Blakeson - Writer

Cardiff-based film, theatre and gig reviews, cultural ramblings, whingeing, short films, etc.

Monday, October 21, 2013

"Free Folk", Made In Roath, etc

I had the chance, as a British Theatre Guide reviewing assignment, to see a full production of Gary Owen’s “Free Folk” at Sherman Cymru late last week, in a touring production by Forest Forge; almost two years after its Welsh premiere, a rehearsed reading by Welsh Fargo. With a rural setting, it’s a tightly plotted, alternately noirish and comic, emotionally satisfying take on the concept of the quest for a place called home.


The start of the local, artist-led Made In Roath 2013 Festival coincided with Cardiff’s high-profile Swn Music Festival, so I took the opportunity to indulge in a little more cultural activity over the weekend. On Saturday night at the relaunched Milkwood Gallery there was a presentation of a short, one-woman play by Rowena Moreno for Leftfield Theatre Company; entitled “Modern Living”. With a “diary of a mad housewife” theme, there were some rough edges, but it was lifted by an intense performance. And on Sunday afternoon I managed to dodge the raindrops to check out the very welcome (I don’t get the whole “buy a wristband and spend the evening running around hoping to get in somewhere” thing) Swn Free Stage in the middle of town and caught some of the acoustic sets by Rhodri Brooks and Aled Rheon. 


Dragon by Phlegm
Part of the Empty Walls Project
For Made In Roath 2013


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Wednesday, December 12, 2012

"I Am Angela Brazil"


The spectacle of the venerable Boyd Clack in a dress (and trousers) - a middle-aged man not quite pretending to be a woman. This is the latest treat provided by the Welsh Fargo Stage Company in their series of “On The Edge” readings at Chapter. Lucinda Coxon’s apparently little-performed monologue “I Am Angela Brazil”, directed by Hugh Thomas. Nothing to do with the children’s author of the same name, except that the title evokes a long-lost, girlish innocence as the protagonist, a tortured, adulterous woman, relays her troublesome dreams and fears. On a set consisting of a chair, and a table on which sits a glass of water, Clack is a reassuring presence, all charm, charisma and gravitas, only glancing occasionally at his script. The writing is elegant, poetic, occasionally profane, and captivating, despite the coldness of the character and the many levels of ironic distance between her and her audience. Beautifully done.

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