales’ productions and since seeing the latest show in Barmouth I have decided how I would put the shows in order of preference. This was easier than I thought it would be, and has got me thinking about how I judge a production. What makes a production effective and successful? Perhaps more importantly, what makes a production memorable? Are great performances and a good technical production enough? Is there a certain extra something that takes a drama from good to great? If so, what is it?

I think I have discovered that extra magic that makes a production (at least in my eyes) great: the performance’s emotional affect, its ability to move its audience. The performances that I have enjoyed the most (both by NTW and other companies) have been those that have stirred my emotions, revived memories, and have shown a real depth in their understanding and portrayal of human feelings. This may seem a run of the mill observation, but there is a difference between a good emotional performance, or a series of good emotional performances, and a drama that actually moves its audience.

Personally, it is the small details that usually create an impact, it might be a few lines of a song that brings back memories, or has a particular resonance, a turn of phrase, piece of clothing. These things might be meaningless to the rest of the audience, but that feeling of familiarity, of a shared emotion, shared feeling, resonates after the curtain falls, and much of what was said is forgotten. It is those fleeting moments of emotion, when the dramatist or director has created an invisible string connecting the audience and the stage, that truly make a production memorable and moving.

The plays that remain fresh in my mind, those that I remember weeks and months after seeing them, the ones that play on my mind, and won’t let go, are those that wake something inside me. I don’t go into a theatre looking for an emotional rollercoaster (or even a gentle tug at the emotions), but a true piece of drama will grab hold of you, whether you like it or not.

I can forgive a production that is full of those little moments of shared joy, and sadness a multitude of other sins: over-long scenes, self-indulgence, stretching the end of a production. However, a production that is perfect, in terms of the acting, and the technical elements, but lacks a beating heart is never going to impress.

Too popular for its own good...

Can an artwork, an artist, author, book or drama be too popular for its own good? Does the fact that something is popular automatically mean that it has artistic or cultural value? Or is the opposite true: does the fact that something is popular with the masses mean that it is automatically lowbrow or culturally insignicant?

Popularism is a problem for the arts. In order to resist being labelled as elitist or irrelevant the arts must engaged with the general public, and must create and commission work that speaks to everyone in the country from the baron to the binman. However, everyone in the art world is not comfortable with the idea that art could, and should be accessible to all. Some continue to believe that a creative work, be that a play, painting, book or a song, must be complicated, and only comprehensible to a tiny minority, to be of any artistic worth. How many Turner prizes have been awarded to an artist who’s work is attractive, pleasing to the eye and appreciated by the public? And how many times has the prize gone to an individual who’s work is unfathomable to the vast majority of those who view the exhibition?

The fact that a work of art is so pretentious and complex as to make it unpopular, does not mean that the work has more cultural value than an extremely popular piece. After all, is it not the aim of art (in all its forms) to amuse, entertain, to tell us somthing about ourselves and our society? And how can it do this successfully, if it does not reach out and speak to the whole of society? The most popular pieces are those that speak to us in our own language, on our own terms, and try to understand us.

After the actors leave the stage, the audience go home and the crew clear the set, what evidence is there that a performance has ever taken place? A book exists after the reader has finished the story, and can be re-read at leisure, a CD remains as a testament of the music long after the band has argued and gone their separate ways, and a painting will stand the test of time, years, often centuries after the painter as gone to the big easel in the sky. But a theatre performance, by its very nature is a fleeting art form. A CD may be recorded of the cast of a musical, or a performance may be released on DVD, but once the curtain falls the actual performance has finished. You may read all the reviews you can find of the performance, ask each audience member to re-live what they saw on stage, but nothing can re-create the moment once it has passed. This is part of the magic of the theatre, its transience is very often what makes it so special.

Location, location, location?

How important is the location or the venue of a performance? How does the venue affect the performance, actors and audience? Last week I visited Barmouth to see For Mountain, Sand and Sea, which was performed at various locations, including the beach, estuary, high street and a hill over-looking the town. I must admit that, beforehand, I was less than enthusiastic about the promenade nature of the performance. I much prefer to sit in the darkness of the theatre, unseen by the actors, than exposed to often participatory promenade performances. However, I am more than willing to admit, that on this occasion, I was wrong.

This production was a success, not merely because of the performances of the actors, but also because of other factors beyond the control of the production team and performers. I saw the show on a beautiful summer’s day, and saw Barmouth at its best. Had it been an overcast, or rainy day, the audience’s experience would doubtlessly have been different, and far less rewarding. This is one thing that theatre performances don’t have to take into account. In fact, it is often far more pleasant to be watching a theatre production, warm, dry and cosy, when the weather is at its worse. Rather than feeling that a sunny evening, that could have been spent enjoying the (rare) sunshine has been wasted in a stifling auditorium.

There is a much bigger fear of the unknown during an outdoor or promenade performance, this keeps both the actors and the audience on their toes, and ensures that no two performances are quite the same. Members of the public were often unwittingly taking part in National Theatre Wales’s performance on the streets of Barmouth, something almost unheard of within the walls of a theatre. Most seemed amused, or even a little bewildered, whilst a handful decided to play their part with gusto, from the man who jumped out of his front door, shouting “BOO”, to the man who accosted Marc Rees outside the Cambrian Establishment. In the theatre, an audience member’s mobile might ring, an individual might be taken ill or the fire alarm might disrupt the performance, but there is no real element of risk, no feeling that anything could, and might just happen. Traditional theatre has a safety net, that is all but absent from an outdoor performance.

Promenade and outdoor performances, especially those that take place on the streets of a town or village, bring drama to the attention of those that might not step inside a theatre from one year to the next, and this can only be a good thing. Making theatre a participatory, rather than merely a spectator’s activity, will doubtless inspire people to take part, and perhaps more importantly, inspire those that haven’t previously taken an interest in traditional theatre.

For Mountain, Sand and Sea : Barmouth

National Theatre Wales’ latest, and most adventurous production, For Mountain, Sand and Sea, is a twisting helter skelter journey around the seaside town of Barmouth. Devised, and directed by the acclaimed Welsh artist Marc Rees, the production leads its audience through the town’s nooks and crannies that hide behind the brash amusement arcades and the endless pubs and pound shops.

The show is a truly glorious journey, meandering as it does through the narrow alleys, along the garish high street, onto the beach and to the estuary. We meet all manner of characters from the town’s past along the way, and the ensemble cast of artists, including Cai Tomos, Guillermo Weickert, Marega Palser and Gareth Clark, must be praised for convincingly bringing such a melting-pot of personalities to life, and keeping the audience’s attention despite the background noise of a busy, sunny Saturday in high season.

The audience is lulled into a false sense of security as we are served tea and cake in the Church Hall by local members of the “Merched y Wawr”, before a rowdy, singing French sailor bursts out from underneath the stage, and sets about seducing (or scaring) the women around the table.

This is merely a taste of the strange sights that hide along the way: we are chaperoned up Barmouth’s steep hillside spine by Auguste Guyard, an exiled French social reformer who settled in the town, and was a herb specialist. We sit at Dinas Oleu, the first piece of land ever given to the National Trust, listening to Guyard singing, before he attempts, in a wig and comedy cut glass accent, to re-enact the moment Fanny Talbot gifted the land on which we stand.

From here, we make our way down to the beach, guided by a Welsh pied piper figure, a woman in traditional Welsh costume, with lullabies emanating from her wicker basket. On the beach, in the middle of all the tourists we find two glamorous 1950s style individuals posturing and preening, before inviting us to take part in some, thankfully, non –strenuous, beach exercises.

This is followed by a visit to the Sandancer nightclub where a pensioner dances with her long-dead soldier sweetheart, a presentation by Rees outside the Cambrian Establishment about Tommy Nutter, the Barmouth tailor who dressed the Beatles, Mick Jagger and David Bowie, and a surreal elephant-led parade through Barmouth High Street.

The production finishes at the estuary with a re-creation of the scene from A Matter of Life and Death when the pilot declares his love to the radio operator before bailing out without a parachute, which mirrors a tragic plane crash which happened over the bay at Barmouth. As we leave we see soldier from the nightclub re-united with his sweetheart in her prime, dancing in the dunes.

For Mountain, Sand and Sea certainly succeeded in breathing new life into history, and the staging of history. Barmouth’s past: its moments of joy, sadness, and utter disbelief, were created with humour, a true visual flair and an obvious warmth towards the town and its residents. This may not be the easiest or the most cohesive way to learn about a Barmouth’s history and identity, but with the sun shining, and clear blue skies, it is certainly the most rewarding.

Art and Greatness

If you were asked to name a great artist, who would it be? Leonardo da Vinci, Vincent van Gogh, Picasso, Dalí... However, what would be the answer if you were asked to name a great living artist?

I cannot think of a single artist alive today that can truly be called great, and be mentioned in the same breath as some of the above artists. Of course, there are talented artists working today in all mediums, but how many will be remembered in centuries? The work of how many will be celebrated, treasured and enjoyed in years to come.

Is it the case that an artist is never considered great by his peers and contemporaries? This was certainly the case with van Gogh, but it cannot be claimed that it is always so. Both Picasso and Dali, along with many Renaissance artists such as da Vinci and Michelangelo, enjoyed recognition, fame and success during their lifetime.

What is the reason for this apparent lack of great artists today? Is it that we cannot recognise or appreciate the talent of contemporary artists, and the quality of their work? Will future generations see the greatness in their work, that I cannot see? Or are great artists so rare, so few and far between, that another might not come along in my lifetime?

All My Sons : Apollo Theatre, London

Having read the 4 and 5 star reviews of Howard Davies’ production of All My Sons at the Apollo Theatre, I decided to go along to see if the show lived up to the hype : I was not disappointed.

At the heart of Arthur Miller’s drama is the Keller family, trying to re-build their lives following the disappearance of a son during the Second World War. Kate (Zoe Wanamaker), the boy’s mother, cannot, will not, believe that Larry has died, and continues to believe that one day he will return. Whilst Larry’s brother Chris (Stephen Campbell Moore), wants to marry Ann (Jemima Rooper), his brother’s former girlfriend. Joe (David Suchet), the family patriarch, acquitted of producing faulty airplane parts during the war, believes his past is forgotten, but his secret cannot be kept hidden forever.

This production was truly superb, and must be one of the best pieces of theatre I have seen. All aspects of the play; the production and the performances were fantastic.

Suchet’s performance, as the flawed everyman Joe Keller, is a tour de force; effortlessly depicting Joe’s change from the contented, self-assured family man, into a hated, self-hating man. Wanamaker’s portrayal of Kate, the woman at breaking point, due to her misguided faith that Larry will return, is fraught and emotionally charged. Although Suchet’s Joe is the stand out performance of the night, it is Wanamaker’s Kate, that gives the drama its heart, and the moments that truly touch the audience. All the other performances; Jemima Rooper’s Ann, Stephen Campbell Moore’s Chris, Daniel Lapaine’s George, are exceptional, and prove that this production has a great ensemble cast. In fact, were it not for Suchet’s extraordinary performance, you would be hard-pressed to choose the best performance of the evening.

The production itself is masterful; the set with its veranda and white picket fencing perfectly creates the soon to be shattered American Dream, the costumes complement each character beautifully, and the lighting effectively changes the mood and atmosphere on stage, and reflects the emotions of the various characters. Technical elements, such as lighting and sound are used successfully to create the storm, menacing and brooding which lies over the household.

This is a magnificent production, and thoroughly deserves all the praise it has received.

ART AND WAR:THE SPANISH CIVIL WAR

The most well-known artistic reaction to the horrors of the Spanish Civil War is Picasso’s Guernica. Picasso who had publicly sided with the Republican cause, sought to convey the destruction inflicted upon the Basque town of Guernica by the German and Italian warplanes in support of Franco. There are numerous varying interpretations of Picasso’s Guernica: the use of sombre colours to express pain and chaos, flaming buildings and crumbling walls, that not only express the destruction of Guernica, but also the destructive power of civil war, and the broken sword in the painting symbolising the defeat of the people at the hand of their tormentors.

However, although Guernica was painted as a reaction to the suffering inflicted upon innocent people in Guernica, it has become much more than that. Guernica expresses the tragedies of war and the suffering it inflicts upon individuals, especially innocent civilians. It is a painting that has gained a monumental status, becoming a perpetual reminder of the tragedies of war and an embodiment of peace.

Salvador Dalí also turned his attention to the social and political tragedy that had beset his homeland in paintings such as Autumn Cannibalism and Soft Construction with Boiled Beans (Premonition of Civil War). In these paintings Dalí updated his earlier obsessions with cannibalistic mutilation and putrefaction to conjure up his own nightmarish vision of Spain on the brink of self-destruction. However, Dalí’s response to the Spanish Civil War was very different to that of Picasso: Dalí’s message is far more ambiguous and apolitical, reflecting his belief that the Spanish Civil War was an inevitable occurrence involving instinctual forces, a “phenomenon of natural history”, rather than a political event in which one had to take sides. Dalí adopted the clinical detachment of a scientist or neutral observer who does not flinch from representing the rotting stench of a decomposing body as a metaphor for his country’s inexorable slide into internecine combat. The artist believed that his savage image of Spain ripping itself apart foretold the reciprocal killings on both sides in this bloody conflict, as he later explained: “the Spanish corpse was soon to let the world know what its guts smelled like.”

However not all artists were willing to remain neutral whilst Franco increased his Fascist stranglehold on Spain: Joan Miró produced a powerful series of eight small scale etchings known as the “Black and Red Series”, in response to the agonies and horrors of the Civil War. The series, signs and symbols in black and blood red on white backgrounds, conveys the forces of war and oppression. The second print, and one of the closest to realism, depicts a family of three fragile figures, menaced by an ogre’s head, an icon of Franco with what seem to be horns for ears. Whilst the rest of the series is more complex: the horizontal and vertical plates are manipulated to create a bewildering web of biomorphic forms that reflect the horror and mutilation in a manner not dissimilar to that of Goya’s “Disasters of War” almost 200 years earlier. However, Miró also took part in more direct propaganda for the Republican cause: in 1937 he produced a poster, showing a Catalan peasant raising a defiant fist with the slogan “Help Spain”, to raise money for the Republicans.

Many artists, not merely Miró alone, volunteered their skills for the Ministry of Propaganda and the Committee for the Defence of Madrid.
George Orwell commented in his first hand account of the Spanish Civil War, Homage to Catalonia, that on his arrival in Barcelona: “The revolutionary posters were everywhere, flaming from the walls in clean reds and blues that made the few remaining advertisements look like daubs of mud.”

The Catalan poster artist Carles Fontseré described how the artists’ union would meet with the militias while fighting continued on the streets of Barcelona. The artists who volunteered their labour designed posters without interference from the militias, political parties or trade unions, who merely added their initials, emblems or slogans before sending the finished product to the printing presses. The Republican government used posters printed in Spanish, French and English to advertise the desperate plight of the Republic, encouraging volunteers from outside Spain to join the International Brigade and fight Fascism. These posters by pre-eminent artists such as the Communist artist Josep Renau, illustrate the dynamics of a debate about the efficacy of a committed political art that was as aware of avant-garde, expressionist and popular models as it was of Soviet socialist realism. However, the most important aspect of the posters of the Spanish Civil War was that they lasted after the war had ended. Members of the International Brigade collected them and took them home, or sent them home as postcards, whilst the Republican government gave the posters to visiting dignitaries, and they were also frequently reproduced in the press.

Therefore, art has ensured that the Spanish Civil War- its horrors and tragedies - lives on, not only in history books, but also in the visionary work that it inspired.

The Devil Inside Him: New Theatre, Cardiff

The Devil Inside Him, National Theatre Wales’s latest production, written by an 18 year old John Osborne, was performed once and then forgotten, until now. Rescued from the bowels of the British Library, dusted off, rehearsed, and revived, The Devil Inside Him shows Osborne as a rough diamond, developing and experimenting with ideas that would later make his name as the original ‘Angry Young Man’.

The production, set in the Welsh Valleys, portrays Huw Prosser’s (Iwan Rheon) struggle against stifling, civilised, middle-class, society. Bullied mercilessly by his peers, unloved by his god-fearing father, Mr Prosser (Derek Hutchinson) and his meek mother, Mrs Prosser (Helen Griffin), Huw struggles to find a place for himself in a society that is cruel, ugly and meaningless.

The Devil Inside Him has dated significantly, and certain aspects seem extremely old-fashioned to a modern audience particularly the tight grip religion has on the Prossers and the wider community, as well as the tremendous power wielded by Mr Gruffydd, the Minister (John Cording). This lack of relevance has detrimentally affected the production, although we are shocked by Huw’s behaviour, and disturbed by his increasingly erratic and troubled mind, it is at times, hard to empathise with any of the characters. The world created is too far removed from our own to say anything of note about our own society, but is not far enough to be of any historical significance. Furthermore the young Osborne has inhabited his play with a number of cliched, almost cut-out characters, such as the seductive maid, Dilys (Catrin Stewart), the loose-lipped, hired help, Mrs Evans (Rachel Lumberg) and the lecherous, and loose lodger Mr Stevens (Steven Elliott).

Despite the play’s weaknesses, Elen Bowman’s production itself is impressive. All the actors give strong performances; Rachel Lumberg shines as Mrs Evans, the gossiping, nosy maid, bringing humour and mischief into her scenes. Jamie Ballard, as Burn the medical student, gives a powerful, confident performance, effectively depicting his character’s inner conflict as he becomes Huw’s confidant. However, the best performance of the night, without a doubt, is Iwan Rheon’s exceptionally intense and brooding portrayal of Huw. Rheon skillfully masters Huw’s fluctuating, liquid-like temperament, as he transforms from a seething mass, ostracised from the rest of the world, into an individual compelled by his rage and fury to commit murder.

The production is technically accomplished; the costumes and set re-create the comfortable, claustrophobic mid-century, middle-class home. Whilst the condensation gathers on the windows, the wind howling outside the door, and the constant attempts to escape from the elements by closing the heavy living room curtains only accentuate the divide between the events within the house, and the world outside. The final scene in the production, as Huw ascends the stairs, and the upper floor of the house is finally revealed is aesthetically breath-taking. The upper floor of the house is completely ruined and the landscape is devastated, this creates a marked contrast between the oppressively ordered house below, and the utterly destroyed scene above.

The production is a success, due to the technical brilliance of its staging and the almost faultless acting. The play itself might not have been a masterpiece, but this is an unfair criticism of the first play of a young dramatist learning and developing his craft, who would go on to great things.

Shelf Life : Central Library, Swansea

Shelf Life, performed at the now defunct Central Library in Swansea is an experimental collaboration between National Theatre Wales, Volcano and Welsh National Opera, mixing drama, dance and music. Although the production tried to open the audience’s eyes to the possibilities created by a multi-discipline piece, it was not wholly successful.

The production attempted to raise many interesting issues about the future of our libraries, the increased threat of technology, as well as questioning the sort of society that closes libraries, and destroys books. These themes, if developed and dealt with convincingly could have been fascinating and thought provoking, however this was most definitely not the case.

This is not to say that Shelf Life was a complete failure. The production excelled in its early stages as a masked community choir filed into the courtyard, creating an almost pageant-like atmosphere. This coupled with an acrobat swinging rhythmically to the music, before settling to read her book on the building’s roof, only increased my expectations for the show ahead.

Unfortunately, the piece failed to build on the dramatic effect its opening scenes had created. Rather, the audience was introduced somewhat flatly to the concept of the Genizah, a burial space for Jewish religious texts, which added very little to the production. It seemed to be merely a stop-gap in the action to allow for the preparation of the following scenes and locations.

Before leaving the courtyard and entering the library, we were invited to take part in a literary clinic, and offered books as cures for our ailments. This injected humour into the piece, as well as using audience participation effectively to draw us into the play, and break down the barrier between audience and actor through our direct input into the production.

The audience entered the stacks, and was invited to explore this underground labyrinth; full of nooks, crannies, and long forgotten memories. This part of the production did not deliver because of the lack of coherent structure. Yes, it was an inspired idea to allow the audience to explore the stacks without guidance, however after a few moments we were all wandering aimlessly trying to work out what we were supposed to do, and what would happen next. This section should have been shorter, tighter, and the audience should have been given more leadership.

Following what felt like an eternity in the stacks, the audience was led into the reading room. Yet again, the piece lacked a sense of direction and a clarity of purpose. The audience was left wandering around the room, waiting for something, anything, to happen. At last we were directed to go and find the book which matched the library card we had received. This was a clever, playful use of the location and its props to ensure the audience was interacting with the production as well as playing their part in shaping it. However, asking audience members to read from their books was taking the idea of our participation too far, as some individuals were clearly uncomfortable with this, but felt compelled to continue.

Shelf Life tried to deal with too many issues at once, and therefore failed to grapple sufficiently with any of them. Furthermore, ill-discipline and a distinct lack of direction meant that most ideas were poorly executed or insufficiently developed.

Nothing in life for free?

According to the old cliché nothing in life is free, however in the art world this is far from being the case. There are numerous galleries in London; the National Gallery, National Portrait Gallery, Tate Britain and the Tate Modern, to name a few, which are free. I am aware that you have to pay to see special exhibitions; however the breadth of work available to see without paying a penny is truly amazing.

It is possible to see masterpieces of the Renaissance, the Old Masters, Pre-Raphaelites, Impressionists, Surrealists and the best of contemporary art for nothing. It could be argued that this de-values art, but I would prefer to think that it in fact, makes art more valuable. After all, art should be available for all to see, regardless of the size of their pockets.

There is nothing better if you have a few hours to spare, than to wonder around one of these free galleries admiring the work on display. It is extremely unlikely that you will like everything that you see, you may not even like the majority of what is exhibited, but almost without doubt you will find something that you adore. Time after time you can return to see your personal favourites, or on second (or even third viewing) you will come to appreciate something which you had passed before without a second glance.

Art of the Personal

Art is often used as a tool to react to the world in which we live, to the political and social climate in which we find ourselves, and the issues and debates which shape our communities, countries, and ultimately our own lives. However, art also has a much more personal and equally important responsibility, to give the artist or maker in question, the opportunity to grapple and come to terms with his/her own life, and his/her own unique problems.

This is not to say that art should be merely an introspective, catharsis for the artist, but rather that some of the most personal, most cherished possessions in a home, are also sometimes the most wonderful pieces of art. In the Quilts 1700-2010 exhibition, many of the works on display, were never meant to be exhibited as art, but used in the home for a particular purpose. It is only relatively recently that items such as quilts, bed linen and pieces of embroidery have been classified as Art with a capital A.

For this reason many of these pieces have an honesty and a clarity of message that is lacking in works by professional artists. There is a freedom here, a freedom not to conform to the trends and fashions of the particular period, as well as an ability to say anything without worrying about the sensibilities of the age. If a piece is to be seen solely within the confines of our own home, it is often much more personal and intimate than a piece which is knowingly going to be exhibited for the entire world to see. Perhaps, also crafts created for the home give us a better understanding of the period in which they were created, as well as the people who made them, and their lives. Do we not learn more from a quilt lovingly created from scraps of left-over fabric, each piece with its own story, and own significance, than we do from an oil painting created in the ivory tower of art college?

All forms of art are capable of beauty, but the art of the personal has a certain added magic.

Quilts 1700-2010: V & A Museum, London

Quilts 1700-2010 at the V & A is an exhibition that traces both the history and the social significance of quilts and quilt-making throughout Britain. The exhibition displays an eclectic mix of older, traditional quilts, along with work by modern artists such as Tracy Emin and Grayson Perry, as well as examples of quilt-making as a tool for good in society, such as the work of Fine Cell Work in prisons across the UK.

As with most exhibitions in the V&A, this one was extremely busy, making it hard at times to fully appreciate all the quilts. However, this is a very minor complaint, on an otherwise wonderful exhibition. Crafts are often over-looked by the art establishment, as they are often seen to be too low-brow, and lacking in true artistic merit or “vision”, I must admit that I disagree with this school of thought, and it was therefore, refreshing to see quilt-making being given its fair share of the limelight.

The works exhibited were organised chronologically which showed clearly how the social status of quilt-making had changed dramatically over time. Originally it was seen as a past-time suitable for upper middle-class ladies, and was a clear sign that someone had managed to climb the social ladder. However, with the rapid increase in imported materials, and shop bought textiles for the home, quilt-making became the preserve of those too poor to buy their own linen. This was true, until it experienced its recent renaissance due to hand-made, artisan crafts being very much in vogue.

The exhibition was successful in dispelling some myths about quilt-making, such as its reputation for being an almost exclusively female craft. There were works on display which had been created by men serving in the forces during the 18th and 19th centuries, as a way of keeping the soldiers from vices such as alcohol and gambling, and a patchwork quilt handmade by the inmates of Wandsworth prison. Furthermore, although there were many quilts which dealt with traditional themes and subjects such as the family life of its maker, be that a birth or a marriage, there were also quilts which dealt with a whole host of varies themes, such as the rise of China as a super power, Britain and multiculturalism, and abortion. These quilts proved beyond doubt, that this is a modern, thriving craft, that can effectively represent, not only the trials of the modern female (or male) life, but can also deal with issues that face the world as a whole.
I
will not attempt to describe even a fraction of the quilts on display, rather I will highlight my own personal favourites:

A quilt made from paper money, rather than from textiles, which showed the entire world made from the Chinese yuan. Not only was it obviously questioning the balance of power in the world today, and more importantly highlighted possible future changes in the world’s power structure, it was also exquisitely made, with exceptional attention to detail.

A patchwork made in India from minute pieces of military uniforms. The pattern and colours used have created a true masterpiece which has an aesthetic depth.

A design which used the symbol of the Union Jack, created in a number of different colour schemes to show the multicultural nature of modern Britain. Not only is the traditional symbol of Britishness used in a clever manner, it is also reclaimed from those organisations and parties which use it as a rallying cry for unsavoury standpoints.

Overall, this exhibition was remarkable, showing as it did the ability of ordinary people, with no formal art and design training to create truly beautiful work, and for that reason alone I would urge anyone and everyone to go to the V & A at once.

A Good Night Out?

A Good Night Out in the Valleys, National Theatre Wales’s first production, performed at Blackwood Miners’ Institute, was exactly that: a good night out.

The drama centres on the struggle for the future of the Miners’ Institute as Kyle (Huw Rhys) a developer from a mining company comes to the village. Through his interaction with Con (Boyd Clack), the manager of the Institute, and various other characters, such as amateur boxer Dirty Karen (Siwan Morris), Con’s daughter Sue (Amy Starling) and miner’s son Shwni (Oliver Wood), it becomes apparent that he is not a stranger, and that he has his own reasons for masterminding the demise of the Institute. However Kyle’s plan to avenge the bullying and intimidation suffered by his family during the Miner’s Strike is put in jeopardy as he finds himself falling for Sue, despite her father’s role in making his family’s life a misery. Directed by John E McGrath and written by Alan Harris, the play was developed following workshops and interviews with groups and individuals from the Valleys which gives it an authenticity, and makes it a product of its area.

The production made exceptional use of the available space: having audience members on the stage taking the place of regulars at the Miners’ Institute was a clever way of creating a link between the audience and the action, as well as breaking down the barrier between audience and actor. This interaction was furthered by the audience participating in a game of bingo at the Institute, as well as a salesperson for Bevan’s meats and treats doing the rounds. The demolishing of barriers, and reaching out to the audience is not merely a ploy used for this first production, but is rather a central concern for National Theatre Wales. The company has decided against having their own building, and have chosen instead to take their productions to various communities across the country, and through this, to reach out to the people of Wales.

A film at the back of the stage was exploited to its full potential to change the backdrop as the action moved from one location to another. This was particularly helpful to ensure the audience could follow the various narrative threads, as all actors played numerous different characters, and switched between these roles at speed.

The drama was lacking one, defining, strong plot line: however the use of many inter-weaving strands was successful in building layers of relationships between the characters, which represented realistically the make up of a tight-knit community. Although the conclusion of the main point of conflict in the plot, as Kyle and Sue end up living happily ever after despite the bitterness and mistrust between both families, was far too predictable, this did not detract from our enjoyment. A love story on two sides of a divide, be that social, political or racial, has been done to death, but this play escaped the charge of predictability because, how could the production be a good night out in any worthwhile way without a happy ending?

The production was not trying to preach to its audience, nor was it trying to tackle world issues; rather it was trying to entertain and amuse, whilst holding up a mirror to the Valleys community, and succeeded in these ends.This is not to say that the play shied away from more serious topics: it dealt convincingly with unemployment, illness, death, revenge, forgiveness, belonging, as well as the continuing consequences of the miners’ strike on a community torn in two by the dispute. There were numerous emotionally fraught scenes: an ex-miner slowly dying from the effects of coal dust, a scab’s son confronting the man who had ostracised his family. However the humour pulsating throughout the production, and here I must highlight Sharon Morgan’s, Strongbow drinking, Dizzee Rascal loving granny who stole each and every scene in which she appeared, ensured that it did not fall into the trap of sentimentalising life in the Valleys. Rather this was a drama which represented the Valleys and its inhabitants with their weaknesses, as well as their strengths on show for all to see.

This show certainly set the benchmark for National Theatre Wales’s programme: I hope future productions will succeed in reaching the same standard.

Lacklustre Literature

I read both Welsh and English novels, and have noticed in the last couple of years a worrying discrepancy between what is published in both languages. Welsh language authors seem to be stuck in the past, and don’t seem to want to deal with the problems of the world in which we live. This might seem rather unfair, but in reality there has only been one Welsh novel that has grappled with the post September 11th world: Yr Anweledig by Llion Iwan.

Yr Anweledig (The Invisible) shows us the effect that war has on the lives of various characters, including an American soldier and a shepherd in the Hindu Kush Mountains. Although it does not deal directly with the way in which Britain has been affected, it does deal successfully with the way in which people’s lives have changed so dramatically since the attacks on the Twin Towers, and the way the world itself has changed. Yr Anweledig describes graphically the suffering, violence, and heart-break which war brings into the lives of ordinary people across the globe and the reader is filled with guilt, for these acts are done in our name. Unfortunately Yr Anweledig did not win the Prose Medal in the National Eisteddfod; rather the prize went to O Ran, yet another backward-looking Welsh novel, dealing with childhood.

Frank McCourt stated that “worse than the ordinary miserable childhood is the miserable Irish childhood, and worse yet is the miserable Irish Catholic childhood.” This could be easily paraphrased for Wales, just replace Irish with Welsh, and Catholic with Methodist. The obsession with childhood memoirs does not show merely a lack of creativity and innovation amongst Welsh authors, but more importantly is a symbol of our cultural obsession with looking back, and our inability to shake off the shackles of the past. It is imperative that we become forward-looking, that our culture celebrates our future, and plays a part in shaping that future rather than merely wallowing in personal or collective trials and tragedies.

But the trouble with the Welsh literary market is not merely that we are constantly bombarded with childhood memoirs (although this is certain true), rather the problem is that the books published are too introverted. The vast majority of books deal with the trials of the lives of the Welsh middle classes, and it is here that the problems lie; it is not merely a matter of not dealing with the problems of the world, but also a matter of not dealing with the problems of working class Welsh speakers. There has been very little, if any literature written about the recession and its effects on Wales, even though some areas of the traditional Welsh-speaking heartlands such as Anglesey have been hit hard by job losses. The reason for this is that Welsh authors tend to write only about their own narrow periphery, the problems that they experience, the traumas and crises of the well-off, well-dressed Welsh middle class.

It is about time that Welsh authors looked out of their ivory tours and realised that the country is changing, and has changed, and their work must reflect these changes, if it not to become obsolete. This is not to claim that Welsh authors should not write about Welsh-language Wales, because if they do not do so, nobody will. However Welsh literature should be more inclusive and more relevant, it should not be written by the a middle class clique, for a middle class clique, and reviewed and judged by members of that very same clique. Rather literature should speak to all of Wales, regardless of class, education or wealth, after all the language belongs to all.

As regards the matter of Welsh literature’s inability to write about the world and Wales’s place in the world, I believe that this is a symptom of our lack of self-belief and self-confidence. We must develop the belief that Wales has a role to play in the world, and a confidence that our voice should be heard along those of other nations. After all we are not a ghetto untouched and unaffected by the world’s problems, the world’s issues are our issues.

Photographing the World

Out of all the forms or mediums of visual arts, which is the one that tells us the most about ourselves? Which is the most immediate, the most striking? The one that hits you between the eyes, takes hold, does not let you go. Photography.

A picture tells a thousand words, or so the cliché says, but in reality photography often manages to capture what is impossible to describe in words. It might be a feeling, a situation so fleeting that it is gone in seconds, or an event that will never be seen again. It is photography’s ability to catch a second of the mortal, fluid, ever-changing world for all of eternity that makes it so very precious. Looking at a photograph of far flung lands or wars where the dead are all but forgotten and the victor entered the hallowed halls of history, it does not matter that the subject may have ceased to exist because the photograph ensures its survival, ensures that it is still alive, and alive in the minds of men.

Nowhere is photography’s ability to preserve the past, more apparent, and more ambitiously realised than in Albert Kahn’s collection of colour photographs of the early 20th century. Kahn, a keen philanthropist, sent tens of photographers across the globe to collect images of disappearing cultures, tribes on the edge of extinction, and a world that would never be the same again. In the collection, there are rare colour images of the First World War, photographs of Prime Minister Balfour’s visit to Palestine following his decision to create a homeland for the world’s Jews, the Bedouins and their lifestyle which has all but disappeared and slaves in the French colony of Mauritania. These are photographs of a changing world, a world that will never be seen again, and it is this that makes the images so important. They give us an insight into a world destroyed by man’s obsession with progress, and his belief in the importance of homogeneity, but the images remain to celebrate those lost tribes and displaced people and their culture, and perhaps as a warning against similar mistakes.

Albert Kahn’s work also highlights the fact that a photograph shows much more than merely the day to day life of a certain period, or the personal experiences of an individual, the image has depth, and layers of meaning for the viewer to appreciate and unravel. A photograph often tells us about the political and social landscape in which it was taken. That is, a photograph is not taken in a vacuum, and it is the cultural or social background that gives it much of its meaning, and its importance. The photograph must tell us something, must reveal something about the world in which we live, about the lives we lead. This is especially true of the work of a photographer such as Philip Jones Griffiths. Griffiths’ work is synonyms with the Vietnam War, and for many his images represent that war, and all that is wrong with all wars, and war itself. But above all else, Griffiths’ work pulsates with humanity; the suffering, the hardship, the compassion, the justice and injustices of human life. The photographs are not merely to be displayed in galleries or published in newspapers; they should touch our emotions, and make us question the role we play on the world stage. Griffiths’ work is a moral compass in an apathetic, disinterested world; it makes us challenge what is right and wrong, and perhaps forces us to face some uncomfortable home truths.

This is not to claim that a photograph is merely a device for disseminating political messages, as Philip Jones Griffiths stated: too much style and a photograph is merely wallpaper, too much content it is merely propaganda.

Nature's Beauty

I am well aware of the old cliché that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but a journey from my sister’s flat in South London, back home to the wilds of North Wales has got me thinking about the nature of beauty. Whilst on the bus to Euston I crossed Waterloo Bridge and the view of London from this vantage point showed the city at its best. I could see the Palace of Westminster, St Paul’s Cathedral, the London Eye, the Gherkin, the OXO tower, Somerset House, Canary Wharf and the South Bank. Each of these landmarks or buildings is aesthetically appealing, and doubtlessly when seen together are a sight to behold, showing the grandeur and majesty of London. But are they truly beautiful? The reason I ask this, is that on the train back to North Wales I passed some breathtaking landscapes such as the estuary of the Conwy River, and the mountains of Snowdonia still capped by the winter’s snow. These views were truly breathtaking and made me reconsider my earlier judgement of the view of London? Was it beautiful after all or merely pleasing to the eye? But was it fair to compare these vastly different views? Is it possible to compare natural and man-made beauty? Can we use the same benchmarks for a mountain, created over thousands, if not millions of years, and a building created by man’s own endeavour?

It might be that I am missing the point completely; it might be that a place’s beauty is not solely judged by its aesthetic, but also by its meaning and resonance to the viewer. That is, the view of London meant relatively little to me personally, but the view of Snowdonia meant that I was home. A person brought up in London might have seen a deeper meaning to the city’s landscape, and the memories intertwined with this view would have given it a significance that a stranger to the city would not feel.

The feeling of belonging to a place means that one can see beauty in the most down at heel town or village and can appreciate the intricacies and mannerisms that might not register on the radar of a visitor. It might be that its beauty lays in its smell , its sounds, its accents, or even something so subtle that it cannot be put into words, but still exists.

I believe that the above is true to an extent, but that still doesn’t explain why a building made by man’s hands will never live up to the beauty of nature (in my mind at least).

One Country: Two National Theatres

A new chapter in Welsh theatre has begun with National Theatre Wales’s first production: A Good Night Out in the Valleys. Now at long last, Wales has both an English language and a Welsh language national theatre company.

Having been to see just over half of the productions of Theatr Genedlaethol Cymru, I must admit that National Theatre Wales’s first year programme seems much more exciting than that which has been on offer by the Welsh language company. Of the thirteen English language productions which will be staged in the next year the vast majority are completely new works, and many see National Theatre Wales (NTW) working in collaboration with other theatre practitioners such as Welsh National Opera, Volcano Theatre and NoFit State Circus. There are only two plays which have not been written especially for NTW, a newly discovered early work by John Osborne, and a widely anticipated new production of The Persians. This is in stark contrast to Theatr Genedlaethol Cymru (ThGC), which chose a production of Romeo and Juliet as their second production, and have staged no fewer than nine plays which fit into the “classics” be that a Welsh language classic or a Welsh translation of an English or European classic.

This is not to say that there is no place for the classics in the repertoire of a national theatre company, however such a company should be at the forefront of new writing, and pushing forward new ideas, inventive, fresh productions, and challenging its audience, rather than merely regurgitating a series of classics.

Both companies decided on relatively safe productions for their first shows: NTW chose to begin with A Good Night Out in the Valleys, whilst ThGC began with Yn Debyg Iawn i Ti a Fi. A Good Night Out in the Valleys was a success because it was very much a play about the Valleys, and for the people of the Valleys, but did not descend into clichés of male voice choirs, rugby and coal pits. Rather it was a warts and all picture of a tight-knit Valleys community, with its inhabitants weaknesses on show, just as much as their strengths. It may not have been the most mentally taxing piece of drama ever written, but it did prove beyond all doubt that the theatre can be a good night out, and re-iterated a point that is too easily forgotten: that drama should entertain and amuse the audience, rather than preach and patronise.

Yn Debyg Iawn i Ti a Fi was a production of a play by Meic Povey previously performed by Theatr Bara Caws, and it was disappointing that the company had not decided to begin with a new, fresh piece of work. Furthermore, the play itself failed to convince in its portrayal of a man suffering from schizophrenia, with some extremely strange pieces of theatre such as the cooking of bacon on stage, and the relentless opening and closing of the oven door, which added nothing to the narrative and did nothing to heighten the dramatic tension. The performance I saw was not helped by a member of the audience falling ill and requiring an ambulance a couple of lines from the end of the production, destroying any tension and suspense that had been built, and forcing the cast to return to the stage to finish an insipid performance.

NTW’s first year programme, and especially so the lack of productions of the classics, or even the modern classics shows a self-confidence in the company’s output that has been missing from ThGC. This might be in part due to the fact that NTW has been able to learn from the mistakes of ThGC, but more importantly there is a feeling that NTW has more faith in its audience. That is, generally speaking Welsh language theatre caters for a rather narrow clique, that knows what it likes, and is not challenged or pushed by ThGC’s provision. The dramas produced uphold the status quo, and nurse the conscience of the Welsh middle class, rather than take them by the scruff of the neck and make them see their lives, communities, country and their position differently, and through the viewpoints completely estranged from their own. On the other hand, NTW seem to be trying to reach out, not only to those that do regularly attend the theatre, but also those that might not feel an affinity with traditional theatre. To this end, they have decided on a very varied programme, as well as using location very effectively to try and engage people by producing plays with a relevance to those particular communities.

With NTW performing a different play in a different location for the next twelve months, and ThGC currently advertising for a new Artistic Director, undeniably this coming year is going to be an exciting time for both Welsh language and English language theatre in Wales.

The Bitch from Brixton: Brockley Jack: 5/03/10

The Bitch from Brixton, performed at the Brockley Jack as part of the Write Now season of new writing, challenged our perceptions of the demise of Ruth Ellis. Starring Kirsty Nielson, Jonathan Dolling, Cary Crankson and Ben Whybrow, the show shed new light on a dark chapter in the British justice system, claiming as it did, that Ellis was a spy employed by the British government. Whether you choose to be taken in by this claim or not, this new angle on Ruth Ellis’s life and death produced a compelling piece of work.

Throughout the performance Ellis was constantly dressing and undressing, and being cajoled and forced by the male characters to dress according to their liking. This successfully created the image of Ruth Ellis as a living doll, a mannequin, or a puppet, who existed merely to be used and moulded to the desires of others. Therefore, an extra layer of interaction and power play between the various characters was cleverly created.

The over-riding theme of the play was not justice or injustice, but rather manipulation. All the characters were trying to manipulate each other in order to further their own ends. From a young age Ellis had been abused and exploited at home, and following this had to learn how to play the manipulation game to survive. However Ellis’s own attempts at manipulation and controlling the actions of others in order to improve her lot in life fall flat. Ruth Ellis is forced to return to the Camera Club, and a seedy lifestyle she thought was behind her, as she says herself, “a week ago, I thought the Camera Club was below me”. It is emphasised here that Ruth Ellis is mistaken in her belief that she can better herself, that she can control her life. Rather, Ellis herself is the subject that is controlled by others; by her father, her boss, Desmond, her lover, and finally her lawyer. Ellis’s life has never been in her own hands, her fate has never been her own.

This particular take on the life story of Ruth Ellis is overly-coloured by the writers’ own feminism, and the overtly political message distracts from the story. Ellis is portrayed as the victim, at the mercy of the men in her life. It is not her fault that her life has crumbled, but rather that of the men; it is not her fault that she murders a man, but rather that of the men in her life. Ruth Ellis is not held to account for her own actions and decisions, and is excused her failings and her guilt. The concept of individual choice, free will, and Ellis’s ability to shape her own fate are all but ignored.

The lack of direct, face to face interaction between the characters during the play was not convincing, and detrimentally affected the presentation and development of the relationships created on the stage. Due to the fact that the characters were speaking to each other without looking at one another, many of the relationships portrayed were flat and one-dimensional. If we had seen the characters communicate fully, especially if we had seen more reactions and a wider use of body language, the characters would have been more realistic and life-like. Having said this, the scene in Ellis’s club where all four actors are lined up facing the audience, and each man is trying to converse with Ruth Ellis, until their noise grows to a crescendo, was striking in showing the relationships between the characters and, more importantly how Ellis was being pulled in differing directions by the different men.

Kirsty Nielson, the actress playing Ruth Ellis was trying too hard, and ended up over-acting the part and giving it an unneeded melodramatic edge. To be honest, Nielson was not necessarily the right choice for the role of Ellis, having a distinct lack of the gravitas required for such a well-rounded, well-known character. Kirtsy Nielson did succeed in portraying Ruth Ellis very convincingly as a child, however the desired maturity was missing as the character aged and developed.

The production came to a head with a powerful finale, which unveiled the characters’ true intentions and agendas, as Ellis’s demise becomes inevitable. The design of the final scene was visually arresting, as the production ended with Ruth Ellis lit alone, awaiting her death.

Overall, The Bitch from Brixton was a fresh, exciting play, which engaged intelligently with the case of Ruth Ellis, and depicted a rarely heard facet of her life, even if its historical accuracy is still to be proven.

Classifying Art

Going to see the Rise of Women Artists exhibition at the Walker Gallery, Liverpool, has got me thinking: does the habit of classifying artwork according to the artists’ gender or race/ethnicity do any good to anyone?

I understand that some groups have traditionally been under-represented in the art establishment, and that exhibitions giving particular attention to these minorities can be seen as trying to give them their fair share of the limelight, or even trying to make amends for the discrimination of the past. However, does it not merely entrench the view that art by ethnic minorities or by women must be viewed differently, and judged by different standards?

I do agree that the art world needs to wake up to the fact that there is a wealth of talent in all sectors of society, and that boundaries and barriers stopping women and ethnic minorities from reaching the very pinnacle of the art world must be abolished once and for all. Furthermore, it is important that the history and development of women and ethnic minority artists is given attention, especially as this has been all but ignored for centuries, whilst the white, middle class, male artist has been put on a pedestal. But does separating the artwork of these under-represented groups from the mainstream merely keep them at the margins or periphery, and make it harder for them to be accepted into the establishment? Should we not see the work of women and ethnic minorities exhibited alongside other artists regardless of their background? That is, should their art not be allowed to do the talking? After all, artists want their work exhibited on its own merit, rather than being given the opportunity to exhibit for any other reason, be it age, gender, sexuality, race or religion. Will it not do far more for the confidence of the individual artist to know that his/her work was good enough to be chosen, and would have been good enough regardless of the identity of the artist, rather than merely being chosen to tick the female or ethnic minority box.

The Rise of Women Artists: Walker Art Gallery: 26/02/10

The Rise of Women Artists exhibition at the Walker Art Gallery, Liverpool attempts to show us the development of female artists, and their steadily increasing profile in the art world of the last 500 years.

The exhibition includes an eclectic mix of textiles, ceramics and fine art, which successfully showcases not only the traditional mediums associated with female artists, but challenged these assumptions by displaying the full and varied spectrum of art works by women.

Although the exhibition began with a display of textiles created in the 16th century, showing the intricate, delicate embroidery created by girls as young as 10 years old, it would have been interesting if the exhibition had began with even earlier work, to allow us to truly appreciate the changes in the role of the female artist, as well as in their work. However, the embroidery exhibited did show the differing purpose and aims of female art, compared to the art created by male artists in the same period. Art, especially needlework, was seen as an acceptable hobby for women which had a practical value in allowing women to create decorative pieces for the home. Furthermore, young women traditionally made their own clothes and home ware to take with them to their new marital home and this was seen as an adequate outlet for their creative talents. This was in stark contrast to the way society saw the work of male artists; art by men was seen as having a higher meaning, and a meaning of its own regardless of its lack of practical purpose.

It was only in creative households that women were given the opportunity and freedom to express their artistic abilities, and provided with the education that would enable them to flourish. Therefore, whilst viewing the exhibition it must be kept in mind that we are only seeing the work of those women who had the freedom to create art, rather than a fair representation of the talented women of the period, or even the most naturally talented artists.

The exhibition had many spectacular pieces: I am merely going to highlight some of my personal favourites.

There were beautiful pieces of ceramics on display including a most exquisite coffee set by Susan Ellis-Williams. The set had a dark background, overlaid with a stunning eastern-inspired pattern. Furthermore, there was a set by Clarice Cliff which was bursting with colour, and revealed that art does not have to be serious and sombre to be splendid.

The exhibition included a small painting, as well as a piece of metalwork by Frances McNair which illustrated her ability to represent her emotional and physical fragility through a variety of mediums. The painting in particular was an effective use of other-worldly, almost mythological images and motifs to symbolise the struggle within a woman’s life.

There were numerous paintings within the exhibition which demonstrated female artists’ willingness to challenge the status quo, and tackle subjects previously deemed suitable only for treatment by male artists, particularly so, paintings dealing with religious subjects and biblical scenes. Two religious paintings stood out for their beauty. A striking painting of St Catherine, with its rich embellishments in gold which gave the image a majestic, regal air, and a painting of the Virgin Mary and Christ surrounded by angels. The depth of colour in this work and the richness of the palette were stronger than in most other images dealing with the subject, as well as having a greater depth of emotion. There was a compassion and an empathy in the painting unseen in other religious paintings.

The only disappointing point in this fascinating exhibition was the modern work on display. Many of the pieces exhibited, especially those created in the 1980s and 1990s, had allowed the political message to take over at the expense of the piece’s aesthetic. There was no real talent for the efficient marrying of the political with the artistic, rather the political was lazily and rather vulgarly used to indicate the artist’s political opinion, instead of letting the viewer analyse and come to his/her own mind.

This exhibition was an interesting journey through the history of female artists, and was accomplished in showing, not only the talent of women artists, but also their varying status throughout the centuries.

Rhod Gilbert: The Cat that looked like Nicholas Lyndhurst: Venue Cymru: 24/02/10

Following on from his if.com (formerly Perrier Award) Edinburgh Fringe nominated show: Rhod Gilbert and the Award-winning Mince Pie, Rhod Gilbert brought his latest show to Venue Cymru, Llandudno.

The evening began with a support slot provided by Andrew Burns, a relatively unknown comedian who is yet to break into the higher echelons of sell out tours and TV shows. Burns’ routine was nothing spectacular; jokes about John Terry, the nature of being British, and his own home life. It was not the case that there was anything particularly wrong or un-funny about his material, but rather it felt as if it had all been said before far more succinctly by other comedians. Furthermore, it seemed that Burns himself was merely going through the motions, and that there was no real spark, no real charisma to his performance. Even his attempt at audience participation was unimaginative, with the audience’s reaction providing more laughs than the comedian’s own material. This is not to say that Burn’s set was wholly bereft of laughs: Burn’s anecdote of his first visit to his Slovakian - in -laws was the pinnacle in an otherwise lacklustre routine. Perhaps if the set had included more of a personal touch, with more of his own amusing anecdotes, rather than depending on run-of-the-mill comments on stale subjects, the performance would have improved markedly.

Rhod Gilbert came onto the stage to rapturous applause, and a sold out audience eagerly expecting an enjoyable evening. Gilbert’s star has risen dramatically in the last couple of years: presenting his own radio show, having his own series on BBC1, numerous sold out tours, and critically acclaimed shows at the Edinburgh Fringe. Expectations for his shows therefore have also rapidly risen. The performance started with some great local material, as he ripped Llandudno to shreds for its reputation as a Mecca for pensioners. Although this type of material can appear lazy, trading as it does on stereotypes and clichés, Gilbert’s charm ensured that this was not the case.

Audience participation was deftly used to ensure that we felt a part of the show, rather than merely being spectators as Gilbert vented his spleen. Titbits from the audience throughout the performance, as well as the obligatory heckles, made sure that any lapses in momentum were kept to a minimum.

The first half of the act was a confident, successful performance, even if Gilbert did not begin the show’s actual material until half way through. However, a good third of the material was recycled, having been previously performed on Live at the Apollo, which spoilt the suspense of the pay off or punch line. I am fully aware that in these days when comedians are the mainstay of numerous TV panel shows, and an Edinburgh show is toured throughout the following year, material is often repeated, but this can be frustrating, and leave an audience feeling short changed.

The second half began well, but slowly disintegrated into a rather aimless, rambling set. The routine was not as well structured, and did not have a strong narrative compared to Gilbert’s previous shows. Rhod Gilbert’s reasoning that the title had no meaning, and the revelation later that a session with a hypnotist had shown that Gilbert did actually have a cat that looked like Nicholas Lyndhurst, was a step too far, and was totally incredulous. Not only was this part of the show unbelievable, more importantly it was not actually funny. The material was too self-indulgent; it seemed as if Gilbert was recounting his erratic behaviour for his own enjoyment, rather than for the audience’s entertainment.

Rhod Gilbert has made a name for himself for his angry, irrational outbursts, but perhaps it is time for him to expand and develop his act beyond these narrow boundaries. Not that there is anything intrinsically wrong with his dour, erratic personality, but at times it felt as if the anger was an over the top act, and not wholly convincing.

The end of the performance was completely aimless, with no direction whatsoever, and no sense of purpose. It was obvious that Gilbert had no idea what to do as he came on for his encore. As he returned to the stage, rather than perform any jokes, or engage in a question and answer with the audience, he simply stood on the stage asking the audience how to end the show.

Overall, the first half of the show was very good and very funny; however Gilbert lost his way in the second half and allowed the performance to slip through his fingers. As a whole, the performance was too long, confused and unclear, and ended up petering out to nothing.

Heart of Darkness: 10 Feet Tall

Heart of Darkness, inspired by Joseph Conrad’s 1902 novella is an oppressive, claustrophobic drama, that takes its audience to the very brink of madness.

The drama, produced by Give it a Name, and performed at 10 Feet Tall, Cardiff, recounts the journey of Marlow, an English ferry boat captain up the Congo River. As Marlow penetrates deeper and deeper into the heart of Africa, so too, the savagery and insanity intensify. The production, directed by James Williams, and starring John Norton, Dean Rehman and Sule Rimi, sees Marlow’s behaviour becoming more and more erratic and unstable, as he takes his own personal journey across the Styx into the underworld.

Heart of Darkness was an effective piece of drama due to its unusual use of location, staged as it was in a performance space above a bar. Every nook and cranny of available space was used, as the audience was ushered from one room, and one scene to the next. This constant movement, and the inability to settle in one place, created an added unease and restlessness. Furthermore, the use of the stark, steel staircase as a location was convincing, giving the actor room to run wild; swinging, leaping and balancing precariously, whilst Marlow was recounting his childhood. However, when Marlow was at the bottom of the stairwell, and the audience peering down from their elevated position, the use of location was not wholly appropriate or successful due to the lack of clarity, although it was an interesting experiment in the use of differing viewpoints.

The play attempted, rather successfully, to put the audience inside Marlow’s mind. As Marlow’s madness increased so too did the feeling that we, the audience, were being strained and tested: by the progressively unsettling din created by all three actors, by their increasingly unexplainable and unhinged behaviour, and by the disturbing sounds and smoke filling the claustrophobic cellar space. Not only were we in the mind of Marlow, but by sharing his experiences, we were Marlow, experiencing our own momentary descent into madness. However, the use of the cold, emotionless ushers, constantly moving the audience and the action, ensured our position as outsiders. We, as an audience were privy to a man losing his mind, and seeking entertainment from such a spectacle. This juxtaposition between the audience as outsiders and the audience as an actual part of the performance only added to the discomfort.

The ending of the play was rather too long, as one crescendo after another came and went, and the suspense and tension built up throughout the production was gradually lost. With a little less self-indulgence, and a little more restraint, the play could have been brought to a tighter, tenser, and far more powerful conclusion. Nevertheless, the production succeeded in re-creating Marlow’s madness, and keeping the audience afraid, uncomfortable, and on edge throughout.