Blakeson - Writer

"The Artist"

2012-01-19T12:11:00.000Z

Michael Hazanavicius’ “The Artist” is pretty much a non-stop sequence of witty, magical moments; an homage to, rather than a pastiche of vintage cinematic story-telling. With a narrative shamelessly borrowed from “Singing In The Rain” and “A Star In Born”, it is (mostly) without dialogue, but far from silent; the sound design is ingenious, and the score, by Ludovic Bource (and others) is wonderfully evocative. Jean Dujardin and Berenice Bejo as the falling and rising stars of old Hollywood are effortlessly charming, and John Goodman’s gift for visual comedy is well exploited; although Penelope Anne Miller, as the brittle wife of Dujardin’s character, is sadly under-used. The film surely deserves all the awards coming to it, although it falls short of true greatness because it doesn’t plumb the emotional depths of the classics of the vintage era, such as Chaplin’s “The Kid” and “City Lights”. It wears its cleverness in a highly entertaining manner, though – and is almost worth seeing for Uggie the dog alone.

This is “26 Beers” - my own attempt at “silent” filmmaking.

"The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo"

2012-01-06T16:40:00.000Z

The first thing to say is that “The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo” is an excellent film – beautifully executed and constantly gripping. I’ve neither read Stieg Larsson’s novel, nor seen Niels Arden Oplev’s 2009 Swedish-language adaptation, but this being a gruesome, cerebral crime tale, David Fincher’s coldly forensic directorial eye is a perfect fit (cf. the wonderful “Se7en”, not to mention “Zodiac”); and screenwriter Steven Zaillian seems to have ordered the (by all accounts, somewhat confusing) narrative elements into a satisfyingly coherent whole. And yes, everyone speaks in slightly distracting, vaguely embarrassed Scandinavian accents, but this is necessary for consistency, given that the cast is drawn from several continents (even ex-“Neighbours” star Alan Dale turns up, adding to his ridiculously impressive list of credits). My main problem, however, is Daniel Craig – an authoritative screen presence, of course, but apparently unable to portray vulnerability, which is essential if one is to feel that journalist/investigator Mikael Blomqvist is ever in emotional turmoil or real physical danger. On the plus side, this means that the film’s beating heart is the excellent Rooney Mara as the wounded geek-girl Lisbeth Salander, who touchingly embodies Larsson’s thesis examining the link between long-entrenched power-structures and the institutionalised abuse of women, while simultaneously being as much of a male fantasy as Lara Croft. The Swedish adaptations of the rest of the Millennium trilogy have been less well received than the original; provided that Fincher remains at the helm, Hollywood may be actually in the process of serving the author well.

2011 (But mostly I watched telly)

2011-12-21T19:01:00.000Z

To summarise for 2011:

Three episodes of “Tati’s Hotel” for CITV.

Short film written: “The Key”

Short films written and directed:

“Proverb”

“King Horse”

Short “found footage” films made:

“The Great Longing”

“Fill For Me A Brimming Bowl”

Two pieces of long fiction now available for Kindle:

“Yer Blues”

“Oliviaville”

Plus a play for Frapetsus in 2012, if all goes well.

Free Folk

2011-12-15T09:25:00.000Z

Another Welsh premiere of a play by Welsh playwright Gary Owen - this time brought to us as an “On The Edge” rehearsed reading from the Welsh Fargo Stage Company at Chapter, Cardiff. This was “Free Folk”, originally commissioned and toured by the Forest Forge Theatre Company in 2010 - a tightly plotted comedy drama whose action pivots around a rain-drenched incident of rustic petty crime which escalates into the kind of hostage situation in which most of the victims don’t realise they’re being held hostage. It’s instigated by wide-boy Shaun (Gary Knowles, clearly enjoying having the most complex characterisation to play with) who, with his unwilling accomplice, the justifiably nervy incomer Karen (Nikki Warwick), finds himself trapped in the home of the elderly, set-in-her-ways Pearl (Liz Edney); they’re later joined by petulant teen couple Tim and Hannah (recent graduates Simon Mullins and Stephanie Garratt). The direction by Elise Davison was cleverly fluent, the actors encouraged to abandon their scripts to enhance some of the more comic moments; although the decision to ask them to add their own sound effects (e.g. for the opening and closing of car doors) prompted audience giggles, which I found distracting. The author being fond of a monologue, the characters are all given room within the narrative to elucidate their back-stories, such that the moments of self-discovery on which they end are generally satisfying, in an essentially optimistic piece which reflects highly entertainingly on issues of home, belonging, and the concept of the rural idyll.

Word 4 Word / Kindle

2011-12-08T09:27:00.000Z

Lured by the prospect of an evening’s free entertainment, I wandered down to Cardiff’s Ten Feet Tall, to check out Word 4 Word – a spoken-word open-mic night, presented under the auspices of National Theatre Wales. Wittily hosted by Mark Blayney Stuart, it involved a dozen performers, some of them making their live debuts, clambering onto the stage to bare their souls, having been given the broad theme of “Space” and a time limit of five minutes (not always rigidly enforced). Pretty enjoyable, all in all – a broad range of participants and styles; mostly poetry, some fiction extracts, some rambling. At first it looked as though it was going to conform to gender stereotypes – men being playful, women more nakedly emotional; but the picture grew more complex as the night drew on. Personal highlights for me were the poems about loss by Jill Berrett, Hassan’s subtle musings, and Jack Pascoe’s punk rock lament. There was a competitive element, the main official prize being to headline the next event (the audience prize being an old Doctor Who Annual), but I guess that for most participants the prize was the experience itself. The December headliner was nonagenarian Betty Lane, who charmed all present with her poignant verse, not to mention her account of a close encounter with Dylan Thomas. And the whole thing was all the more entertaining for the knowledge that I’m too cowardly and inarticulate ever to attempt such a thing myself.

In other news, I’ve managed to make my novel “Yer Blues” available as an e-book in Amazon’s Kindle store – a bargain at £1.45. Not to mention my novella “Oliviaville”, for even less. Irresistible.

Frapetsus, etc

2011-11-17T12:11:00.001Z

An unusually writerly few days.

Firstly, there was the kind invitation by Tim Rhys andRichard Gwyn to spend a day as a Visiting Writer, on Cardiff University’spostgraduate Creative Writing course. Thus, I showed the students (all female,interestingly) one of my episodes of “Tati’s Hotel”, and discussed theprocess of going from outline to final draft; set up an exercise in which theyhad to devise a TV series, giving only a list of hypothetically availableactors as a starting-point; and made some (doubtless ill-informed)contributions to the workshop in which they appraised extracts of one another’swork. In the evening, there was an open-mic session at the Promised Land pub-restaurant –more readings, in a slightly more public forum. Very enjoyable, and anencouraging first experience of Creative Writing in academia.

Then, having entered my play “Hunkydory” in Frapetsus Theatre Company’s inaugural“Writer’s Block” play competition (taking place in the Arts Wing of Swansea’sGrand Theatre), I actually won, against stiff opposition in the final (fromRebecca Hill, Anna Poole and Eifion Jenkins). Delighted, but surprised, giventhe commercial slant of the contest; not that my piece is avant-garde inany way, simply a bit “niche”, its main protagonists being former punkmusicians in their fifties. Still, if all goes well, there’ll be a productionin 2012, and the script will be published by Stagescripts Ltd. Which will be nice.

Lucid Event - "What Are We Going To Do About Theatre and Performance in Cardiff?”

2011-11-07T11:48:00.000Z

Following on from a writer-centred event earlier in theyear, I attended another Open Space meeting, organised by Lucid at the weekend, at ChapterArts Centre – this one with the heading “What Are We Going To Do About Theatreand Performance in Cardiff?” Designed as a fairly informal, if structured forumfor debate, aimed at coming up with positive solutions, the format involvesparticipants coming up with questions, then breaking up into small, fluid groupsto discuss them. I suggested the question “Is There A Problem?”, based on thefact that there appears to be quite a lot going on, theatre-wise, in the Welshcapital, speaking purely as a consumer. The truth, however, as was confirmed bymore informed professionals than myself is that there are many perceivedproblems, such as the “scene” largely consisting of a plethora of small,basically self-funded productions (occasionally with token project grants fromthe Arts Council of Wales); a focus on “emerging” artists who are thenabandoned with nothing to emerge into; a lack of cultural leadership at higherlevels, etc. Other questions involved such issues as theatre’s responsibilityto reflect a world in crisis, and the existence or otherwise of a keen theatreaudience. A tiring, but stimulating day, and I wasn’t sure whether to bedepressed or heartened by the fact that people who are considerably moreconnected and successful than I am are similarly mired in insecurity.

Arctic Monkeys in Cardiff

2011-11-03T11:58:00.000Z

My first visit for a couple of years to Cardiff’s recentlyrenamed Motorpoint Arena (formerly the International Arena) was atreat – a much needed dose of literate pop-punk raucousness from the ArcticMonkeys. In support were The Vaccines, who I saw on the NME Tour atthe beginning of the year, and they seemed slightly less gauche this timeround, doubtless having grown used to playing to big crowds over the festivalseason; their knowingly catchy sing-alongs were as infectious live as onrecord.

The Arctics kicked off with the engagingly silly “Don’t SitDown…”, the first half of the set comprising a succession of hits from all fouralbums; the second half concentrated on less well-known, more reflectivematerial, setting us up for a storming encore. Those of us who didn’t claw ourway to the front were catered to by four screens, side of stage, showing bandclose-ups; there was also the customary dazzling light show. Teddy-boy-styledAlex Turner maintained an easy rapport with the audience, but man of the matchwas drummer Matt Helders – impressively authoritative. The song that stuck inmy head as I wandered home was current single “Suck It And See”. If rumours ofa hiatus are to be believed, they’ll be sorely missed.

"We Need To Talk About Kevin"

2011-10-26T17:10:00.000Z

It seems strange to describe as “beautiful” a film whichdeals with such horrific themes as “We Need To Talk About Kevin”, but it’sentirely appropriate – Lynne Ramsey’s adaptation of Lionel Shriver’s novel is agreat achievement. Tilda Swinton is wondrously compelling as the mother whoseicy relationship with her son may or may not have had some bearing on the unfortunate events for which he is responsible. Frequently abused as she goes about her dailybusiness, pathetically grateful for any expression of human warmth, consumedwith guilt and grief, Swinton’s Eva is a remarkably vivid creation; Ezra Milleris eerily attractive as the teenage bad seed of the title (and Jasper Newelland Rocky Duer are even creepier as the gimlet-eyed younger versions), and JohnC. Reilly heart-breakingly hearty as his father. The story is told throughfragmented images (plenty of reds, obviously), incongruous soundtrack songs(notably Buddy Holly’s “Every Day”) and sparsely contextualised flashbacks, ofa kind which fill the viewer with dread, leaving us in no doubt as to theeventual direction of the story. Ramsey (whose similarly dreamlike “MorvernCallar” is a personal favourite) leaves much of the violence to the viewer’simagination (which, of course, makes it much worse), and offers us the merestcrumb of redemptive comfort at the very end. Shriver has given this adaptation her full endorsement, and rightly so – this is amasterpiece of impressionistic narrative cinema.

Made In Roath 2011

2011-10-19T17:30:00.000Z

I made the effort to check out some of Made In Roath 2011,a festival of local arts and crafts taking place over the weekend of 14th-16^thOctober: some busking in the Mackintosh Institute Farmers’ Market, customers’drawings of the proprietors of the Record Shop in Inverness Place, HannahGoudie’s “DesignatedDance Area” on Albany Road, Norma Jean Finnegan’s photos of artists’workshops in the window of the Bottle Shop on Pen-y-lan Road, an exhibition byrecent Cardiff School of Art graduates in Roath Park. All very jolly, even ifsome of the activities detailed in the impressive brochure seemed not tomaterialise. Sadly, technical difficulties meant that my short, “Proverb” didn’t make it intoSunday’s (nevertheless largely diverting) Roathbud Film Festival at theGower Pub. In sum, though, a heartening artist-led initiative, blessed by theabsence of rain.

Meanwhile I’ve made another mash-up film, based on the poem “The GreatLonging” by Kahlil Gibran.

"Midnight In Paris"

2011-10-12T15:56:00.000Z

I loved the new Woody Allen film, “Midnight In Paris”,but then I’m a long-standing fan, even of some of those works which have beenreceived with little enthusiasm by critics (e.g. “Whatever Works”, “AnythingElse”); although I’ve thus far avoided others (“You Will Meet A TallDark Stranger”, “Cassandra’s Dream”). This time round, the Woodysurrogate is Owen Wilson as Gil, a successful screenwriter engaged toCalifornia princess Inez (Rachel McAdams), who nonetheless hankers after theartistic milieu of a golden age, and whilst on a trip to Paris, manages totravel back to the 1920s and commune with his artistic heroes (Picasso, F.Scott Fitzgerald, Bunuel, Man Ray etc.), and fall under the spell of MarionCotillard’s discontented Adriana. It is perhaps his most filmic work in a while– there are no lazy voice-overs or direct addresses to camera, and the city, aswell as the various women Gil encounters, are photographed beautifully(courtesy of cinematographers Johanne Debas and Darius Khondji). The centralcharacter is, of course, a fool – in love with France, but never bothering tolearn the language; sleepwalking into marriage with a woman with whom he haslittle in common – but Wilson is effortlessly engaging. As usual with Allen, ahost of actors shine – Michael Sheen as Inez’ intellectual old flame, AlisonPill as Zelda Fitzgerald, Corey Stoll as an intense Ernest Hemingway, KathyBates as Gertrude Stein, Adrien Brody brilliant in a regretfully brief turn asDali. Of course, the plot makes no logical sense, and the messages – it’simportant to live in the present, you can only find real love with someone whoshares your dreams – are obvious, but it’s all delightfully done, and as wittyas ever. One is heartened, if mystified, by the fact that it’s become hisbiggest ever box-office hit in America.

"Tony Blair - A Journey"

2011-10-09T10:23:00.002Z

As an unrepentant and incurable Labour voter, Ionly got round to reading my copy of Tony Blair’s “A Journey” in the pastcouple of weeks. It’s a fascinating account of his life at the head of theParty which he led to three General Election victories, but will probably do nothing to endear him to those who have no desireto be charmed. The style veers wildly between the conversational and theesoteric; several words and phrases recur innumerably (“a good guy”, “smart”,“to be fair”); it’s badly in need of explanatory footnotes; and it’s inevitablyself-serving (what autobiography isn’t?), and full of points-scoring againsthis enemies in the media and politics (although I suspect that those he mostdisdains simply remain unmentioned). I greatly enjoyed it, however. Those whoclaim that he never believed in anything will find plentiful (doubtlessannoying) evidence to the contrary; anyone seeking a cringing apology for hisIraq policy will find, instead, a meticulous defence; the love-haterelationship with Gordon Brown is covered in great detail and with somepoignancy. The book is most valuable, however, as an insight into the businessof making life-or-death decisions involving millions of people - one isconstantly reminded of J.K. Galbraith’s line about politics being “the art ofchoosing between the disastrous and the unpalatable”. An essential read forthose interested in real-world as opposed to gesture politics.

"The Drowned World"

2011-09-25T10:08:00.000Z

This week at Chaptersaw what was (inexplicably) the first Welsh production, by F.A.B. Theatre,of Gary Owen’s “The Drowned World”, a play which seems to have beeneverywhere else in the world since its triumphant debut (courtesy of PainesPlough) on the Edinburgh Fringe in 2002. It is set during a brutal butsomehow unearthly civil war redolent of too many real-life situations (Bosnia,Rwanda, Nazi Germany), in which society is divided into “citizens” and those,now oppressed, who have “the radiance”. The plot sees a sexually frustrated,apparently apathetic, lowly civil servant (played by John Norton) reluctantlygive refuge to a desperate couple on the run (the ever-reliable BrendanCharleson and Valmai Jones), whilst being spied on by a female soldier (KatyOwen, who’s probably tired of being described as pixie-ish). Class is played up- the well-spoken “refugees” are named Julian and Tara and dress in an elegant,vaguely “ethnic” manner; the casually-combat-clad government loyalists arenamed Darren and Kelly. Director Steve Fisher gives us a set consisting simplyof four step-ladders from which the actors descend to deliver Owen’smeticulous, resonant dialogue – actually, mostly in monologue form, except atcertain tense moments; the sound design (by Gareth Evans) is subtly chilling.Some of the scene transitions seem slightly clunky (unless this is anintentional, Brechtian thing), but the overall impression is of a universewhich, though sketchily rendered, is anything but alien. Needless to say,things do not end happily, but the conclusion offers strangely satisfyingmoments of transcendence, which militate against the pessimism the play mightotherwise engender (unless I’ve completely misunderstood the author’sintentions, which is entirely possible). While there is some dark humour here,it’s not exactly a fun night out, but this is certainly powerful, universallyrelevant drama.

“Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy”

2011-09-21T15:45:00.000Z

Whenever I see Gary Oldman on screen, he always looks asthough he’s seriously considering ripping the head off whoever he’s conversingwith, whether it be an interviewer or a co-star. As George Smiley, in TomasAlfredson’s version of John Le Carre’s “Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy”, we seenone of that from him; Smiley is mild-mannered, bowed by personal unhappinessand quietly revivified by the mission he’s been given - to root out a mole atthe heart of the Secret Service. It’s a real shock when, at a crucial point, agun appears in his hand - the fact that the pistol is taken from a plasticoffice folder rather than a shoulder-holster signifies that we are in the worldof real-life espionage, so the violence is sporadic, the action consistinglargely of grey men conversing in brown rooms. So why is this film moregripping than any thriller I’ve seen in recent years? Largely because of theperformances – the likes of Oldman, John Hurt, Toby Jones, Colin Firth, TomHardy, Kathy Burke (a welcome return), and Mark Strong providing a masterclassin subtle, subtext-heavy screen acting. Alfredson keeps things moving along,with lost of fast cutting between scenes where apparently nothing is happening;although he’s not afraid of a long, lingering take when necessary. The plot isa basic whodunit – the whys and hows are largely left to the viewer todetermine, and we’re given time to ponder, whilst being constantly intrigued.Never having read the book, and with vague, confused memories of the televisionadaptation, my expectations were muted; it is, however, an understatedmasterpiece.

"Kick For Touch"

2011-09-14T17:32:00.000Z

The latest in the On The Edge season ofrehearsed readings in the theatre at Chaptersaw a rare home town outing (and a near full house) for a play by Peter Gill,the Cardiff-born playwright and director who’s developed his reputation inLondon from the 1960s onwards. “Kick For Touch” (originally produced atthe National Theatre in 1983) is a chamber piece about two brothers, Joe(Nick Wayland-Evans of Only Men Aloud) and Jim (Dick Bradnum), reunitedin adulthood after a traumatic childhood separation, and Joe’s wife (PollyKilpatrick) who finds herself torn between them. It’s a fascinatingly intenseexperience, with director Bethan Morgan’s use of lighting cleverly building aclaustrophobic atmosphere, and the powerful performances quickly drawing usinto the characters’ painful co-dependence. The precise nature of the incidentin the distant past which might have a bearing on the brothers’ presentpredicament remains (intentionally) obscure, which is frustrating; but thepiece as a whole provides a bracing emotional workout for actors andaudiences alike.

“The Skin I Live In”/“La Piel Que Habito”

2011-09-01T08:25:00.002Z

The latest from Pedro Almodovar, “The Skin I Live In”/“LaPiel Que Habito”, is being sold as his foray into horror; mercifully, there’s alot more going on here than that would imply. Antonio Banderas, back withAlmodovar for the first time since “Tie Me Up! Tie Me Down!”/”Atame!” (which issignificantly referenced) does indeed play a mad scientist, but his is abuttoned-up, middle-class insanity, prompted by grief. Marisa Paredes plays hisdevoted Igor, and the delightful Elena Anaya is his secret experiment, themysterious prisoner in his luxurious residence, dressed in a flesh-colouredbody-suit, constantly under video surveillance, and unhappy to be there. It’s astory which combines the audacity of early-period Almodovar with the emotionalsensitivity of his more recent work, and several trademark themes recur –motherhood, sexual abuse, vengeance, obsession, voyeurism – in a film which,unusually for him, relies more on images than dialogue. Nevertheless, heteasingly denies the audience sight of some flashpoint moments –deaths, revelations, confrontations; and the ending seems a tad anti-climactic.On the whole, though, he is to be congratulated for taking a B-movie premiseand producing a profound, beautiful and entertainingly disturbing piece ofwork.

"Cowboys & Aliens"

2011-08-25T12:08:00.000Z

The long-anticipated (at least by me) Cowboys & Aliens, the latest from indie actor turned blockbuster director Jon Favreau, makes no real sense, but it would probably be less fun if it wasted time boring us with logic. Taking a variety of stock Western characters – the mysterious man with no name (Daniel Craig), the feisty heroine (Olivia Wilde), the ruthless landowner (Harrison Ford), the doughty lawman (Keith Carradine), the annoyingly earnest child (Noah Ringer), the weak-willed saloon-owner (Sam Rockwell) – and adding a small-scale invasion by vicious creatures from outer space, (cf “Attack The Block”), it’s very entertaining. The performances are flawless, and the incongruity of the CGI in the Old West setting merely adds to the general dislocatory effect. Given that the aliens are sufficiently advanced technologically to have travelled across vast galaxies in ships equipped with laser-blasters, they seem curiously vulnerable to Earth bullets, knives, arrows, etc, but such minor practical considerations are of less import than the general theme of disparate forces coming together to fight a common enemy. It probably won’t live long in the memory, but one applauds the audacity of the premise, and the slickness of its execution.

Jongleurs / "Killing Cupid"

2011-08-21T15:56:00.000Z

Not having attended a stand-up comedy show in several years, I took advantage of a Groupon deal, and treated myself to a Saturday evening show at Jongleurs, currently situated in the cavernous “Icehouse” room at central Cardiff discotheque, Oceana. MC-ing was jovial Mancunian John Warburton, whose job it was to soak up the excess energy of the assembled stag-parties so that the featured comics wouldn’t have to cope with too much self-indulgent heckling; and he gave excellent banter. Not so with the first on the bill, Scouser Jamie Sutherland, whose rather commonplace material (Easyjet, recycling) failed to maintain audience interest, although I guess the problem was less his writing than his rather brittle persona. Next on the bill, Brendan Dempsey didn’t have that problem, having used his acting experience to create a character - the likeable Irish curmudgeon at odds with modernity – who had little trouble connecting with the crowd. Headlining after the interval was Sinck, a black ex-teacher from New York who set the tone with his walk-on music - “Move Bitch” by Ludacris - and joked that the recent riots made him feel at home. While some of his material was familiar (U.S./U.K. language differences, airport security, middle age) his slick, interactive style meant that he carried it off well. The major part of his set dealt frankly with sexual matters, and was uproariously received; thus, he departed in triumph. An enjoyable night, which I didn’t ruin by staying for the disco.

Recent news stories have suggested that people have abandoned books for new-fangled phones, etc. My experience is quite the contrary – I’ve never done as much reading as I have since I discovered iBooks and Kindle for the iPod Touch, and the multitude of free e-books available from the associated web-stores (and others, such as the excellent www.manybooks.net), leading to such inexcusably belated discoveries as E.W. Hornung’s Raffles stories, Sacher-Masoch’s “Venus in Furs”, Houdini’s “The Miracle Mongers”, and “The Theory Of The Theatre” by Clayton Hamilton - a century old and full of astute observations. I actually paid (a whole 49p) for “Killing Cupid” by self-publishers Mark Edwards and Louise Voss, intrigued by media coverage of its popularity, and the amusing premise – stalking victim takes umbrage when her stalker loses interest. A hybrid of chick-lit and psycho-thriller, taking the form of two complementary sets of journal entries, it’s an undemanding read without being as clunkily written as many similarly-pitched “airport” novels, and while there are a few typos and other errors which might have been excised by an editor, the story keeps one gripped, and the central protagonists are deliciously neurotic. It should make an entertaining two-parter for television - assuming that the authors aren’t as deluded as their characters in claiming to have sold the rights.

"Super 8"

2011-08-10T11:23:00.000Z

J.J. Abrams’ “Super 8” is about grief, young love, and the allure of filmmaking. Not to mention something huge from somewhere else. Self-consciously a tribute to the oeuvre of the film’s producer, Steven Spielberg, and set in a small Ohio town in 1979, it follows a group of pubescent amateur filmmakers who get caught up in a train crash (spectacularly realised) and the ensuing military cover-up. The special FX are as magnificent as one might expect, and the child cast, particularly Joel Courtney and Elle Fanning as the would-be couple, are charming, but it’s Kyle (“Early Edition”) Chandler, combining the roles of bereaved husband and action hero, who carries much of the emotional weight. Towards the end, Abrams ladles on the sentimentality in a shamelessly manipulative manner; but the fact that his main protagonist is the film-within-a-film’s make-up artist/model-maker rather than the writer/director is a clever comment on contemporary commercial cinema, of which this is a technically flawless example.

Cardiff Big Weekend 2011

2011-08-09T15:54:00.000Z

The Admiral Cardiff Festival Big Weekend, held on the lawn of City Hall, is one of the highlights of the year, and 2011 was another classy event, once more marred by the weather. I’m lucky enough to live within walking distance and so was able to cherry-pick my entertainments (and avoid the portaloos).

Friday’s “local bands” evening, promoted by the Swn Festival, provided a good chance to catch up on young people’s exciting hairstyles, and once more witness a mosh-pit merry-go-round. First on stage were the enjoyably heavy metal inflected pop-punky Battle Of The Bands winners Death Before Sunrise – perhaps unsurprisingly not entirely dissimilar to Lostprophets. Next up were perky West Walians OK, whom I’d already seen supporting Darwin Deez a few months ago; they sounded no less like the Wombats than before (not necessarily a bad thing), have added an amusing new guitarist, and went down well with the youthful audience, although anticipation for headliners Funeral For A Friend was heavy in the air.

On Saturday evening, I went down intending to see Chicago’s Hypnotic Brass Ensemble – to find they’d been replaced by reggae legend Horace Andy (most famous for “Skylarking” and his work with Massive Attack); his traditional reggae vibes (“for conscious people”), provoked some pleasingly bizarre dancing. My principal focus (on an evening later headlined by Gabrielle) was L.A’s Vintage Trouble, following their electrifying appearance on Jools Holland’s “Later” in April, and they didn’t disappoint, with their modern take on 60’s/70’s soul, part of a profoundly welcome move toward a human, non-Black-Eyed-Peas-esque take on the genre (cf Cee-Lo, Talib Kweli, Fitz And The Tantrums etc.). A guitar-bass-drums line-up, fronted by the charismatic Ty Taylor, they were highly impressive, and ecstatically received.

Apparently they’re not the coolest band in the world, but I won’t hear a word said against Sunday night’s headliners, ski-chalet-rockers The Feeling – “Fill My Little World” is a classic pop song, and I have fond memories of seeing them play at the Cardiff Barfly several years ago. Even though they’re now past their commercial peak, they still managed to attract a large and hugely appreciative crowd on a soggy evening. One could hardly claim that they turn into rock beasts on stage, but the live experience does add some rough edges, and their encore of “Fight For Your Right To Party” had to be seen to be believed.

Hats off to the council, sponsors, etc. for persisting with it in hard economic times.

BBC Writers Room Rapid Response - "I've Been Expecting You"

2011-08-08T16:37:00.000Z

I was pleasantly surprised to learn that my script, "I've Been Expecting You" was chosen as one of the three best-regarded entries into the BBC Writers Room competition to find Rapid Responses to the Murdoch/phone-hacking scandal. Given the nature of the events concerned, I think it's safe to assume that many perfectly good writers will have had their work ruled out for containing libellous/defamatory material, but still, it's inordinately pleasing.

"Muscle"

2011-07-31T15:42:00.000Z

I had avoided previous versions of “Muscle” from Shock ‘n’ Awe Performance Co. Ltd, since I’d assumed from the publicity materials, suggesting that it was an exploration of the nature of manhood, that it would be something of a whinge about “masculinity in crisis”. When I finally caught up with it, at Chapter Arts Centre, in its third, Edinburgh-bound incarnation, I was delighted to discover that I was mistaken. Yes, it does involve men talking about their feelings, but since they are largely South Wales men, the cringe factor is minimal. Derived from interviews, and shaped into an engagingly physical performance piece by playwright Greg Cullen and choreographer Phil Williams, it presents stories from life as told by a variety of men (old, young, black, white, gay, straight), flawlessly played by Hugh Thomas, Sule Rimi, Dean Rehman, Lee Mengo and newcomer Lewis Reeves. It is structured as a selection of monologues, playlets, mimes, songs, shaggy dog stories, and narrative dance interludes (all the more resonant for being performed by non-dancers); deftly framed by Angharad Matthews’ deceptively stage simple design, enhanced by the music of Benjamin Talbott, and confronting universal human complexities and contradictions in a dramatically satisfying manner. Towards the end, one long tale of tragic family dysfunction threatens to over-balance things, but the authors cleverly pull back from the brink, leading us towards a celebratory climax. It’s not often that one emerges from the theatre feeling positive about oneself, but “Muscle” did the trick for me.

Wales' National Museum of Art

2011-07-14T08:40:00.000Z

Business was pretty brisk when I paid my first visit to Wales new National Museum of Art, i.e. the extended first- (and in an exciting development, second-) floor exhibition-space at the National Museum of Wales, Cardiff, bringing together familiar pieces (e.g. the world-renowned collection of impressionists; works by the old Welsh Masters – the Johns, Ceri Richards etc.), new exhibits, and presumably a lot of stuff that’s been in storage – notably (unless I’ve missed them previously), a startlingly vivid Himalayan landscape by Edward Lear, and a hypnotic wintry Valleys scene by Ernest Zobole. The contemporary work includes Jeremy Deller’s Manic Street Preachers installation, a miniature stone circle by Richard Long, and Common Culture’s amusingly celebratory “takeaway” experience. In fact, for the first time in my 30 years of casually popping in, it’s all too diverse and dazzling to take in in a single session; which can only be a good thing.

Betty Blue Eyes

2011-06-26T13:39:00.000Z

Despite being a big fan of the work of Alan Bennett (like all right-thinking people), I’ve thus far managed not to see A Private Function, his first outing for the big screen. I bought my ticket for Betty Blue Eyes at the Novello Theatre, the new comic musical which has been adapted from it, because the options for matinee performances in London on the day in question were limited, and I anticipated that it would be cheerier than the alternatives – Butley at the nearby Duchess Theatre came a close second, and I’m sure War Horse is brilliant, but I didn’t fancy it as a birthday distraction. “Betty” is not without contemporary political resonances, of course, the background of the plot being the nationwide celebration of a royal wedding, supposedly lifting the nation at a time of austerity; class is also an issue, as always in Britain. Reece Shearsmith was excellent in the most nuanced role, that of the soft-hearted small town chiropodist who takes drastic action after being stymied in his career aspirations, stung into action by his social-climbing wife, engagingly played by Kirsty Hoiles (standing in for Sarah Lancashire). Adrian Scarborough also relished his turn as the SS-styled meat inspector; indeed, each of the featured players had a chance to shine with a cleverly-judged song (“Magic Fingers” being a particular highlight). The star of the piece, however, is the title character, the animatronic pig, an impressive (if not quite miraculous) creation, which elicited gasps of admiration from the largely youthful audience (if the Grand Circle was in any way representative; they also appreciated the off-colour jokes) every time it appeared. The set design was an even more stunning achievement, with rotating platforms and constantly shifting backdrops providing clever, filmic transitions between diverse locations – the war-time flashback is especially poignant and shocking. This is what large-scale commercial musical theatre, at its best, is all about – spectacle, big tunes, “hopes, fears, laughter, tears”, and effortless universal relevance. Ridiculously enjoyable.

"King Horse" - short film

2011-06-15T11:25:00.001Z

My latest short film - available to view on Youtube and Vimeo. Title stolen from Elvis Costello.

X-Men: First Class

2011-06-09T16:25:00.000Z

I’ve always enjoyed the “X-Men” movies, despite having no interest in the comic-book source material and, especially in the case of the third film, “The Last Stand”, only a vague idea of what was happening onscreen. My expectations of Matthew Vaughn’s prequel, “X Men: First Class”, were fairly low, however, largely because of middling reviews. And yes, the plot (super-villain pits the super-powers against one another) is over-familiar, some of the smaller special effects are somewhat under-whelming, and there appear to be a couple of jarring anachronisms for a film largely set in 1962 (although a premature mini-skirt or two is probably a minor quibble given the script’s rewriting of the history of the Cuban Missile Crisis). The performances, though, are flawless (as far as that’s possible in a film about mutants with superpowers), and despite a somewhat disjointed start, the film gradually compels as we hurtle towards the explosive and poignant climax. The protagonists’ predicament – whether to fulfil your potential and embrace difference, necessitating a turn to the dark side; or to take the moral high ground, keep your head down, and risk annihilation – has a clever contemporary relevance, especially given the concentration-camp element of the narrative. Despite, or perhaps because of this, it’s jolly fun.

Darwin Deez

2011-06-02T17:08:00.000Z

The breathlessly anticipated (at least by me) Darwin Deez gig was relocated from Cardiff’s Millennium Music Hall to the Student’s Union – inexplicably, the Solus bar rather than the Great Hall; even more inexplicably, tickets were still available on the night. First in support were locally-based OK, who seemed highly appreciative of the opportunity to play to a big crowd; they served up some very entertaining, excitable punky pop, although it seemed to be aiming at a niche already ably filled by The Wombats. Next on the bill were Birmingham-based electro quartet Jake Bullit, who came across as a wimpier Hot Chip, but with some amusingly bitchy lyrics.

The headliners were well worth waiting for. Forged in the creative furnace which is New York City, I guess they’ve they’ve had to come up with something distinctive - aside from their wonderful, sunny/dark pop songs - in order to progress; hence Darwin Smith’s Hasidic hippie hair-do and the amusingly shambolic inter-song dance routines. It made for peerless entertainment as they more than did justice to the material from their excellent debut album, augmenting it with unlikely mash-ups, the occasional rap, and some amusing cover versions (e.g. a grungy take on Coldplay’s “Lost”). An exuberant show, rapturously received.

My New Short Film - "Proverb"

2011-06-01T09:13:00.000Z

Available to view on Youtube

The One Eyed Man Project

2011-05-27T16:55:00.000Z

The Arts Council of Wales Creative Wales Award is a grant designed to allow established artists to explore new aspects of their practice. Philip Ralph has used his to create “The One-Eyed Man Project”, in which he attempts to integrate his work as a writer (e.g. of the celebrated verbatim drama Deep Cut) and performer (not to mention researcher and polemicist) in order to try and create a new form of theatre. Thus he’s staging a number of performances in small, non-theatrical spaces, and depending on audience input for the bulk of his material – the one I attended was on the second night of three at the Plan Café in Cardiff’s Morgan Arcade. I had been anticipating a kind of dramatic version of comedy improv, based on the current news/media agenda; what transpired was something more intimate, as Ralph used his mid-life crisis, recent illness and declared misanthropy as starting-points for a dialogue with the audience (around a dozen of us) about their pet hates - generally petty annoyances on this occasion, such as neighbours’ failure to recycle, or other people’s bad driving habits (I’d kind of expected a mention of the arrest of Serb warlord Ratko Mladic, which had occurred that day, but was obviously in the wrong crowd for that). Assisted by rabble-rouser and occasional (perhaps too occasional) musical accompanist Gareth Clarke, Ralph managed to riff amusingly on these and his own bêtes noires, eventually challenging the audience to collaborate in his therapy by giving him a task to perform, out there in the real world, in order to enhance his personal growth. He’s a magnetic performer, and a genial one, despite his proclaimed distaste for his fellow humans; I was both vaguely disappointed (speaking as a writer) and mightily relieved (speaking as a coward) that his approach wasn’t more confrontational (cf the deconstructive alt-comedy of Hitting Funny), but that would have been inappropriate given that everyone in attendance was on his side from the beginning. One suspects that if this were a more long-term project, he might grow bored with the supportive, liberal, arty audience and seek a more challenging performance environment (A young offenders’ institution? The offices of the Daily Mail? A working men’s club crowd expecting a comedian?) which might enable the piece to grow from what is a refreshingly frank, thought-provoking entertainment into something which constitutes a more complete synthesis between the populist, the personal, and the experimental.

"Attack The Block"

2011-05-19T12:34:00.000Z

Attack The Block took me by surprise. On the evidence of the trailer, and writer-director Joe Cornish’s much-loved comedy partnership with Adam Buxton, I was expecting a facetious parody about chirpy South London hoodies cheerily taking on hapless aliens with baseball bats. Yes, there are light moments (generally courtesy of Nick Frost), but the tone is largely one of menace, with violent death, whether at the hands of vengeful invaders from space or the local crack-dealer, always on the agenda. Even more impressive are the visuals, the council estate where the action takes place lit to look glamorously grim, and the effects (the aliens being gorilla-gremlin hybrids with fluorescent fangs) rivalling anything a Hollywood production of commensurate scale might have to offer. Cornish has spoken of his admiration for classics like The Warriors and Assault on Precinct 13 which underlay their teen-crowd-pleasing genre story-telling with a political subtext, and his film, which begins with nurse Sam (the reliably excellent Jodie Whitaker) being mugged by a youthful gang led by a boy named Moses (a star-making turn from John Boyega) certainly doesn’t stint when it comes to depicting the limited social and intellectual boundaries which hem the children in. The pacing and plotting are flawless, and even trustafarian stoner Luke Treadaway’s explanation of the localised nature of the alien invasion is plausible; there are also plentiful iconic images (e.g. people of different races, genders and classes coming together to fight a common enemy, Moses using the Union Flag to effect an escape). Some of the line-readings are clumsy, which is understandable, given the inexperience of the younger actors; and the occasional Spike Lee moments (e.g. Moses’ suggestion that the aliens are part of the plot against young black men) are clunkily handled. On the whole, though, this is popcorn cinema at its most accomplished. The hotly anticipated Cowboys & Aliens will have to go some to outdo it.

"Whereof One Cannot Speak"

2011-05-16T11:53:00.000Z

I've only just realised that a short audio drama, written by me and recorded last year, is available to hear online. Entitled "Whereof One Cannot Speak", it is one of a number produced by the Sherman Cymru, under the curatorship of Gary Owen. Excellent cast, too.

http://www.shermancymru.co.uk/podcast/

"Hanna"

2011-05-12T16:24:00.000Z

Given a choice between two intelligent action movies about ultra-violent adolescents, I opted for Joe Wright’s Hanna, rather than Joe Cornish’s Attack The Block, and was rewarded with a highly entertaining piece of work whose treatment belies its B-movie plotting. The almost literally luminous Saoirse Ronan is exceptional in the title role of the child trained from birth by her gone-to-ground retired secret agent father, Eric Bana, to take revenge on his former boss, ice-queen Cate Blanchett. Apparently Ronan secured the job for Wright, having worked with him on the wonderful Atonement, and while the action scenes (including a miraculous single-take set-piece featuring Bana and a gang of unfortunate assailants) are handled with great efficiency, his directorial stamp is most evident in those fairy-tale-inflected sequences depicting Hanna’s experience of sensory overload on belatedly coming from ice-bound seclusion into a world of exotic sights, bemusing sounds and complex emotions. There are brilliant supporting performances too from Tom Hollander, as Blanchett’s camp German enforcer, and young Jessica Barden as the epitome of normal teenagehood whom Hanna encounters on her travels, along with her world-weary bohemian parents, Olivia Willams and Jason Flemyng. The Chemical Brothers’ score is predictably excellent as well. Highly recommended.

Great quote from Stephen Fry, casually tossed off during an interview: “Music is not about understanding any more than love is about understanding - it’s an emotional, almost physical thing that overcomes you.” (BBC Breakfast, 12th May, 2011). It’s been said before, of course, but always worth hearing.

“The Perplexing Puzzle of the Pedigree Pet and the Policeman”

2011-04-28T17:01:00.000Z

The latest play-reading in the On The Edge season at Chapter was a rare foray into comedy – Terry Victor’s “The Perplexing Puzzle of the Pedigree Pet and the Policeman”, first produced in 1981, in which supercilious detective Shirley Holmes and her hapless assistant Joan Watson investigate a particularly icky murder. The author also directed, cleverly making a comic virtue of the script-in-hand aesthetic, and the performers Rebecca Knowles (Holmes), Rhian Cheyne (Watson), Liz Gardner (the older Watson, narrator and MC), Natalie Paisey (damsel in distress) and Aled Herbert (stagehand and chief suspect) were obviously enjoying themselves. The play would certainly have benefited from having some of the references updated (the SPG, Sham ’69, etc), and the integration between the old-school and modern elements of the narrative (e.g. the urban riot) seemed a little awkward to me. On the whole, though, jolly fun.

Desire Lines

2011-04-17T09:44:00.000Z

Ian Rowlands’ new play “Desire Lines”, a Sherman Cymru production at Chapter, Cardiff (whose 40th anniversary party was in full swing on the night I attended) is structured with deceptive simplicity – a man in late middle age muses on his life whilst on a long rail/bus journey through a metaphorical Wales (towns with such names as Chavton, Dullage, and Bluerinse Bay; there is a helpful glossary in the programme/playtext), his reflections impinged upon by those of his fellow travellers. Add Rowland’s poetically profane way with dialogue (something of a speciality here in South Wales), Irina Brown’s fluent direction, clever stage and sound design - occasionally illuminated rail-tracks, frequently re-arranged seating, angelic singing, a video backdrop reflecting the onstage drama (a blurred moving landscape, hazy wallpaper, a sunset) - and vivid performances, and what we get is something almost magical. Ifan Huw Dafydd is engagingly vibrant as the Man, with Sue Roderick as his wife, a wordless, nebulous presence until the play’s climax, and Huw Garmon, Alys Thomas and Joshua McCord multi-tasking as other characters, some in whom the central character is invested, and others who have dreams, tragedies, insecurities and over-loud mobile phone conversations of their own to deal with. The occasional rants about Welsh-English tensions, although central to the motivations of the central protagonists (and indeed the author), seemed to belong to a different play, however, tending to disrupt the elegiac tone and yank me out of the drama (but maybe that’s just my Englishness getting in the way); and some of the non-Welsh accents need a little work. For the most part, however, it’s an utterly entrancing journey.

Tati's Hotel - The Premiere

2011-04-10T16:46:00.001Z

A sunny 9^th of April saw my second BAFTA Cymru premiere of the year at Cardiff’s Cineworld; this time for a project in which I was actually involved :- “Tati’s Hotel”, the new CITV series from Machine Productions. Not as many industry luminaries in evidence as for “Baker Boys” (it was a Saturday morning, after all), but lots of little people, including my niece Cicely and nephew Linden, who are in the appropriate demographic. Four episodes were shown in all, written by Oli Jefferey, Angharad Devonald (who were also in attendance), prolific children’s TV writer Gerard Foster, and myself. The series is about Tati, a young girl who runs a magical hotel; in every 11-minute narrative, a special guest stays, and a lesson about life is somehow learned, in a (one hopes) humorous manner. “Magical” is the appropriate word for the production, given that it was shot in a freezing cold warehouse on an industrial estate in Grangetown – the look is delightful, the cast are universally excellent, and the stories are charming, especially if one gets in touch with one’s inner seven year-old (no problem for me). My episode, “Alien” (theme :– “it’s good to be different”, featuring Sion Pritchard as Quexly), was shown last, and despite the fact that some of the younger audience-members were growing restless, it seemed to go down well. Afterwards there were Welsh cakes and balloons, and Mya-Lecia Naylor (Tati) and Elinor Crawley (Dizzee, the ballet-dancing chambermaid) were around for photo-opportunities, along with Chester the Cat. A lovely morning.

Source Code

2011-04-06T16:36:00.000Z

Source Code, like its predecessor, Duncan Jones’ debut feature, the excellent Moon, centres upon a sensitive male protagonist in existential science-fiction crisis. The new film, however, is on a far bigger scale, and none the worse for that. Jake Gyllenhaal plays a pilot who is repeatedly transported into the body of a passenger on a Chicago train which is about to be blown up by a terrorist – he has eight minutes to investigate before being returned to a mysterious military lab. Very Twilight Zone, not to mention Quantum Leap (whose star, Scott Bakula, has a poignant voice-only cameo). Thanks to an ingenious script by Ben Ripley, and excellent supporting performances from Michelle Monaghan as the ridiculously cute love interest, Vera Farmiga as Gyllenhaal’s military contact, and the (occasionally over-acting) Jeffrey Wright as the cynical boffin, it maintains its humanity whilst cleverly sending up the “ticking-clock” Hollywood screenwriting orthodoxy. Towards the end, a legendary film by Dalton Trumbo is called to mind (to say more would constitute a huge spoiler), and while the conclusion maybe adds a little too much confusing SF elaboration, it remains gripping throughout. This is commercial cinema doing what it does best: taking the viewer on a satisfying roller-coaster ride.

Submarine / Soft Hearted Scientists

2011-03-30T16:51:00.000Z

It’s a measure of the extent to which children’s TV is ignored by the mainstream media that Craig Roberts and Yasmine Paige, the highly talented stars of Richard Ayoade’s beautifully wrought feature debut, Submarine, are being described in reviews as newcomers, when they’ve both been paying their dues on CBBC for years. Adapted from Joe Dunthorne’s novel, it’s a tragic-comic rites-of-passage tale focusing on not-entirely-likeable Swansea schoolboy Oliver, his pursuit of the troubled Jordana, and his attempts to save his parents’ marriage - the always excellent and deliciously awkward Sally Hawkins and Noah Taylor, neither of whom, mercifully, attempt the accent - from the tawdry attentions of hilariously tacky lifestyle guru, Paddy Considine. Taking its stylistic cue from the French New Wave, rather than the U.S. gross-out teen-movies with which it might be compared narrative-wise, its visual fussiness is entirely in tune with the central character’s self-consciousness and intellectual pretension, and Alex Turner’s lovely songs provide a welcome, sensitive counterpoint to the central theme of profoundly flawed, emotionally unintelligent masculinity. An excellent supporting cast of familiar and unfamiliar Welsh faces, too.

I was lucky enough to attend a rare performance by long-lost local heroes Soft Hearted Scientists (favourites of BBC Radio Wales’ Adam Walton) at Cardiff’s Clwb Ifor Bach a couple of days ago – dreamy, psychedelic electro-folk in the Gorki’s tradition; and we even got a free CD. Supporting was JR, aka Jemma Roper, formerly of Sammo Hung (and behind the bar at the much-missed Barfly), who offered up some characteristically quirky songs, accompanied only by a guitar. The word “pleasant” sounds almost like an insult, but it’s highly appropriate for an evening of classy, subtly experimental musicianship. Five minutes walk away, Kylie was playing, which is the only possible explanation for the relatively low attendance.

Lucid: The Writer's Space

2011-03-08T13:12:00.000Z

I attended an event called The Writer’s Space, organised by Lucid (South Wales-based Simon Harris and Carys Shannon, who have a wealth of experience on both the creative and administrative side of theatre), supported both by Cardiff's Chapter Arts Centre, where it took place, and the Writers’ Guild of Great Britain. Using the Open Space format, and attended by a few dozen playwrights and other theatre professionals of varying levels of experience, the aim was to gauge the general mood in terms of optimism or pessimism about new theatre writing in Wales, and to come up with concrete proposals in order to help the community to make progress. The organisers are certainly to be congratulated for keeping things moving, ensuring that the points for debate came from the attendees themselves, and averting the general whinge-fest that these mini-conferences can degenerate into. I learnt, amongst other things:- that there is a thriving community of playwrights at Cardiff University who seem completely cut off from the rest of the scene in the city; that some new writers are nervous of their work sharing stages with new work by more experienced writers; that writers in Wales are not shy of attempting to sell themselves in London and elsewhere; and that despite the prevalence of social media and plentiful informal networks, the feeling that one is working in isolation is, perhaps inevitably, endemic. Ultimately, it’s clear that that despite the economic crisis, which will inevitably lead to a diminution in the number of opportunities for properly paid work, people will continue to write, because that’s what writers do. If what results from this event is some kind of on-line resource which will enable writers to connect with other writers (and actors, designers, directors etc.) - maybe to form networks to try and develop their work, maybe to see what opportunities are out there, maybe simply to check up on their rivals - it will have been a success.

True Grit / Mark Ryan

2011-02-21T10:13:00.001Z

Like all right-thinking people, I’ve seen all of the films of Joel and Ethan Coen. Thus I was looking forward immensely to their take on True Grit, the tale of a young girl’s quest to bring her father’s killer to justice in the largely lawless Old West. And it certainly doesn’t disappoint in terms of cinematic craft – glorious vistas, beautifully ripe dialogue (cf Deadwood), and excellent performances from the miraculous Hailee Steinfeld (13 years old at the time of shooting), Jeff Bridges as the ill-tempered, drunken and largely incomprehensible Rooster Cogburn, and Matt Damon as Labouef, the amusingly vain Texas Ranger. All beautifully done, and fully deserving of all the plaudits it has received, but unlike most of the brothers’ previous work (e.g. the wonderful The Big Lebowski, Miller’s Crossing, Blood Simple, even Intolerable Cruelty) it does little – other than during a few climactic, dreamlike moments near the end – to skew, transform or transcend the genre in which it sits. A magnificent piece of work, but pretty much reverent, heritage filmmaking, with only sporadic flashes of the trademark Coen facetiousness.

Last week, I attended the funeral of Mark Ryan, noted Cardiff playwright, one-time guitarist with Adam And The Ants, and highly entertaining bloke to spend time with. On a grim day, it was good to see a healthy turn-out, and to take in the celebratory tone of the eulogies. R.I.P.

NME Awards Tour 2011 - Cardiff

2011-02-15T09:30:00.000Z

The last time I attended an NME Awards Tour show at Cardiff University Students’ Union a couple of years ago, bottom-of-the-bill Florence and the Machine were playing to a half-empty hall; no such audience naiveté this time round, however. The Vaccines were first up, with their knowing, literate take on back-to-basics punk-pop – highly melodic and seductive, although only the panda-eyed lead-guitarist made the effort image-wise; “Wreckin’ Bar” was especially well-received. Next up were Everything Everything, the kind of youthful prog-rock virtuosi who, forty years ago, would have been writing songs about elves – mercifully, their subject matter is computer games and teen romance, and they’re well aware of the necessity of providing a dance beat; some of the intricacies were lost to the muddy sound, but on the whole they hit the spot. I feared the worst when, in preparation for Magnetic Man, the road crew installed a huge bank of computers onstage, but my fears were groundless – the spectacular light show provided all the visual excitement which the “three lab-technicians and a Rasta” line-up couldn’t, and just in case we were likely to forget what dubstep was all about, the bass was bone-juddering. Topping the bill were Crystal Castles, the band with which I was least familiar – highly effective electro-pop-dance, with a wall-of-sound impact which may have been ramped up for the live experience, and vocalist Alice not letting a little thing like a broken foot impede her rabble-rousing. A beautiful night, and an encouraging one for those of us who are disheartened by the vapidity of so much contemporary pop.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Eh-pRPQL1ew

Black Swan

2011-01-27T18:42:00.000Z

In Black Swan, emotionally fragile ballerina, Nina Sayers, compellingly played by the translucent Natalie Portman, falls apart as she strives to embody both the White and Black swans in a prestigious production of Swan Lake. This would be the stuff of docu-drama or soap-opera, were it not directed by Darren Aronofsky, a filmmaker not known for his restraint when depicting obsessiveness. Thus there’s plenty of close-up-and-personal camera-work, both on and off stage, and emphasis on the perfectionist self-harm inherent in the profession, as well as much clever use of mirrors and just-glimpsed doppelgangers as Nina loses touch with her identity. Vincent Cassell, as usual, plays the Devil, this time as a sexually provocative choreographer; Mila Kunis is excellent as Nina’s vivacious rival, her complete opposite (she eats, laughs, has sex etc.); Winona Ryder has fun as her suicidal predecessor; and Barbara Hershey is a satisfyingly not-quite-monstrous stage mother, ambitious for her daughter, and wounded from her own failures of the past, but still looking on in horror as Nina stampedes towards self-destruction. The film appears to suggest that the central character’s apparent conviction that Art is more important than Life is mistaken, given her escalating insanity, but the relish with which Aronofsky tells the tale - The Red Shoes with more than a touch of Saw - suggests that he’s ambivalent on the matter. Never less than fascinating.

Baker Boys

2011-01-19T16:55:00.000Z

First outing of 2011 – I was lucky enough to be invited to a B.A.F.T.A. Cymru preview screening of the first episode of Baker Boys, a new three-part series for BBC Wales, co-written by Gary Owen (one of Wales’ most performed playwrights) and Helen (Torchwood, Doctor Who) Raynor. Telling the story of the aftermath of the closure of a large bakery - the only major source of employment in a small Valleys town - it’s inspired by a number of local news stories of the past few years (Ferrari’s Bakery, Burberry, Tower Colliery), as outlined by the authors in the post-screening Q&A session (which also featured contributions from BBC Wales business correspondent Nick Servini and cast-members Boyd Clack and Gareth Jewell), and is firmly rooted in recession-hit blue-collar Britain, although with an optimistic slant. Engaging performances, subtle writing, slick direction, and a general disdain for stereotypes – but bizarrely, it’s scheduled for broadcast only in Wales at the moment, despite its universal theme and the presence of a number of nationally familiar faces (Eve Myles, Mark Lewis Jones, Steven Meo, Cara Readle). This being an era where "quality" drama seems to be defined in terms of either period costume or extreme grimness, Baker Boys, if the clips we saw of episode two are anything to go by, could be unusual in that it has the potential to actually inspire.

Captain Beefheart In Cardiff

2010-12-19T10:45:00.000Z

25th October, 1980. My first month in Wales. A phase of intensive gig-going is already in full flow - a principal reason for coming to Cardiff in the first place was its prominence in the music-press concert-listings; I’ve experienced the mighty Slade on my first night, and The Skids a few days later. Prior to starting university, I’ve already noted that Captain Beefheart will be playing at the Students Union Great Hall. I’m familiar with Beefheart from listening to John Peel, although I’ve never fully understood what I was hearing – perhaps seeing the great man live will put it into context. Supporting are the Comsat Angels :– atmospheric post-punk guitar music, absolutely my kind of thing, and excellent. Eventually, the Captain himself takes to the stage. For the next hour or so, I have little idea of what’s going on. It sounds like someone throwing a blues band down the stairs. A couple stood in front of me are smoking something which makes me feel weird. My chewing-gum disintegrates. Beefheart periodically brings out that least punk rock of instruments, the clarinet, and toots, apparently at random. At one point, he introduces a guest guitarist (“Gary Lucas!”) who looks the dead spit of Graham Parker, and plays some remarkable solo slide guitar. The acoustics are dreadful, but the Magic Band is obviously virtuosic without being showy, and I discern a few familiar tunes – “Hot Head”, “Big-Eyed Beans From Venus”. When it’s over, I wander back to my accommodation, my head spinning, not entirely sure that I’ve enjoyed myself, but convinced that I’ve witnessed something extraordinary. And, as it turns out, unforgettable.
R.I.P. Don Van Vliet aka Captain Beefheart; January 15, 1941 – December 17, 2010.

In other news: http://yerblues-novel.blogspot.com/

"Monsters"

2010-12-09T09:42:00.000Z

A low-key, semi-improvised relationship drama, with added space-monsters, Gareth Edwards’ “Monsters” is pretty much pre-designed to push all my cinema-going buttons; even before taking into account the seductive back-story of its shot-on-the-fly, ultra-low-budget (apart from the thousands of £££s worth of computer equipment) production process. I was relieved, therefore, when it turned out actually to work spectacularly well on a number of levels. The perfectly named Scoot McNairy and Whitney Able play the cynical photo-journalist and leggy blonde heiress (cf “Roman Holiday”, “It Happened One Night”) struggling to make their way across a Mexico infested with huge, octopus-like alien creatures, contending with all sorts of Hollywood screenwriting bullet-points along the way (the ticking clock, overcoming obstacles, emotional growth etc). There’s much political subtext, both subtle (neurosis over border control), and unsubtle (the American response to the crisis is to bomb the aliens, killing mostly civilians; and the whole problem is America’s fault anyway, obviously); and the cinematography is highly impressive without being showy enough to distract from the engaging performances and tense narrative. There are longueurs, although these are mostly spent waiting for bad stuff to happen; the pay-off comes when Edwards opts for a bravely subtle ending rather than an explosive climax. A skilful manipulation of clichés to create a thing of beauty.

"Let Me In"

2010-11-17T09:32:00.000Z

I’m lukewarm at best as regards the new-fangled teen vampires of the “Twilight”/”True Blood” variety, existing as they do in a universe where vampirism is just another nuisance rather than something rare and deathly mysterious (cf George A. Romero’s excellent “Martin”). Although I’m yet to see it, “Let The Right One In”, seemed like a welcome return to traditional values, so I was curious to see what Matt “Cloverfield” Reeves would do with the much-dreaded Hollywood remake. Very effective, I thought, the muted colours and 1980s setting (nostalgia for Reaganite certainties re “evil”) cleverly setting up the doomy tone. The performances were spot-on - Kodi Smit-McPhee heart-breaking as the lonely, bullied Owen; Chloe Moretz chillingly unreadable as the ageless 12-year-old bloodsucker; Richard Jenkins brilliantly low-key as her terminally weary helper; even Dylan Minnette as Owen’s loathsome but pitiable tormentor. Inevitably I was making comparisons with the Swedish original, based only on clips I’d seen (Kim Newman in the December 2010 Sight and Sound does a useful analysis of the differences and similarities), but the only false note for me was the use of CGI at crucial points, which immediately took one out of the naturalistic narrative and into a cartoon world. On the whole, however, were one to come at it with virgin eyes, “Let Me In” would probably be viewed as a significant achievement in cinematic creepiness.

"Classical Women Reworked" / "The Ordinary Three" / "Tati's Hotel"

2010-11-12T09:19:00.002Z

Velvet Ensemble, the female-oriented theatre company operating out of both Cardiff and London held a fund-raising performance evening at the Gwdihw café-bar, aimed at supporting their next show, a play by Bethan Marlow. Entitled “Classical Women: Reworked”, it featured famous women’s speeches from history and literature re-interpreted by contemporary writers (Marlow, Matthew Bulgo, Poppy Corbett, Stella Duffy, Shelley Silas) in conjunction with female directors (Julie Barclay, Bridget Keehan, Sarah Bickerton and Catherine Paskell), performed by an excellent array of actresses (Lucy Rivers, Ffion Williams, Christine Pritchard, Tonya Smith, Rhian Blythe). Unfortunately, from my vantage point, the first two, both from Shakespeare, were largely inaudible. Things picked up after the interval, however: although Poppy Corbett’s re-interpretation of Queen Victoria’s ruminations on widowhood seemed redundant next to the original; Stella Duffy’s response to a speech by Emmeline Pankhurst was more of an essay than a performance piece; and Shelley Silas’s take on an extract from “Saint Joan” was the tale of a girl’s conversion to Islam which seemed a tad Pollyanna-ish. Still, there was a good turn-out, and the buckets that were passed round seemed to jingle encouragingly with coinage.

The latest rehearsed reading in the current On The Edge season at Chapter was “The Ordinary Three” by new writer Lotty Morris, directed by Elise Davison, featuring Polly Kilpatrick as a woman who, in collaboration with her thuggish boyfriend – Robert Harper – and a weak, easily led young recruit, played by Tom Mumford, brutalises a young man she has taken prisoner. A pretty effective allegory about the contagion of violence under totalitarianism, excellently played, as is customary. There was an unusually high number of local playwrights in the audience, obviously engaging in industrial espionage.

I paid a visit to the set of “Tati’s Hotel”, the new children’s TV series I’ve been writing for, in a converted warehouse in Grangetown. A fascinating day, spent mostly trying to keep out of the way of cast and crew and ensure that the flash on my camera didn’t go off on the middle of a take. I managed to chat to, amongst others, veteran Welsh actor John Pierce Jones, the guest artist on that particular episode. As always on such occasions, I was impressed not only by the work-rate and professionalism of all concerned, but the intimidating range of skills (technical, artistic, people) required of the director – in this case, Delyth Thomas – of such a sizeable project.

"The Kids Are Alright" / "The Way Of It"

2010-11-04T18:45:00.004Z

Lisa Cholodenko seems to have carved out a successful career making high-profile indie films about dysfunctional lesbians – the latest, “The Kids Are Alright” is her most satisfying to date. Starring the ingenious pairing of Annette Bening and Julianne Moore it focuses on the disruption which ensues when the couple's teenage children, Joni (Mia Wasikowska) and Laser (Josh Hutcherson), make contact with their charming, laidback sperm-father (Mark Ruffalo). Of course, had this been a Hollywood comedy, the father would have been a buttoned-up conservative played by Steve Carell, and there’d have been a sub-plot about Russian gangsters. Instead, this is a warm, sweetly funny tale about the messiness of family life, filled with excellent performances – especially from Bening in the unsympathetic, alpha female role, her subtly expressive face at the centre of the most striking moments. Highly recommended.

My R.S. Thomas show as part of the Dylan Thomas Festival in Swansea can, I think, be counted an artistic success, even if the audience was somewhat select. 36 poems, edited into a vaguely biographical sequence, it flowed pretty well, with Michael Kelligan effectively underplaying the suppressed emotion; as always, fresh resonances emerged on hearing rather than simply reading the verse. One hopes it’s an experience that will be repeated.

"An Absent Look" / R. S. Thomas

2010-10-28T12:47:00.003Z

The latest “On The Edge” presentation at Cardiff’s Chapter, was a rehearsed reading of “An Absent Look” by Catalan author Merce Sarrias, directed by Ruth Garnault. Taking the form of a series of short, quite filmic scenes - some monologues, some wordless vignettes, some nervy conversations - it’s an anti-romantic comedy in which an earnest young woman disrupts the long-standing friendship between a middle-aged bookshop-owner and a young watchmaker. Megan Brooks played the Young Woman with just enough quirkiness to explain the attraction, while Tony Leader was effortlessly complacent as the older Man, with Ian Paul Goosey all confused nervous energy as his hapless rival. It seems to be a rule that dialogue comes across as stilted in translated plays (probably since plays are translated by linguists rather than dramatists), but the humour largely survived this, resulting in an enjoyably intriguing hour.

Looking forward to the premiere, in Swansea, of the R.S. Thomas show which I devised – seats still available, apparently.

"Made In Roath" / "R. S. Thomas - The Way Of It"

2010-10-21T17:01:00.003Z

I only managed to catch one event during the Made In Roath Arts Festival 2010, but it was well worth making the effort for: my first visit to the Waterloo Gardens Teahouse, for some readings by my old friend Dan Anthony (v. funny), tutor and novelist Shelagh Weeks (impressively meticulous prose), and notable local literary figure Peter Finch, of whom this was my first live experience; his work was a fascinating collision of high and low culture, performed with an engaging enthusiasm.

The show I devised/edited – “R.S. Thomas – The Way Of It” is being performed by Michael Kelligan, as part of the Dylan Thomas Festival, in Swansea on 1st November. It’ll be interesting to see what kind of audience, if any, it attracts. I've even made a trailer.

"The Laundrette Plays"/ "Love Steals Us From Loneliness" (aka ntw#07)

2010-10-15T08:35:00.006Z

Cardiff’s Sherman Theatre are taking advantage of their temporary lack of a space to explore the idea of site-specific performances. Earlier in the year, they put on a series of plays at the Big Sleep Hotel, which I failed to attend; the latest experiment, “The Laundrette Plays”, took place at my local Wash Inn, so I had no excuse. Bethan Whitcombe, Jo Simpkins, Eiry Hughes and (former “East Ender”) Richard Ellis, performed (scripts-in-hand) a trio of plays by Tracy Harris, Matthew Bulgo and Alan Harris, deftly corralled by Simon Harris. As the writers noted afterwards, they coincidentally, and perhaps inevitably, focused on themes of love and loss :- a tragic affair, a grieving wife, a broken relationship. The tone was poetically naturalistic, all pieces cleverly balancing poignancy with humour; indeed, the proximity of the actors might have been problematic had the writing (and performances) been less strong. A highly successful venture, I thought, although with a maximum audience of around 12, perhaps more workable on an experiential than an economic basis. The project is a collaboration with Washington DC’s Studio Theatre – it will be interesting to see if their American colleagues are inspired by the laundromat setting to take a different approach.

Gary Owen’s “Love Steals Us From Loneliness”, is another site-specific Sherman production, this time in conjunction with National Theatre Wales - the seventh show in their inaugural year, and the second to be directed by their creative supremo John E. McGrath. Staged in Hobos Rock Club in Bridgend, it was inspired by media coverage of the apparent high rate of suicides in the town in recent years. In a BBC Wales documentary about the play, the author explained his reluctance to tackle the “suicide” issue head-on for fear of adding to the hype; thus while a death is at the centre of “Love Steals…”, it is an accidental one. Act One sees partying teenagers Scott and Catrin (Mark Sumner, and Katie-Elin Salt in the showiest role, one which, if this were Hollywood, would be star-making) having an intense, once-in-a-lifetime conversation in which the dialogue sparkles knowingly whilst retaining its South Wales earthiness. Following the interval karaoke (an innovation from which many a play would benefit), the second act, taking place on the same, other-worldly, post-industrial set, is a series of unhappy exchanges, autobiographical musings and unexpected musical interludes from Scott, Catrin, the mother and sister of the deceased (Nia Roberts, somewhat less elegant than usual, and the spirited Remy Beasley), and a subsequent boyfriend of Cat's (Matthew Trevannion); it culminates in a scene which harks back to a moment, prior to the unfortunate incident, in which it appears that anything is possible. Act Two is perhaps a tad over-long, but as a piece whose aim is to encourage its audience to deal with grief by seizing life, “Love Steals…” is a success both tonally and artistically. Another sold-out run, too, in what is turning out to be a triumphant first year for N.T.W.

Cherry Ghost / Farewell Cardiff Barfly

2010-09-30T16:36:00.001Z

This week, I paid my first visit to the recently refurbished Globe (my first, at least, since it was, for a brief period, a Chapter-run cinema), for a night of pop music aimed at discerning grown-ups. First up were Tim and Sam's Tim and the Sam Band with Tim and Sam, the four-piece from North Wales, who treated us to some very charming electro-folk; lyrically sparse, but impressively multi-layered, like a rockier Sigur Ros – there was even an mbira in there, which was good to see. Headlining were Cherry Ghost, fronted by the smoky-voiced Simon Aldred. A remarkably strong collection of songs, perhaps a little less lush and country-tinged than on record, but mood-elevating nonetheless. They made us wait until the obligatory fake encore for their all-time classic “People Help The People”, but made up for it by ending with a stirring rendition of CeCe Peniston’s gay-disco anthem “Finally”. Beautiful.

On a related issue, I was sorry to hear of the recent closure of the Cardiff Barfly, having had numerous wonderful evenings there over the past decade (Glenn Tilbrook, Editors, Electric 6, Luke Toms, We Are Scientists, Wannadies, Hard-Fi, Hope Of The States, McClusky, I Was A Cub Scout, Willy Mason, The Afternoons, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, The Feeling, Acoustic Ladyland, Dirtbombs, Wombats, Envy Corps, Black Keys, Amy Winehouse, Snow Patrol, an unexpected appearance by the Webb Brothers, a triple-bill featuring Athlete, The Leaves and Longview, another one involving Ida Maria, Cage The Elephant and Spencer McGarry Season, being one of around two dozen people watching Kaiser Chiefs mere months before they became massive, being kissed by the lead singer of The Blood Arm…). If truth be told, it’s been a good while since an up-coming show there caught my eye, such is the depth of the indie-guitar slump. Sad times.

Shorts

2010-09-19T10:36:00.001Z

A collection of my short films.

"Talking To Wordsworth"

2010-09-17T07:55:00.003Z

The latest “On The Edge” presentation at Cardiff’s Chapter, was a double-bill of rehearsed readings of short plays with a vague mental health theme, directed by Gilly Adams. First up was a revival of one of Hijinx’s “learning difficulties” plays, “Wishful Thinking”, a devised piece with music. It tells the story of three sisters (excellently played by Claire Cage, Adrienne O’Sullivan and Nicki Rainsford), one of whom is a carer for the youngest, while the other has “escaped” - her long overdue return disrupting the family routine. Very poignant, with a beautiful music score, but a more developed narrative might have enhanced its resonance. Heartstrings were also tugged in “Talking To Wordsworth”, National Poet of Wales Gillian Clarke’s play which was first performed as a joint Sherman Theatre/BBC Radio Wales production in 1997. Cage starred as the trying-very-hard-not-to-be-patronising poet visiting a hospital for the elderly mentally ill, with O’Sullivan as the hard but caring nurse, Lynn Hunter as the ward busybody, Rainsford and producer Michael Kelligan providing background colour, and Richard Berry as the elective mute who is slowly drawn out by the magic of words. Very effective, if inevitably slightly sentimentalised. Another satisfying evening’s entertainment.

"Morecambe"

2010-09-09T15:46:00.001Z

I took an evening off from some actual work to go and see the Edinburgh/West End hit “Morecambe”, on tour at Cardiff’s New Theatre. Directed by one-man-show veteran Guy Masterson, the show is a primer not only in the career of Morecambe and Wise but also the addictive nature of the urge to perform. Basically a biographical comic monologue, supported but not overwhelmed by highly impressive sound and light design, it’s pretty much a master-class in stagecraft, with a beautifully nuanced script by Tim Whitnall (“The Hide”, the film version of his play “The Sociable Plover”, is well worth catching on its occasional TV airings) and a wonderful central performance by Bob Golding. It’s a brilliant evening’s entertainment, which never lets up comedically, even as darkness descends. Ernie Wise is represented as a ventriloquist’s dummy, which seems disrespectful on paper, but comes across as loving; and most of the references will be unfamiliar to anyone under 40, so their effectiveness was largely dependent on audience goodwill (which was plentiful), but the production’s creators are to be congratulated for avoiding the “greatest hits” approach. And they threw in some free comedy spectacles. Added to which, it being a scandalously not-sold-out first night, I got a seat upgrade worth £10, which was most welcome.

"Scott Pilgrim"

2010-08-31T17:37:00.002Z

I was half-expecting not to enjoy Scott Pilgrim Vs The World, despite having been a fan of director Edgar Wright’s previous work. Prior publicity had focussed on those of its constituent elements – video games, graphic novels, the romantic entanglements of people younger and more attractive than myself – in which I have a limited interest. So I was delighted to find myself enchanted throughout, thanks not only to the vivid and highly imaginative comic-book-inspired story-telling style, but also a witty script, over-stuffed with pop-culture references; resonant themes (becoming a responsible adult, dealing with other people’s emotional baggage); and winning performances from all concerned, particularly Kieran Culkin as the hero’s gay roommate, and Ellen Wong as the wronged under-age girlfriend. Every bit as clever as Inception, and more affecting, being on a recognisably human scale, despite the pyrotechnics. And no film which features a bass-guitar duel can be all bad.

Jolly Boys in Cardiff - "Golden Brown"

2010-08-10T16:42:00.000Z

Cardiff Big Weekend 2010

2010-08-04T09:01:00.001Z

Mercifully, the Cardiff Festival Big Weekend 2010, one of the highlights of the year, and apparently the UK’s largest free outdoor music event, was largely unaffected by rain. Thus on the Friday night, devoted to new Welsh music, I managed to catch Racehorses - attractive, sunny, melodic guitar pop, with numerous rock-out moments; and Los Campesinos, the Cardiff University-founded eight-piece who managed to be both raucous and nuanced, and seemed puzzled by the emo mosh-pit (formed, I guess, in anticipation of headliners The Blackout), which at times seemed to transform itself into a massive game of Ring-a-Ring-a-Roses - the lead singer deigned to leap in towards the end of their excellent set.

Saturday was “world music” day, but I restricted myself to The Jolly Boys: imagine your Jamaican grand-dads playing indie classics in a vintage folk-reggae style (“The Passenger”, “Golden Brown” “Perfect Day”, “True Faith”). Delightful.

The first band I caught on the eclectic/crowd-pleasing Sunday line-up were Fenech Soler, whose shiny, vaguely edgy electronic dance-pop was highly attractive, despite its trendiness. Next up were New York’s The Phenomenal Handclap Band, who purvey the kind of folk-inflected hippie dance-rock which might accompany one’s getting stabbed by Hell’s Angels – perhaps self-consciously anachronistic, but just the job for a sunny Sunday. I didn’t stay for Feeder, so my headliners were the magnificent Athlete, one of the great almost-lost pop bands (who I saw several years ago on a memorable night at the Barfly, along with Longview and The Leaves) - they played all the hits and more, and the hearteningly large crowd seemed highly appreciative.

One sincerely hopes that this event survives the public spending holocaust.

"Inception"

2010-07-26T16:31:00.003Z

Leonardo DiCaprio seems to be choosing to play a lot of troubled widowers recently, which might suggest that he has commitment issues. His latest is in Christopher Nolan’s “Inception”, a highly inventive take on the “one last heist” sub-genre of action movies, set in various characters’ subconscious minds. Early reviews suggested that this was a miraculous reinvention of commercial film as art; the second wave tended to argue that it wasn’t quite as clever as it thought it was. It’s certainly a magnificent achievement, playing with the dream-like nature of the cinematic experience with great audacity and awesome technical expertise, and at some points the confusion is delicious. There are long moments, however, such as the extensive “Ice Station Zebra” segment, where it’s simply wearisome. The performances and plot construction can’t be faulted, but general sensory overload meant that the emotional elements of the story failed to hit home for me. Nolan’s similarly mind-mangling “Memento” is an all-time favourite, perhaps because it’s a more low-key, human tale; “Inception” is a film to be admired rather than loved.

"To A Young Poet" by R. S. Thomas

2010-07-14T09:15:00.001Z

or:

http://www.dailymotion.com/video/xe0q6d_to-a-young-poet-by-r-s-thomas_creation

"Whatever Works" / BBC 6 Music

2010-07-08T10:59:00.004Z

The new Woody Allen film, “Whatever Works”, has been getting some middling reviews, based as it is on a long-extant screenplay, and not covering any new ground as regards his oeuvre in general, with its focus on a relationship between a beautiful young woman and a much older man. The plot centres on ranting, self-regardingly intellectual, sporadically suicidal curmudgeon Boris Yellnikoff, played by Larry David in “Curb” mode (a wittier version of Max Von Sydow’s character in the wonderful “Hannah And Her Sisters”) who takes in Southern teenage runaway Melody (the effortlessly charming Evan Rachel Wood), and soon finds himself not only mentoring but also marrying her, and eventually involved with her confused parents (Ed Begley Jr, and the ever-reliable Patricia Clarkson). Yes, the character transformations are implausible, and the ending somewhat contrived - and David’s limp seems to come and go - but the performances are beautiful, and while the main protagonist’s nihilistic philosophising is hardly original in content, Allen’s gift for dialogue combined with David’s trademark irritability mean he’s great fun to watch. It’s probably not a “return to form”, but when “form” consists of some of the profoundest comedies ever made, I’m perfectly satisfied with auto-pilot.

I was very pleased to hear the news that BBC Radio 6 Music is to be reprieved (especially given the imminent demise of NME Radio on D.A.B. and the general unlistenability of XFM), having been one of the thousands who seized the opportunity to take part in the formal consultation process. Cynics have suggested that announcing its proposed closure was a PR masterstroke, but given the BBC’s patchy record when it comes to promoting the high-quality elements of its output, I suspect that it was an accidental one.

Please Give

2010-06-25T16:46:00.002Z

“Please Give” is one of those smart comedy-dramas about neurotic New Yorkers that aren’t nearly as prevalent as people like to think. It stars Catherine Keener and Oliver Platt as a husband-and-wife team who make a living buying then selling the furniture of the recently deceased. They get caught up in the lives of a dysfunctional family consisting of an ailing Ann Guilbert, and her self-sabotaging grand-daughters, Rebecca Hall and Amanda Peet, having bought the old lady’s apartment, since it’s next door to theirs, with a view to taking it over once she goes; indeed, the scene where they discuss this in her presence is creepily funny, especially when the acerbic Guilbert matter-of-factly joins in. The focus is on Keener’s liberal guilt, which tends to shade into maudlin self-indulgence at the expense of her own family relationships, which is, I guess, the point. It is written and directed by Nicole Holofcener, whose “Walking and Talking” and “Lovely and Amazing” I’ve previously enjoyed. The balance between comedy and drama is well-judged (perhaps more so than in much of Woody Allen’s more recent work, which sometimes soft-pedals on emotional pain), and the performances are spot-on – Sarah Steele as the couple’s teenage daughter is engaging and annoying in equal measure, and Peet seems to relish being the bitch. The film does appear to exist in a universe where Rebecca Hall has trouble finding a boyfriend, though, but that’s the only unintentional false note.

Bad Lieutenant

2010-06-02T15:29:00.002Z

Werner Herzog’s “Bad Lieutenant – Port Of Call: New Orleans” is not quite as unhinged as Abel Ferrara’s 1992 neo-noir classic, featuring as it did a legendarily committed performance from Harvey Keitel in the title role. It is, however, in its understated way, still pretty barking mad. While the original is a none-more-dark tale of twisted redemption, the 2010 version starts with Nicolas Cage’s central character, Terence McDonagh, suffering an injury in the course of an act of selflessness which then propels him into a world of constant pain and consequent mind-mangling drug-abuse; this, in combination with a gambling addiction, steers him steadily towards the dark side, personified by drug-lord Big Fate (Xzibit). Herzog is not the flashiest of directors, and the decrepit post-Katrina exteriors and seedy interiors seem to suit his impassive style, as does the plot, which is a fairly basic police procedural, on which he manages to stamp his trademark deadpan humour (iguanas, dancing souls, etc). Cage has a whale of a time, managing to remain credibly human amidst the derangement, and leaves a remarkable supporting cast (e.g. Val Kilmer, Fairuza Balk, Vondie Curtis-Hall, Jennifer Coolidge) somewhat in the shade; although Eva Mendes and Brad Dourif are as compelling as ever, and screenwriter William Finkelstein manages to bag himself a juicy bad-guy role. Perhaps one might have expected a German art-house director to take a dim view of the “Hollywood” ending, but since the original pretty much trashed the idea, Herzog has chosen to go for a comedy stampede towards a “happy” resolution, which is somehow in keeping with the psychotic tone of the narrative. Apparently Abel Ferrara has expressed the wish that those involved in the project should “die in Hell”. He should take a chill pill. Just the one, though.

"The Devil Inside Him"

2010-05-11T08:12:00.004Z

My first experience of a National Theatre Wales production was a preview performance of “The Devil Inside Him”, the earliest extant play by John Osborne, staged at Cardiff’s New Theatre, directed by Elen Bowman. Set in a small, family-run guest-house in a Valleys village (Osborne having been Welsh on his father’s side), it predates “Look Back In Anger” by about six years but is, surprisingly, rather less creaky. Its ostensible hero is the tormented teen poet, Huw, played by Iwan Rheon (of E4’s "Misfits"), although the voice of reason turns out to be Burn, the holidaying medical student (Jamie Ballard). The other ingredients are the stern, religious father (Derek Hutchinson), his apparently meek wife (Helen Griffin), the comic-relief busybody housekeeper (Rachel Lumberg), the disastrously flirty servant girl (Catrin Stewart), the pompous minister of religion (John Cording), and a commercial traveller (Steven Elliot), who retires early on, having lit the blue touch-paper. The tone is Ibsenesque, but with some humour at the expense of Welsh stereotypes, and it’s compelling throughout, building towards a devastating climax; the heartfelt scene in which Religion and Rationalism fight for the soul of the Poet is especially arresting, and the final tableau was remarkable. There were some technical issues (such as the blinking lamp which might have represented Huw’s tortured soul, but was probably accidental), and I got the impression that I wasn’t the only audience-member squinting to make out what was happening during the night-time scenes (obviously intentional, but distracting). On the whole, though I felt this was a play well worth disinterring, and a production which deserves to live on.

Dirty Protest - "Counted"

2010-05-08T11:38:00.005Z

The Election Night evening of Dirty Protest rehearsed readings, in the warehouse out back of Milgi, went under the theme “Counted”, and featured four pieces from the recent London away-day in addition to two from local writers. First up was “2020 Vision” by Cardiff poet Mab Jones – a not especially subtle, but still amusing and incisive depiction of a futuristic political debate; “Not A Funeral” by Ed Hime (responsible for an excellent BBC Radio 4 Friday Play recently) was a skin-crawlingly sinister tale of abusive familial dysfunction; Mark Williams’ “Use It Or Lose It”, was a highly engaging comic dissertation on cosmic balance; Atiha Sen Gupta’s “Hug A Tory” and James Graham’s “Independence Fay” were both deft satires on the shallowness and cynicism of youth-oriented Cameronian electioneering, the former angry and trenchant, the latter a compact, entertaining three-acter; Jack Thorne’s “The Statement” was an exceedingly chilling revenge fable. Tom Cullen, Remy Beasley and Ceri Murphy gave charmingly naturalistic performances under the direction of Mared Swain. Beautifully done. An informal audience poll, reflecting events outside, was carried out: if reflected nationwide, it would have resulted in Labour being the largest party (possibly to be undone by a Lib-Dem/Plaid deal) and a Tory wipeout - there was, however, a suspiciously high number of abstentions.

“Don’t Breathe A Word”

2010-04-29T11:17:00.001Z

The latest “On The Edge” production at Chapter was a semi-staged reading of “Don’t Breathe A Word” by Cardiff-based poet Susan Richardson. It traces a writer’s relationship with her journal, from childhood to old age and beyond; the main protagonist played by Polly Kilpatrick, and the voice in her head (variously encouraging, undermining, censorious and ignored) by Rebecca Knowles - both excellent. While the life itself seemed somewhat idealised (numerous uncomplicated love affairs, a comfortable lifestyle despite only modest literary success), the story (played out on a set comprising only an armchair and several small piles of books) was told with great charm and fluency, Bethan Morgan’s direction foregrounding the humour, and her scoring subtle and sensitive. I guess the author’s aim is to highlight the general invisibility of women’s stories; I found it somewhat more inspiring than I had expected to.

Stokes, William

2010-04-23T08:46:00.003Z

On impulse (and because it was free) I attended an evening of “new” folk at the Cardiff Arts Institute. A “No Sweat” event, first up was personable singer guitarist Josh Morgan (and pal on percussion, etc.) – very passable, if a little Jack Johnson (but better, obviously). The second band on were Leeds-based duo-with-friends, Joseph & David, who delivered some deft, poignant melodies. Headlining were Stokes, William, who were pleasingly intense, played their favourite song (“Zion”) twice (which more bands ought to do) and also fitted in a Passion Pit cover before inviting the other acts on for a hoe-down at the end of the evening. Lovely.

More music :- "Love In Vain".

Artes Mundi 2010

2010-04-21T09:20:00.004Z

I visited the Artes Mundi 2010 exhibition at the National Museum of Wales – as stimulating and sporadically poignant as ever. The broad theme appears to be the shifting ground of national identity, although whether this reflects the current preoccupations of the art-making community worldwide or the need for the prize’s curators to demonstrate its relevance to Wales is unclear. There’s a lot of defamiliarisation going on, prompting us to contemplate exoticised representations of the mundane - historical leaflets, factories, museums themselves. In terms of ideas, the most intriguing works, to me at least, are Yael Bartana’s videos promoting (semi-seriously?) the idea of mass Jewish immigration to Poland – plus you get free posters, which is always good. Aesthetically, Adrian Paci’s short film “Per Speculum” is particularly striking. But it’s all well worth a look.

"Kick-Ass" / Malcolm McLaren

2010-04-10T15:53:00.002Z

I’m not sure how much I enjoyed “Kick-Ass”. Developed alongside the comic by Mark Millar, this New York-set Brit-flick about super-heroes and super-villains with weaponry in place of super-powers is certainly slickly directed by Matthew Vaughan, cleverly scripted (by Vaughan and Jane Goldman) and well acted – Aaron Johnson is excellent in the lead role, as are Chloe Moretz as Hit-Girl and Mark Strong as the chief gangster. It also manages to maintain a consistent tone – light without being entirely shallow, and on a nodding acquaintance with the real world. I found it hard to warm to, however - maybe because I was uneasy with the idea of an eleven-year-old girl blithely slicing, dicing and machine-gunning bad guys; the right-wing tabloids have been too busy complaining about the colourful language she uses to notice that the film tends to adhere to their agenda in terms of family values and summary justice. The parodically blatant set-up for the inevitably inferior sequel was a little irritating, also. Still, as cinematic thrill-rides go, it ticks most of the boxes.

Sad to note the passing of Malcolm McLaren, who had a disproportionate effect on the cultural lives of much of my generation thanks to his role in bringing us the Sex Pistols. And not only punk – he was also responsible for raising the profile of rap and “world” music, thanks to his surprisingly excellent “Duck Rock” album; not to mention getting opera into the pop charts. I think his unique gift, however, was as a spinner of yarns to gullible journalists and broadcasters: I well remember his long, involved, and entirely fictional tale, told on Radio One, of spending weeks attempting to track down Syd Barrett to act as producer on the Pistols album, only to eventually find an immensely fat, totally bald man in an upmarket gentleman’s club, who brusquely told him to formally make the request via a letter in his pigeon-hole. A rare character.

"Shutter Island" / Radio Drama

2010-03-23T18:11:00.003Z

“Shutter Island”, the latest film from Martin Scorsese, based on the novel by Dennis Lehane, stars Leonardo DiCaprio as a haunted detective investigating a mysterious disappearance at a hospital for the criminally insane in 1950s Boston. It’s clear from the off that this is one of those films where things aren’t as they seem, but the way it plays circuitously out, with Hitchcockian artificial back-projections, powerful cameos (Patricia Clarkson, Ted Levine, Emily Mortimer, Jackie Earle Haley), and numerous cinematic references (“Shock Corridor” being the most obvious) is constantly gripping. Aside from DiCaprio’s convincing raggedness, the performances are all just on the right side of self-parody, Mark Ruffalo’s warm-eyed solidity proving, in retrospect, especially affecting. Some critics have suggested that the use of the Holocaust as a background element of the story is somehow misguided, but it’s done with respect, and is appropriate given the historical context, and the director’s venerable record when it comes to showing us souls in torment. Ultimately, there’s nothing new here, but since no-one manipulates the elements in the Hollywood toolbox with as much flair as Scorsese, that’s immaterial.

Re BBC Radio Drama: Am I the only person who’s often been enticed by a juicy blurb in the Radio Times, only to be ultimately disappointed by the quality of the writing? Having gained an insight into the current decision-making process at a Writers’ Guild meeting with a top producer/director, followed up by studying the latest Commissioning Guidelines, it appears that projects are increasingly being selected for production on the basis of whether “they” think a 50-word synopsis will appeal to the core audience (middle-aged Daily Telegraph readers, according to research), rather than whether the script is any good. Because the script, generally, won’t exist until well after the play has been commissioned. Which is fair enough, from the W.G.G.B. point of view, since the point of being a professional writer is to get paid for doing it, rather than writing first and hoping for the best. One simply worries, however, that the Cult Of The Synopsis, which is responsible for a myriad of poor films and television series (particularly sit-coms), will eventually kill off the radio drama as it has developed over the past eighty years. Or maybe this is just sour grapes from a multiple rejectee. And in any case, there’s always the WritersRoom.

Gryfhead / A Kind Of Alaska

2010-03-14T18:05:00.002Z

I attended the Chapter performance of the latest in the On The Edge “Deadlier Than The Male” season of work by female playwrights :- “Gryfhead” by Lucy Gough, an everyday story of boy meets girl, girl’s brother kills boy, girl digs up boy’s body and keeps his head in the fridge. Based on a story from Boccaccio, via Keats, it starred Katy Owen as the feisty heroine, James Ashton as the unfortunate lover, Robert Harper as the unhinged, thuggish brother, and Alastair Sill as the Poet who alternates between observing, devising and participating in events, ultimately losing control of his creations, as Ella inconveniently refuses to fade prettily away. Less densely poetic than previous Lucy Gough plays that I’ve seen, “Gryfhead” is a grippingly gruesome tale of female empowerment set in a sink-estate/Grimm fairytale landscape (although it could probably have worked without the lupine trimmings). Despite the inevitable, distracting moments of awkwardness involving the juggling of scripts and props, this being a semi-staged reading, director Sita Calvert-Ennals kept things moving, striking a good balance between tragedy and absurdism. I went expecting edification, and ended up being thoroughly entertained.

A few days later I was back at Chapter for the last night of Be:Spoken Theatre’s production of “A Kind Of Alaska”, the Harold Pinter one-acter inspired by the work of neurologist Oliver Sacks, which premiered in 1982, with Judi Dench in the lead role of a woman who awakens after 29 years in a coma. Caroline Bunce played the central role of Deborah, the bright but naive schoolgirl in the body of a middle-aged woman; Claire Cage was Pauline, the kid sister suddenly transformed into a long-lost aunt; and Nathan Sussex (made-up to look like Sacks) was Hornby, the doctor, who has devoted his life to Deborah’s care, to the detriment of his marriage to Pauline. Director Julie Barclay went for an emotionally neutral tone, echoed in Steve Denton’s minimal all-white design, one element of which – a wall of newspaper clippings - clearly situates the piece in the ‘80s, as do the costumes, and Deborah’s now-dated Rank Charm School bearing and vocabulary. For a play lasting less than an hour, the production had more than its fair share of breathtaking moments – Deborah’s first steps out of bed, Pauline’s arrival, a brief relapse, Deborah’s casual announcement that she won’t bother looking in the mirror; but perhaps making Pauline and Hornby a little more overtly reactive wouldn’t have hurt. A highly satisfying experience, though, probably because Pinter is the kind of writer who gives audiences a lot of work to do, but since it’s on an emotional level rather than an intellectual one, it tends to linger. Only a four-day run with, by all accounts, pretty good houses, so one hopes more audiences will have the chance to see it.

Dirty Protest - "Out With The Old" / Gosling

2010-02-21T11:01:00.002Z

I attended the latest Dirty Protest evening of rehearsed short play readings, now migrated from the amusing but rather cramped yurt at Milgi to the Cardiff Arts Institute. This one was a re-presentation of the DP event - themed “Out With The Old”, and curated by Chloe Moss - which played at London’s Roundhouse in late 2009, featuring the work of six London-based writers with several high-profile credits (“Hollyoaks”, “Secret Diary Of A Call-Girl”, “Skins”) to their names. I was vaguely relieved to note that despite their youth, trendiness and employability, they were no less prone to whimsy and occasional over-writing than their Cardiff counterparts, but the evening as a whole was as entertaining as ever. The piece which made the strongest impression on me was Rebecca Lenkiewicz’s end-of-the-affair drama “On Loan”, although Colette Kane’s “Rats” juxtaposed comedy and tragedy with an enviable deftness. The cast – Matthew Bulgo, Helen Rosser Davies, and Erin Richards were reliably impressive, and seemed to be enjoying themselves.

Given Ray Gosling’s traumatic newsworthiness of late, one hopes that some of his classic TV and radio feature work from the 1970s and 1980s will be rediscovered and given an airing. He always displayed combination of charm, passion and wit which seems somewhat lacking these days.

The Road

2010-01-18T18:14:00.003Z

It’s impossible to say anything about John Hillcoat’s adaptation of Cormac McCarthy’s The Road (scripted by dramatist Joe Penhall) without using the word “bleak” – it’s pretty much the epitome of bleakness. A very impressive piece of work, though, with wonderfully moving performances from Viggo Mortensen and Kodi Smit-McPhee as father and son making their way through a post-apocalyptic American wilderness, dodging rampaging gangs of cannibals, as they head hopefully, self-deludingly Southwards. Hauntingly beautiful, strangely immersive and ultimately optimistic. A rare Saturday night multiplex experience (thank-you Tesco reward points), and a surprisingly full house – maybe the recent big freeze inspired people to come along and count their blessings.

I spent the festive period working on yet another attempt at a radio play – the first time in many years I’ve had no internet access whilst writing. It only served to confirm my theory that Distraction and Research are pretty much the same thing.

National Theatre Wales

2010-01-11T18:03:00.004Z

A link to my report on the Writers' Guild's December meeting with John McGrath of National Theatre Wales:

http://www.writersguild.org.uk/public/008_Featurearticl/400_WGGBNewsNat.html

"Charismatic" / "The Beauty"

2009-12-10T09:57:00.003Z

Two short films of mine, finally posted on Youtube:

Charismatic:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_KX0DvsnJ0A

The Beauty:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vF7wgzCv_cs

Straight Talk / A Serious Man

2009-11-25T16:39:00.003Z

My first visit to the redesigned Chapter Arts centre, with its new airport-lounge style café-bar area, was to see the latest “On The Edge” production – a reading of Straight Talk, Dan Anthony’s clever, verbose (one might even say Stoppardian) comedy about a by-the-book copper and a mysterious, philosophical informant, and their meetings in a park. Pacily directed by Simon West, it was lifted still more by Jams Thomas’ comic timing; John Norton was also impressive as the informant, although his American accent was a tad distracting.

A Serious Man is yet another work of near-genius from Joel and Ethan Coen. About the collapsing life of a Jewish physics professor in 1960s Minneapolis, it restates, with their trademark deadpan meticulousness, their long-standing theme of mostly bad stuff happening with no rhyme or reason. Little-known Michael Stuhlbarg is excellent in the leading role, but the cast is littered with “I know the face but not the name” types from U.S. television comedy (Richard Kind, Simon Helberg, Adam Arkin, George Wyner), driving home the suggestion that the deity is laughing at us. There may be a political subtext, about the perils of passivity in the face of Evil; or it may just be that the filmmakers are revelling in the cruel beauty inherent to an irrational universe. Whatever, it’s great fun.

National Theatre of Wales Launch

2009-11-06T10:14:00.003Z

The new National Theatre of Wales has finally released its inaugural programme of events, in an on-line broadcast which somehow managed to be both slick and shambolic. Kicking off in the spring of 2010, it’s pretty impressive in terms of geographical, thematic and stylistic scope. Thirteen productions dotted all over Wales (Butetown, Barmouth, Bridgend, Brecon…); trendy young(ish) writers (Alan Harris, Gary Owen, Kate O’Reilly); trendy old writers (Gwyn Thomas, Aeschylus, and in a shock move, John Osborne); renowned exponents of physical theatre (Marc Rees, Mike Pearson); an international dimension (Rimini Protokoll); and the occasional world-famous megastar (Michael Sheen, apparently taking over the whole of Port Talbot) – its ambition is admirable. My impression is of a bias towards the visually spectacular and/or media-friendly, but I guess their first job is alerting the populace as to their existence and immediate relevance. Still, it looks as though we’ll have to postpone the whingeing for a while.

"District 9 " / "Cardboard Dad"

2009-10-19T11:10:00.002Z

I finally got round to seeing “District 9”, and greatly enjoyed Neill Blonkamp’s engagingly clever sci-fi thriller/satire on the asylum/refugee issue (cf “Alien Nation”). The most important plot-hole (“why don’t they use a prawn to fire the weapon”), as pointed out by listeners to Mayo and Kermode on BBC Radio 5 did bother me, though. Sharlto Copley is excellent as Wikus, the hapless, reluctant hero, David James as the lead soldier is compellingly repugnant, and the CGI aliens are seamlessly rendered. The obvious set-up for the inevitably disappointing sequel was faintly dismaying, however.

My fear, prior to watching Alan Harris’s “Cardboard Dad” at the Sherman Cymru, was that given the play’s inspiration – the American practice of providing cardboard cut-outs of serving soldiers to their families, so that the children don’t forget what they look like – it might be a one-dimensional “issues” play about the plight of Army wives or the iniquity of war. Luckily it throws a curveball by providing something more nuanced, humorous, and dramatically satisfying. Shelley Rees (well-known in these parts on account of her many years in “Pobol y Cwm”) plays Donna, who fantasises and reminisces while husband David is abroad. Hers is rather a big performance, but appropriate given the character’s emotional immaturity; and Juliet Knight’s direction veers towards the balletic, cleverly evoking Donna’s dysfunctional dreaminess. This being the woman’s story, David is given relatively short shrift, but Simon Nehan ably embodies the groundedness which Donna appears to lack, in both real and fantasy incarnations of his character. If I have a criticism, it’s that the worrisome snippets of information about Donna’s unorthodox upbringing which we were given might have been explored more fully, all the better to illuminate her journey towards self-realisation.

Gulliver / Undeb's "The Project"

2009-10-06T08:39:00.003Z

As one of the millions who suffer from False Memory Syndrome when it comes to having read “Gulliver’s Travels”, I found Hijinx Theatre’s touring production (I saw it at the Sherman Cymru) of “Gulliver”, written by Kit Lambert and directed by Louise Osborne, every bit as topical as intended. It was also highly enjoyable – witty, visually imaginative, and flawlessly acted. Brendan Charleson plays Jonathan Swift as a man struggling both with his fears of madness and his feelings for his young friend Esther Johnson (Zoe Davies). He is visited by Doctor Gulliver (Michael Wagg), who spins him tall tales of misadventures in strange lands, the cast being completed by James Ashton who provides the broadest comedy in a number of small roles. The various worlds are cleverly conjured up via the use of dolls, masks and an engagingly clunky mobile set, and James Williams score is moving and amusing as appropriate. Given, however, that many of Swift’s targets - youths running wild, petty war-mongering, corrupt politicians, social inequality – continue to trouble us nearly 300 years on, the most worrisome impression left by the piece is of the abiding imperfectness of the human condition; not to mention the powerlessness of satire to achieve anything other than increasing the sum total of cynicism in the world.

Kit (who was having rather a good week, his episode of BBC Wales’ “Crash” having aired a few days earlier, in addition to his appearances on BBC Radio 4’s “Poetry Slam”), also featured as part of the inaugural production by Undeb Theatre :- “The Project” – a Sunday-long event held at Cardiff nightclub 10 Feet Tall. He took part in a performance poetry hour, where his literate surrealism contrasted well with the approaches taken by the other versifiers, Jack Stannard (humorous Essex youth angst), Mab Jones (tales of Cardiff low-life) and Byron Vincent, whose machine-gun speed stand-up was particularly winning. It was probably a bad idea to have the performance space adjacent to the entrance, though. Earlier in the day, Louise Osborne chaired a discussion featuring John McGrath (National Theatre Of Wales), James Grieve (Nabokov/ Bush Theatre), Phil Mackenzie (Sherman Cymru) and Jamie Garven (Royal Welsh College of Music and Drama) which focused on the personal impact of theatre and the role of the director – a lively and instructive session. Bands, DJ’s, comedy and painting also featured, as well as plays by London writers Abi Zakarian and Joel Horwood, the entertainment continuing well into the early hours. I left in mid-evening, however, after a duo of short pieces by locally-based writers: “Rotten” by Undeb’s Artistic Director Alex Vlahos, a two-hander about a suicide pact which boasted some good writing and performances, but whose narrative set-up seemed overly contrived; and “Dad Astronaut” by the company’s writer-in-residence Samuel Bees :- Gareth Potter and Caitlin Richards in a highly effective family drama which veered in tone from the elegiac to the whimsical to the tragically sinister. Not bad at all for a £4 entry fee, and it’s encouraging to see young artists generating their own work and being rewarded by a full house.

The City / The Wire

2009-09-14T17:04:00.003Z

I only attended one play in the Sherman Cymru’s Directors’ Week mini-festival, organised in collaboration with Living Pictures, in which relatively new theatre directors were let loose on texts by internationally renowned writers; thus I missed pieces by Bryony Lavery and Athol Fugard. Martin Crimp’s “The City”, however, directed by Bridget Keehan, was a joy. Starting out as a 1970s-style drama depicting the collapsing middle-class marriage of on-the-edge Chris (played by Matthew Bulgo), and too-complacent-for-comfort Clair (Alex Alderton), it drifts, subtly and organically, into humanistic abstraction. This is signalled by the appearance of their neighbour, a traumatised young nurse played with compelling awkwardness by Ceri Mill; and the mood is intensified when their disturbingly self-possessed daughter (a role shared on a show-by-show basis by Megan Hill-Clement and Isabella Hughes) turns up. Beautiful performances and a slick production (Carolina Vasquez’ video-work depicting the passing of the seasons was an eye-catching highlight), in a piece which appears to be about the fantasies we weave in order to maintain our psychological equilibrium (cf. “The Iceman Cometh”). Pretty much flawless.

Having successfully completed BBC2’s “The Wire” marathon, one is bound to reflect on what made it so unusually good. Co-creator Ed Burns outlined his rules on “The Culture Show” earlier in the year :- “Know Your Subject”, “It’s All In The Casting”, “Never Explain” and “Keep It Real”. Other considerations might include not forgetting to utilise humour, foregrounding self-consciously elegant dialogue, and the importance of providing hope amidst the despair. The pre-eminent factor, though, of course, is that creative control was in the hands of talented writers rather than accountants or executives.

"Inglourious Basterds"

2009-08-23T09:37:00.002Z

I went into “Inglourious Basterds” expecting more of a rip-roaring rampage of Nazi-scalping than in fact transpired - Quentin Tarantino’s latest is more intellectually ambitious than the pulpy war films and B-Westerns which inspired it, and all the better for that. His breathtakingly bold rewriting of the history of World War 2 consists largely of long, extremely tense dialogue scenes, which generally culminate in messy (in terms of both narrative and blood) violence. The film is dominated by the performances of Christoph Waltz (as Holmesian Jew-hunter Landa), and Brad Pitt (as cigar-chomping redneck anti-Nazi Aldo Raine), who both appear to be having a whale of a time, while Melanie Laurent, as vengeful survivor Shoshanna provides the soul of the piece. Packed with a thesis-load of references, this is a story about the importance of language and the simultaneously redemptive and disruptive power of cinema; it’s also a useful reminder of an era in which making war on “the foot soldiers of a Jew-hatin’, mass murderin’ maniac” was generally held to be a good idea. A little more back-story on some of the “Basterds” might have been nice, but maybe it’s good that the filmmaker allows us space to use our imaginations. Masterful.

Big Weekend 2009

2009-08-04T11:01:00.006Z

Friday Night was emo night at this year’s Cardiff Big Weekend, if the rain-flattened lateral coiffures and teen demographic were anything to go by; I was there for London-based North Walian trio The Joy Formidable, however, whose subtle, indie wall-of-sound mini-epics were pretty impressive. I cherry-picked on Saturday as well, only making the effort to see Melopark, fronted by local heroine Sian from Kosheen, who provided an object-lesson in stage-presence; soulful vocals with dense, folky guitar (provided by collaborator Simon Kingman), and catchy, mellow songs (apparently, largely about her mates in the audience) – most pleasant. The main question on Sunday was whether Leisure Society had more songs as achingly beautiful as the Novello-nominated “The Last Of The Melting Snow”; the good news was that they did, and also treated us to an amusing version of Gary Numan’s “Cars”. Having wandered off to find a vaguely hygienic toilet, I only caught the end of Ebony Bones’ set, but she managed to get the crowd going with her crazy beats – if only she wouldn’t dress so dowdily.

My final band of the festival was Camera Obscura, Peel favourites, and one of the pantheon of great, ‘60s-inflected Scottish pop groups; they played a relatively upbeat set which suited the demands of the occasion, and Tracy-Anne’s fragile vocals carried surprisingly well. Lovely.

Re writing, the only good news of late was a repeat fee for “Tracy Beaker” – staving off poverty for another month or so. I’ve also just started another baby play manuscript on its lonely journey around the offices of various theatre companies.

"Moon" / Dirty Protest

2009-07-25T16:55:00.001Z

In an era where science-fiction films seem to focus on blowing stuff up, to the exclusion of deeper concerns, Duncan Jones’ “Moon” is a welcome throwback to the days of philosophically-oriented space-operas (cf “Dark Star”, “Silent Running”). Sam Rockwell gives a beautiful couple of performances as a lunar mining operative who discovers that he may have companions other than a Kevin Spacey-voiced computer on his three-year posting. It looks variously grimy and sumptuous, with some clever visual jokes (I especially liked the smiley faces), and the bulk of the SFX budget obviously went on allowing Rockwell to act opposite himself. It doesn’t have as much to say about the trauma of Sam’s identity crisis as one might expect, and the straight-from-the-Hollywood-screenwriting-manual “ticking clock” introduced towards the end is vaguely irritating, but Spacey’s trademark sinisterness is cleverly exploited, and Jones does manage to avoid the seemingly inevitable nihilistic conclusion. No Bowie on the soundtrack, but excellent use of Mozart.

Another Dirty Protest in the yurt at Milgi in Cardiff this week; another stellar list of local dramatists – Tracy Spottiswoode, Angharad Devonald, Jon Tregenna, Catrin Clarke, and Helen Griffin alongside cherry-popper Jamie Rees; another double sell-out of short plays directed by Steve Fisher and Lee Haven Jones. Curator Roger Williams asked the writers for pieces inspired by songs - he also banned monologues, and restricted the length of playlets to less than seven minutes, which was good news for my knees. As usual, the actors - Crisian Emmanuel, Gareth Pierce, Iola Hughes and regular Lee Mengo - were excellent, and the debuting Rees must be congratulated in that his piece blended well with the work of the more experienced wordsmiths, all of whose pieces cleverly balanced humour with pathos, with the exception of the Tony Blair/David Kelly sketch which, to me, seemed overly unsubtle. On the plus side, it was good to be reminded of Martin Grech’s “Open Heart Zoo”.

All’s Well That Ends Well

2009-06-29T17:03:00.001Z

Perhaps it’s wrong to express surprise at having thoroughly enjoyed some Shakespeare, but I really hadn’t expected “All’s Well That Ends Well” at the Royal National Theatre (this year’s birthday treat) to be such jolly fun. No massive stars on display, but some familiar faces (Clare Higgins, Oliver Ford Davies, Michael Thomas, Janet Henfrey), with the meatiest roles taken by Conleth Hill (Parolles, lusty buffoon) and Michelle Terry (Helena, feisty heroine), in a star-making turn. It’s known as a problem play, because of its illogical ending (Bertram, the young nobleman, having spent the entire play running away from the besotted Helena, to the point of going to war, suddenly decides to give in, merely because she happens to be pregnant with his child), but it all seemed to make sense here, thanks to some clever visual touches such as judicious use of silhouettes, animated backdrops and symbolic costume-changes (the Bunny-style outfits were an especially nice touch). The 1110-seating Olivier auditorium was virtually full (it being a matinee, full of pensioners), and there was much laughter, most of it prompted by Hill. Director Marianne Elliot kept things moving, and even made a virtue of those unavoidable moments where there were a lot of people hanging about with nothing to do. A grand day out.

Most pleasing rediscovery, courtesy of a cheaply purchased Charlie Chaplin DVD box-set: “Monsieur Verdoux”; witty, charming and politically provocative, even today. Not to mention “The Great Dictator”, lest we forget.

Egin / Osborne

2009-06-11T08:41:00.004Z

I went to see a couple of shows in this year’s “Springboard/Egin” season – Sherman Cymru’s short (certainly shorter than the last one) festival of new work for theatre - both penned by fellow members of the “Exquisite Corpse” team.

The first was Lacuna, written by Matthew Bulgo, and directed by Suzanne Phillips, which depicts sessions between a traumatised patient - who seems in perfect physical and mental health, with the exception that the lacuna of the title is her lover, whom she can no longer see - and a suspiciously over-invested doctor. One could readily imagine how the clever premise could have led us up an arty cul-de-sac, but mercifully the author kept it on a deeply relatable level, with heart-breaking, poetic dialogue (perhaps occasionally over-written); and the performances, by Gareth Milton and Caitlin Richards, were affecting and witty.

A couple of nights later saw another play about emotional voids – Tracy Harris’ The Cloak Room (a more fully realised staging than Lacuna, directed by Amy Hodge), in which Roger Evans played a psychologically troubled man who steals coats and invests them with the imagined personalities of people he has lost, and Siwan Morris the woman who tries to redeem him. Again, very lyrical and moving, although the female character’s motivation remained obscure (but then, such is life). It will be performed again as part of the Smithsonian Folklife Festival’s Welsh Event in Washington D.C. in a few weeks time – very fitting as a representative sample of theatrical writing in contemporary South Wales.

The latest in the On The Edge season at Chapter featured a double bill of new plays – “A Pair of Cardiff Shorts” - by local legend Alan Osborne, one of the progenitors of the profane, poetic, surrealistic South Wales style. The first, “The Best Defensive Boxer In The Bay! Nay, The World” is about a pugilist whose aim is to become the world champion loser; the second, a less broadly humorous, more abstract piece, “Until, Box and Sometimes Sally”, has as its hero a blind man whose friends tell him stories to stir (or maybe constrain) his visual imagination. Despite the fact that these were script-in-hand readings, director Russell Gomer kept things moving admirably, and the cast (Nathan Sussex as the related central protagonists of both pieces, as well as Boyd Clack, Dean Rehman, Cler Stephens and Mali Tudno Jones) ably conveyed the pathos and humour in both pieces. More stimulation in a little under an hour than an entire season of Big Brother could provide.

Scott Matthews

2009-05-25T17:44:00.003Z

It is a truth acknowledged by all right-thinking people that “Elusive” by Scott Matthews is one of the finest songs of the 21st century thus far. So I leapt at the chance to see him when he visited Cardiff’s Glee Club last night, and I was not disappointed. Supporting was James Summerfield, whose accomplished acoustic country-folk stylings went down well, and did his football-related banter. The headliner’s ethereal, multi-textured soulful folk/blues was received ecstatically by the capacity crowd, and the new songs were every bit as compelling as his older material. Scott Matthews (a.k.a. the Wolverhampton Wonder) stands manfully on the shoulders of Jeff Buckley and John Martyn; one only hopes he takes better care of his personal welfare than they did.

I was lucky enough to be able to attend the launch party for the new English-language National Theatre of Wales, in Cardiff’s Castle Arcade, last week - I hadn’t been invited, but was very kindly snuck in by younger, more successful writers. It was an intriguing collection of people, of both the arty and moneyed varieties. The new company certainly has some exciting plans - such as a production a month for the first year, starting in Spring 2010 - and a promising on-line forum. Let’s hope the inevitable whingeing doesn’t bring them down too much.

The reviews for the London production of “The Exquisite Corpse” have been less rapturous than those it received in Edinburgh last year, but I’d put that down to the world-weariness of the metropolitan critic. The write-ups have generally been of the kind which would tend to intrigue potential audiences (“this is weird”), rather than put them off entirely (“this is bad”), and the company seem quite pleased with the houses they’ve been getting.

Gary Owen has published the Welsh-language dialogue from his bilingual play “Amgen : Broken” on his website, and it turns out that I understood even less of it that I’d previously thought, to the point of entirely misreading the trajectory of the “Gareth” character; thus his “crisis” is altogether more upbeat than that of his English-only alter-ego; which makes it even more appropriate as a “what it is to be Welsh” play than I originally thought.

Linguistic Fluidity

2009-05-15T10:51:00.002Z

Last Saturday saw another Writers’ Guild event, in the Sherman Cymru, Cardiff. In conjunction with their production of Gary Owen’s “Amgen: Broken”, it was a forum discussion on the subject of Bilingualism in Drama, chaired by noted Welsh playwright and director Ian Rowlands, and with guest speakers (alongside Gary), Jeroen Van Den Berg (a Dutch playwright who has worked with a Frysian-language theatre company in Holland) and Dominic Rai (the Indian-born founder of the Mán Melá Theatre company, now resident in Wales). The general consensus was that linguistic fluidity is the future of society and therefore, of any dramatic writing which aims to reflect it with any degree of authenticity. “Amgen” is artistically successful, because, as the author explained, it uses the learning of the Welsh language as a metaphor for personal transformation; and there was agreement that playwrights should be encouraged to work multilingually, when the subject of drama called for such an approach (e.g. social inclusion, linguistic oppression, generational conflict). The problem in Wales though, appears to be that work is often criticised on the basis of the “correctness” of the Welsh used, rather than its relevance and verisimilitude as drama, and that bureaucratic considerations preclude the production of work (especially on TV) that reflects the bilingual reality of most Welsh-speaking communities. The limited number of opportunities, particularly in television, for non-Welsh-speaking writers in Wales was also brought up.

A couple of days later, I paid a visit to London village to check out the latest production of “The Exquisite Corpse” (I am one of the five co-writers) at the Southwark Playhouse, and was blown away once more by the slickness and coherent incoherency of the production. I’m proud to be even a small part of such an aesthetically ambitious project, for which my biennial visit to the Tate Modern was the ideal preparation.

I loved the new J.J. Abrams "Star Trek" film – particularly the depiction of the developing relationships between the principals; some lovely, surprisingly nuanced performances. Slightly concerned about the “alternative timeline” scenario, which could easily have laid waste to any pretence of subtlety; and towards the climax, when CGI threatened to take over, I found myself losing concentration, but that’s probably an age thing.

"Amgen : Broken"

2009-05-04T16:01:00.003Z

There’s a cliché in these parts that the perennial subject for Welsh drama is “What it is to be Welsh”, and the pre-publicity for Sherman Cymru’s production of Gary Owen’s “Amgen : Broken” (“amgen” meaning “alternative) seems to suggest that it touches explicitly on this theme, with its two characters being versions of the same person :- depressed, English-speaking “Gary” (played by Steven Meo); and the ostensibly less depressed, more complacent, more successful “Gareth” (Simon Watts), who has chosen, at a crucial point in his life, to become a Welsh-speaker. It’s a subtler piece than that, though, eloquently mining the depths of personal and social despair whilst remaining funny and engaging. As an experiment in bi-lingual theatre (about a third of the dialogue being in Welsh), it succeeds to the extent that it allows monoglot audience-members to identify with “Gary’s” feelings of exclusion and alienation while gaining tantalising hints as to the nature of “Gareth’s” parallel journey, an apparently smoother one which nevertheless brings him to a moment of near-terminal unhappiness as poignant as that of his counterpart. It goes without saying that the performances were excellent, and I particularly liked the set – strewn with discarded carrier-bags and fast-food wrappings. I think I may have missed a beat, however, in terms of the events which led to “Gary’s” final crisis of confidence, but I was probably distracted by the smoke.

The hit Edinburgh production to which I made a small but vital (my perspective only) contribution, “The Exquisite Corpse” is about to have its London opening, at the Southwark Playhouse which, apparently, is not quite in the West End. I look forward to seeing how it’s looking these days.

Dirty Protest - Back To The Yurt / "Yer Blues"

2009-04-20T17:52:00.002Z

Thursday night saw another mini-festival of short plays, in the yurt at the rear of Milgi in City Road, Cardiff. This latest Dirty Protest, guest-curated by playwright Gary Owen, comprised three comic takes on relationships, two heartfelt monologues and a WWII drama, from authors Duncan MacMillan, Cath Tregenna, Emma Reeves, Emily Steel, Greg Glover and cherry popper Ross Southard, very ably performed by Shekira Johnson, Jenny Livsey, and DP regular Gareth Milton. The pieces were variously amusing, thought-provoking and elegiac (sometimes all at the same time); and the fact that both presentations sold out very early on in the evening is a testament to the DP organisation’s success in creating an event which is both highly popular (perhaps too popular in terms of the audience’s physical comfort) and artistically satisfying.

I’ve managed, via youwriteon.com, to make my novel, “Yer Blues”, available for purchase on Amazon – hurry, while stocks last!

Watchmen, and that

2009-03-20T09:59:00.003Z

I wandered into Zack Snyder’s “Watchmen” adaptation, without any prior knowledge of the graphic novel, other than that gleaned during the marketing push, and vague snippets picked up over the years. I enjoyed it rather more than I expected to, given that some critics had complained of longueurs (although these seem to be the kind of critics who find long stretches of non-CGI-enhanced dialogue somehow offensive). The use of a non-A-list cast meant that the fate of the characters was unpredictable, and the dingy 1980’s look was very evocative, especially when contrasted with the shiny sci-fi elements. Some interesting philosophical points as well, e.g. how much easier it is to be yourself when you’re being somebody else, sacrificing the few to protect the many, etc.

A couple of weeks ago, I went to a premiere screening of “Zig Zag Love”, a film for BBC Scotland produced by members of the “Tracy Beaker” team. Like a lot of writer Mary Morris’ work, it deals with challenged young people struggling to live “normal” lives, and it was tear-jerking stuff, with lots of effective comic moments and an excellent cast. The evening provided much opportunity to ponder on why such initiatives are not happening here in Wales.

This last weekend, I was part of a workshop at London’s Soho Theatre, organised by the Arts Council of England’s Young People’s Participatory Theatre project, looking, along with a group of c.17-22 year-olds with an interest in the performing arts (and YOCA), at ways of creating a piece of theatre, utilising verbatim elements, which looks at the “gangs/guns/knives” issue, without producing the kind of preachy or despairing tract which people might go to see out of guilt or duty. I’m not sure that we came to any solid conclusions, but it was certainly very stimulating.

The mystery of a payment I received from BBC Radio Cymru for a broadcast from the 2008 National Eisteddfod has been solved – it turns out that Sion Ifan won the Richard Burton Memorial Prize for dramatic performance using an extract from my play “Giant Steps” (as well as one by Dafydd Huws, who filled me in). Glad to be of service.

Sad to hear of the tragic death of Natasha Richardson. She was particularly impressive in Volker Schlonforff's adaptation of Margaret Atwood's "The Handmaid's Tale", and Paul Schrader's "Patty Hearst". Respect is due.

"Charismatic"

2009-02-20T09:42:00.001Z

I’ve managed to make my short DV piece, “Charismatic”, available to view on the Internet Movie Database, through a complex process involving Withoutabox. It’ll be interesting to see if anything comes of it:
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1367165/

NME Tour 2009 / Woody / "Solitude"

2009-02-18T13:14:00.004Z

Valentine’s Night saw the arrival of the NME Awards Tour in the Cardiff University Students’ Union, although most of the romance in the air was of the “in love with The Grim Reaper” type. It kicked off very early with Florence And The Machine, who were excellent, with Florence coming across as a “hello flowers, hello birdies” type woman, but with a concealed machete; awesome voice, disturbingly violent lyrics, and a harp – very appropriate. Next up were White Lies, four young men in black singing about doom, who provided the most surreal moment of the evening: “This is our last song – it’s called ‘Death’!” – cue rapturous, drunken, post-rugby cheers. Hints of Joy Division, obviously, but with more light and shade. The penultimate band were Friendly Fires, with their vaguely Latin flavours; the least melodically immediate band on the night, but the most upbeat. Headliners Glasvegas have been getting some poor reviews on this tour, but the Cardiff show was triumphant, despite the muddy sound, their post-punk Spectorism proving highly effective and emotive. A perversely celebratory night.

I rather enjoyed the latest Woody Allen “return to form”, “Vicky Cristina Barcelona”, but then I even liked “Scoop”,which suggests that I’m less than objective. A discursively plotted tale of love and lust amongst well-heeled New Yorkers, as usual, but set during a Catalan summer, it’s sumptuously shot and flawlessly acted. The voice-over seems largely superfluous, though, and there was certainly room for a few more jokes, but overall it was pretty satisfying, as female-oriented fantasies go.

Michael Kelligan’s new “On The Edge” season kicked of at Cardiff’s Chapter Arts Centre with a world premiere – a script-in-hand reading of “Solitude”, a new play from Dic Edwards, one of Wales most erudite and provocative dramatists. Inspired by the life and work of Alexander Trocchi, it’s a self-consciously writerly tale of sex, drugs and death amongst low-life poets, full of epigrams, allusions and bizarre motifs. Very clever, and well acted – with Carli De’La Hughes, Danny Grehan and Dewi Savage as the protagonists, and Tony Leader as the police officer who is eventually called in to inject a dose of reality – but since one of the central themes is shattered innocence, we are forced to wallow, somewhat, in the self-serving unpleasantness of the deluded amoral artist, which leaves a bit of a bad taste, which is probably the intention.

Slumdog Millionaire / The Bells Of Shoreditch

2009-01-18T10:23:00.003Z

Danny Boyle’s “Slumdog Millionaire” is richly deserving of all the plaudits flooding its way. It’s a remarkably vivid and fast-moving roller-coaster ride through the life of a Mumbai slum survivor, the narrative conceit being that his story is told via the answers to questions on the edition of “Who Wants To Be A Millionaire” on which he is competing. The film appears to be being sold as some kind of fairy-tale, but although the ending is uplifting, there are some truly horrifying moments along the way. The cinematography is colourful and kinetic without ever losing focus on the story, which is a familiar one (two brothers, one good, one bad, and the girl who defines their relationship), given a compelling spin by the foregrounding of Fate. Some people are describing it as “poverty porn”, which is nonsense – we are spared none of the grimness and despair of the street-children portrayed, and the filmmakers are making the effort to ensure that their child actors benefit materially from their participation. Peddling hope rather wallowing in other people’s misery, this is social surrealism at its finest.

The first “development” production by Dirty Protest took place in Cardiff’s Sherman Cymru over the past few days - of a script-in-hand but otherwise fully staged production of company co-founder Tim Price’s “The Bells Of Shoreditch”. The premise involves Paul (Mark Arends) advertising for bed-mates in order to combat his urban isolation, albeit from a platonic distance. A highly enjoyable, amusing and heartfelt piece, although I have a few caveats (e.g. the fact that the author seemed so intent on avoiding the obvious feel-good conclusion that the ending came across as somewhat abrupt). The performances were uniformly excellent (as is customary on the Cardiff fringe), and Vicky Jones’ direction was exemplary – a “montage” sequence late on was especially effective. Very well attended, too, with tickets at £5 each – although one wonders at the potential for full-price repeat business for a “tweaked” version further down the line.

"Dreams From My Father"

2009-01-09T11:31:00.001Z

My festive reading over the past couple of weeks consisted of a rediscovery of Stephen Fry’s debut novel, “The Liar”, and U.S. President-Elect Barack Obama’s “Dreams From My Father”- linked via Fry’s autobiographical masterpiece “Moab Is My Washpot”, since “The Liar” is the fictionalised version of his early life, and “Dreams” is a similarly intense and elegant account of a notable individual’s formative years, and the experiences, encounters and influences that maketh the man. Obama’s book is a revelation – not only beautifully written, but also very effectively nailing America’s (and therefore the world’s) obsession with ethnicity, via an examination of his own multi-cultural background. He’s understandably reticent when it comes to his druggy adolescence and early romantic adventures, but provides ample evidence of the thesis that progress will only be made when more people realise that their history should be a springboard rather than a prison. Nobody who reads this book will be in any doubt that he’s almost committee-designed to be a Great President. But probably destined to fail, if only because there’s no such thing.

"No Offence" / Dirty Protest Mixtape

2008-12-15T09:31:00.001Z

The most recent “On The Edge” reading I attended, at Chapter, Cardiff was of “No Offence”, by veteran actor and author Terry Victor, who also directed. Described as a “comedy of terrors”, it depicts a small theatre company (“Fire On Stage!”) staging a provocative performance piece on the subject of censorship, which is eventually disrupted by agents of the repressive state. Very elegantly written, it ably satirises the self-importance of the artist, and skewers past injustices, such as the hounding of Lenny Bruce (although, as I understand it, he was to a large extent the author of his own misfortune, and had, perhaps, a simplistic take on the power of language) and Mary Whitehouse’s attack on “The Romans in Britain” (whose director, Michael Bogdanov was in the audience). An intentionally unfunny, self-righteous stand-up comedy segment in the middle seemed a bit of a dead weight, however; and the play lapsed into melodrama at the end, which tended to undermine the measured nature of the debate it aimed to inspire. An excellent cast though – Julie Barclay, Joshua McCord, Laura Dalgleish, Dan McCloud, Liz Gardiner – and the piece certainly provoked thought, even if only about our own boundaries, censorship being something to which everyone objects, until the point at which we don’t. Perhaps this kind of internal conflict, rather than clenched-fist confrontation with religious-political authoritarianism, might make a good subject for a more nuanced kind of drama.

The final Dirty Protest night of 2008 - The Mixtape - was a celebratory theatrical extravaganza, held at Cardiff’s Clwb Ifor Bach, featuring a selection of readings of new short plays and monologues (theme:- settling scores) and popular pieces from throughout the year (not including mine). A plethora of stellar and unfamiliar names and faces, with the tone alternating between the comic and the poignant. As always, the team provided a highly entertaining evening in an inspired setting (despite the intrusively loud music coming from elsewhere in the venue), and, once more, abundant evidence of the richness and enthusiasm within the independent (i.e. unpaid) theatre scene in Wales.

"See The Glory"

2008-11-24T09:27:00.000Z

I was immoderately pleased with the reading of my play “See The Glory” at London’s Young Vic last week. A highly sympathetic and experienced director (Topher Campbell) and a perfect cast (Joe Mydell and Lisa Davina Philip, with Jason Rowe on sax); Talawa’s reputation and marketing nous even managed to secure a full house in the small (60 seats) studio space. There were even a couple of familiar faces from Wales there, which was nice. Given that the piece starts out as a fairly cosy kind of story then takes a dark turn, I was relieved that it seemed to hang together; it got some laughs too, in the right places, which is always good. One only hopes that its journey will continue.

Waterstones Cardiff pt.2

2008-11-17T12:43:00.001Z

So now it would appear that Patrick Jones sought to provoke the controversy over his book of light verse by e-mailing poems to several extremist groups; furthermore, the BBC’s account appears to suggest that he initially denied this when interviewed. Thus the liberal-left anti-censorship lobby (of which I am a proud adherent) appear to have been used as part of a publicity-stunt. Faintly depressing. It seems somehow ironic that Nicky Wire (a sport-loving heterosexual male who wears dresses and make-up, revels in his minimalistic bass-playing, and named himself after an item of electrical hardware) appears to be the most sensible member of that family.

"Love Forty" / Waterstones Cardiff

2008-11-13T12:56:00.002Z

I was part of a full house in the Media Centre Cardiff’s Chapter Arts Centre to see a script-in-hand “On The Edge” presentation of “Love Forty”, an early play by Wales’ most popular playwright, Frank Vickery, dubbed the “Ayckbourn of the Valleys”; although this piece strays into Bergman territory, being a dissection of a forty-year middle-class marriage which was entered into cold-bloodedly. Producer-director Michael Kelligan, and Anwen Williams are Ralph (deceptively jolly) and Marcia (prickly and sarcastic), preparing to attend their Ruby Wedding celebration; they co-exist and increasingly interact with their younger, identically-dressed selves - James Aston and Naomi Martell. Despite some self-consciously laboured metaphors, and an ending which appears to verge on the glib (or maybe it was just rushed), the piece was both affecting and amusing. The author avoided the irritating phenomenon (fairly common in radio drama) where long-married characters have the kind of conversations which, realistically, would have to have occurred years before (“You mean you almost married Jim?”), since non-communication is inherent to the relationship; there were a couple of instances of “What’s that supposed to mean?”, however, which, in my view, is always worth taking the trouble to avoid.

Big news in Wales at the moment is the cancellation of a reading by poet Patrick Jones, at Waterstones in Cardiff, due to a threat by an organisation calling itself “Christian Voice”. Ridiculous, of course, but at least it will provide a welcome publicity-boost for his book “Darkness Is Where The Stars Are”, published by Cinnamon Press – to steal a line from The Rutles film, people will be buying copies in their thousands, just to burn them.

Red Light Company

2008-11-08T17:41:00.001Z

I paid my first visit to the Cardiff Barfly for a while, to catch Red Light Company in concert. Opening were locals Scissorkick Victory – punky hard rock in the Biffy/Foos vein, and very enjoyable. Next up were The Hugs, teenagers from Portland, Oregon currently resident in London; likeable power-pop, perhaps insufficiently distinctive as yet, but they displayed an admirable tendency to rock out. The headliners - what with the long hair, and the ridiculously skinny trousers, and the cheekbones - look far too cool, but the music is excellent; sparkly pop gems delivered with élan. Rather a short set (40 minutes?), but they played all the singles (“With Lights Out”, “Meccano”, “Scheme Eugene”), so there were no complaints.

I’ve spent some time trying to get people to attend my play-reading at London’s Young Vic on November 20th, via Facebook and e-mail; no point having a high-profile big city showcase if no-one turns up. My current task is doing another draft of my sit-com script, after some encouraging feedback from the BBC – obviously a long shot, but one has to make the effort.

Delighted, of course, to see Barack Obama’s historic victory; my sincerest hope is for a boringly efficient, uneventful two-term presidency.

Catalan-Wales Drama Festival / The Week That Was

2008-11-03T09:49:00.003Z

I attended the final night of the Parthian/Made In Wales Catalan-Wales Drama Festival in Chapter (with which I was tangentially involved), to see a double bill of recent Catalan plays. “Black Beach” by Jordi Coca (whose Franco-era novel “Under The Dust”, published in translation by Parthian, is well worth a read) was a two-hander in which ex-lovers spar backstage at a conference – its theme of manipulativeness within small-nation politics was very Welsh. “The Sale” by Lluisa Cunillé, involved the vendor of a flat and two would-be buyers all struggling to deal with heartbreak about which none felt able to speak. Both very solid, entertaining and well-acted pieces, perhaps chosen for their universality.

My Ibiza-set piece, “Dirty Something”, received a reading on the first night, which seemed to go down well with the small audience – at least they laughed in the right places. My cast (Claire Cage, Chris Morgan, Anita Reynolds), coped admirably with my fumbling attempts at direction.

Afterwards, I snuck off to Clwb Ifor Bach to catch The Week That Was, the latest musical project by Field Music’s Peter Brewis – intricate (without veering into prog-rock over-elaboration) and challenging, at least on the first hearing, but beautifully hypnotic, and ending with a version of “Fear Is A Man’s Best Friend”, which is always a good move. Supporting were local heroes The Spencer McGarry Season – more appealing pop cleverness.

Killer Of Sheep

2008-10-28T12:13:00.001Z

I managed, for the first time, so see Charles Burnett’s fabled 1977 “Killer Of Sheep”, at Chapter last weekend, courtesy of the International Black Film Festival Wales. Produced just as the Blaxploitation era was fizzling out, the film deliberately eschews sensationalistic narrative; instead, Burnett presents a series of low-key sketches of working-class African-American life, focussing on a family whose vaguely depressive father manages to eke out a living as an abbatoir worker. Excellent monochrome cinematography, a beautiful music score (apparently his failure to clear most of the tracks contributed to the film’s languishing in the archives for so long), and some charming performances make this a surprisingly entrancing experience; the sound quality leaves a lot to be desired, however.