Josh Edwards's Posts - National Theatre Wales Community2024-03-29T02:30:42ZJosh Edwardshttps://community.nationaltheatrewales.org/profile/JoshEdwardshttps://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/2986254276?profile=RESIZE_48X48&width=48&height=48&crop=1%3A1https://community.nationaltheatrewales.org/profiles/blog/feed?user=3dryaeo5mw8cd&xn_auth=noI am with you Always - Graig Du Theatre Playerstag:community.nationaltheatrewales.org,2023-12-12:3152760:BlogPost:3430542023-12-12T20:34:26.000ZJosh Edwardshttps://community.nationaltheatrewales.org/profile/JoshEdwards
<p style="text-align: left;">One of the forgotten stars of the golden years of Hollywood is the actor Laird Cregar. Although he appeared in only sixteen films, he made such an impression in supporting roles that he was not easily forgotten. His most remembered roles were as Slade, Jack the Ripper, in a remake of "The Lodger", alongside Merle Oberon, and as George Henry Bone in " Hangover Square. " with Linda Darnell. The tragedy of Laird Cregar was that he was appalled by his weight, he…</p>
<p style="text-align: left;">One of the forgotten stars of the golden years of Hollywood is the actor Laird Cregar. Although he appeared in only sixteen films, he made such an impression in supporting roles that he was not easily forgotten. His most remembered roles were as Slade, Jack the Ripper, in a remake of "The Lodger", alongside Merle Oberon, and as George Henry Bone in " Hangover Square. " with Linda Darnell. The tragedy of Laird Cregar was that he was appalled by his weight, he weighed over three hundred pounds, and decided to go on a crash course diet, sheding over 100 pounds in weight, whilst making his final film. He wanted to be a leading man. This folly was to cost him his life less than two months after the final film was completed. He died of heart attack after undergoing an operation: he was thirty-one years of age. Cregar acted alongside such greats as Tyrone Power, George Sanders, Carol Landis, Don Ameche, Victor Mature, and Alan Ladd to name but a few.</p>
<p style="text-align: left;">The play now in development, mentioned on the title page, is a character study of Laird Cregar, with his contradictory nature, as he prepares for the opening night of the play that was to bring him to prominence in Hollywood: Oscar Wilde. The role had previously been played, to great acclaim on Broadway, by Robert Morley.</p>Folklore - Graig Du Theatre Playerstag:community.nationaltheatrewales.org,2023-08-16:3152760:BlogPost:3426422023-08-16T13:29:39.000ZJosh Edwardshttps://community.nationaltheatrewales.org/profile/JoshEdwards
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<p>Another project that has been in progress, and nearing completion, is a monologue concerning the folklore of Wales and how it impacts on a folklorist's demeanour as he searches for answers to our existence and eventually it causes a complete mental collapse in which reality is not all it seems. The narrator, unnamed, tells of The Faery Folk in the extract below.</p>
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<p>Carnival originally meant festival of the flesh. That a race of cannibalistic faery folk existed in the…</p>
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<p>Another project that has been in progress, and nearing completion, is a monologue concerning the folklore of Wales and how it impacts on a folklorist's demeanour as he searches for answers to our existence and eventually it causes a complete mental collapse in which reality is not all it seems. The narrator, unnamed, tells of The Faery Folk in the extract below.</p>
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<p>Carnival originally meant festival of the flesh. That a race of cannibalistic faery folk existed in the British Isles should not be questioned. My field-work during July of 18..., in the county of B……., was thorough. The villagers I spoke to, honest, Christian people, raised to work the land, with nothing to gain by speaking fabrications. The calumny I received from fellow members of the Folklore Society, during my lecture, is unjustified. Some are so set in their beliefs that to question orthodoxy is abhorrent. Without going into minute detail, I will furnish the facts: names have been withheld for obvious reasons. My conversation with the old gentleman, then in his late eighties, confounded me. His mind was so sharp that his recall of detail is astounding. The main actors in the story are long dead. I am able to confirm what the gentleman told me when I perused the written depositions that had been taken at the time; later kept under lock and key at the vicarage. The villagers speak so little of what had occurred during that traumatic period that they are wary of strangers, fearing ridicule if the events are misinterpreted. The vicar believed me when I told him I would be circumspect during my investigations. The old man’s sister, long deceased, had been the object of the strange faery folk who devoured the flesh of her lower right leg that had to be amputated by the apothecary when she had somehow struggled home. It seemed wild animals gnawed her ravaged leg. The cause of this heinous injury, according to the old man, is a curse that had been placed on their great-grandmother, and would enact by vengeance on a future generation, because she disabused one of the faery folk women who had asked for milk to quench her thirst. Anger of the villagers, roused aplenty, when they went to the area where the girl had been mistreated. Most were too afraid to walk across the grass that seemed to be trampled by thousands of marks that resembled imprints of birds’ feet. Minute specks of blood sprayed across stones; there were small pieces of what seemed to be masticated flesh that the blacksmith found. Another interesting aside to the testimonies of the villagers is their belief the faery folk were cursed to their diminutive appearance because they denied the resurrection of Jesus Christ.The girl told her mother she did not know how she came there, for she had been forbidden to go anywhere near the area of the three circles that the faery folk caroused in on Midsummers Day.<br/>She described her attackers as imps: they wore white smocks and red caps. They pummelled her small body as she lay on the ground, unable to move. She could sense little as she cried; longing to be home. Her story, eventually spoken in hushed tones, never is forgotten. The girl grew accustomed to the false leg fashioned for her. She also had strange attacks of lethargy when she grew older and married. She would be asleep for days, then awaken and wonder what the commotion is about when her husband questioned her. She lived till her eighty-third year. Her daughters inherited an ability for languages and knew forbidden knowledge about the lore of the land. I have no comment to make on this as their descendants refused to speak with me.The drawings the apothecary made of her wounds were disturbing and leave little doubt that something occurred that day which had its origin in the distant past of the family when a slight brought such despair generations later. . .</p>
<p></p>Gordon of Khartoum - Graig Du Theatre Playerstag:community.nationaltheatrewales.org,2023-08-09:3152760:BlogPost:3423462023-08-09T11:22:05.000ZJosh Edwardshttps://community.nationaltheatrewales.org/profile/JoshEdwards
<p> "Gordon of Khartoum" by Glyndwr Edwards has recently been published by Steve Cawte of impspired books. The one-act play is set in Khartoum,1885, when the city awaits its fate at the hands of the Mahdist forces. The play explores in depth the complex character of General Gordon. There is a rehearsed reading of certain sections of the play planned in the near future and Glyn will give details when it is to take place. The book is available on Amazon and the link is given…</p>
<p> "Gordon of Khartoum" by Glyndwr Edwards has recently been published by Steve Cawte of impspired books. The one-act play is set in Khartoum,1885, when the city awaits its fate at the hands of the Mahdist forces. The play explores in depth the complex character of General Gordon. There is a rehearsed reading of certain sections of the play planned in the near future and Glyn will give details when it is to take place. The book is available on Amazon and the link is given below.</p>
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<p>Gordon of Khartoum <a href="https://amzn.eu/d/azGycs3">https://amzn.eu/d/azGycs3</a></p>
<p></p>Nell and The Old Woman - Graig Du Theatre Playerstag:community.nationaltheatrewales.org,2020-06-24:3152760:BlogPost:2892212020-06-24T13:51:11.000ZJosh Edwardshttps://community.nationaltheatrewales.org/profile/JoshEdwards
<p>Charles Dickens created some of the most memorable characters in English Literature. This extract, from a monologue I wrote, “Nell and The Old Woman”, is about Nell Trent, the doomed heroine of “The Old Curiosity Shop”. The book deserves a careful reading because it offers many perspectives on human character; how people are made to suffer through no fault of their own. The monologue is part of my interpretation of a curious scene that takes place in a graveyard with an old woman Nell meets…</p>
<p>Charles Dickens created some of the most memorable characters in English Literature. This extract, from a monologue I wrote, “Nell and The Old Woman”, is about Nell Trent, the doomed heroine of “The Old Curiosity Shop”. The book deserves a careful reading because it offers many perspectives on human character; how people are made to suffer through no fault of their own. The monologue is part of my interpretation of a curious scene that takes place in a graveyard with an old woman Nell meets as she stops to rest whilst travelling with her grandfather. The reading of the piece went down well with people and there was much intrigue by the idea behind the premise.</p>
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<p>Nell : Adumbrate. He wrote the word, then scratched it out with his quill as he wrote another in its place. He is unaware of me as of now. He understands human nature and that sadness and guilt in life are unescapable. They determine a person’s actions. The darkness of man’s soul he opposes. I am the white soul in which the story will unfold. Is it the sound of the sea that I hear? The gentle waters lapping over rocks; a voice seems to be cajoling me to listen. Her voice is gentle, somnambulistic. I am oblivious to all thought. My last remembrance is of grandfather eating a Peasgood nonesuch apple. I had never seen him so overjoyed. He was still haggard, his face pinched, and commented on how succulent the apple was. If I remember this incident, it is because the apple was sour. I had already eaten one. I know I tried to think of another word. I could not. The beauty of the countryside I could not see because I was wretched. Those people I knew have faded into obscurity. I remember so little. It is because I suffered and others did not understand. An older generation are cynical; a child never sees this, for they believe there can be no wrongdoing. There are far better commentators on the human condition than I. The story of my existence is known because people read what seems only minutes ago to me. No caricatures were drawn when they uttered so many untruths. I only wished never to be remembered because there were others who were less fortuitous than I. You have queries of where I am now? I will tell you, reader. I am asleep in my mother’s womb. As she becomes more afraid, I sense light and darkness, the time to sleep and the need to open my eyes, so I will begin to envisage the world into which I am to be born. It is the light of which I am most wary of, for then it will be a time for me to remember. Here, there is no world and no heinous doubts of others that intrude on my thoughts. This is the darkness of human nature. A child should never witness such torment. Innocence is always born out of its time. There are visages that try to catch my attention from the crepuscular twilight. I am terrified of one whose leering eyes revealed depravity. He cared only for himself, indulging in terrible vices. His hands were cold; his breath smelled of foul tobacco. The staleness of his breath smells like his insides are corrupted. I know not his name at this early stage. There are others who watch over me, nameless, but I do not feel in peril of their presence when they try to converse with me. My virtues are extolled by these good people. I am then shaken because my memory fragments and I see an old man, weeping in a corner of a bedroom, as he begs my forgiveness. There is little motion from the girl who lies on the bed. Others stand, heads bowed. I remember there is no pain on the child’s face. She never awakened and I am probably this young girl who now sleeps in her mother’s womb. To be certain I will see these gentle people when I awaken. All the girl would see would be the darkness, no more anguish, as she awaited the scene of rebirth. Kit is grief-stricken. . .</p>