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

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

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

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

So perhaps the future for Welsh theatre isn’t looking so bleak after all. If it can impassion one young Welsh Theatre lover, then I have no doubt this can spread to a far bigger audience. It has to; I need to make a career out of it.