Lisa Palfrey

Gwledd (The Feast)

24/08/22

The Cameo, Edinburgh

A Welsh language horror feature on general release, showing at a cinema near me – a good 200 miles away from my native land? How can I resist? (Answer: I can’t.)

Another lure is the actor Annes Elwy. We were mesmerised by her performance as scary teenager Mia in the bilingual TV series Craith (Hidden); it was clear that hers was a name we’d hear again. And here she is, playing another scary teenager. No doubt she’s just as skilled in portraying different character types, but – ooh – she is adept at this. This time, she’s Cadi – a sullen, watchful kind of girl, a kitchen hand in the village pub, drafted in to help the local MP and his wife to host a dinner party for some important guests.

But something is rotten in the state of Cymru. Gwyn (Julian Lewis Jones) and Glenda (Nia Roberts) might seem successful: check out their swanky new house, stark and incongruous in the lush Welsh countryside. But they’re dancing with the devil, allowing local businessman, Euros (Rhodri Meilir), to drill their land for precious minerals. Their neighbour, Mair (Lisa Palfrey), is appalled. “What if She awakens?” she asks, when Glenda tries to persuade her to let Euros mine ‘the Rise’, part of which is on her farm.

But of course, She is already awake – and ready to exact revenge…

So far, so good. Gwledd, written by Roger Williams, has all the hallmarks of the folk horror films we love. Sadly, it has some issues too, which mean it doesn’t quite hit the mark.

The first problem is its glacial pace. I’m all for a bit of mounting dread, but the first hour is so slow it’s almost soporific. It’s like the scenes are being stretched to fill the running time, which isn’t a good look. And then there’s the recaps for the hard of thinking; director Lee Haven Jones needs to trust his audience more. I don’t need to see a flashback to a piece of glass being hidden: I noted it just thirty minutes ago; it was a memorable thing. In the end, the story is just a bit too obvious, and – although the stakes are definitely raised in the final stretches – it’s too little and too late.

There are plus points. Elwy is wonderfully enigmatic in this role, and Steffan Cennydd (Guto) and Sion Alun Davies (Gweirydd) clearly relish playing the hosts’ creepily twisted sons. The soundtrack, by Samuel Sim, is very atmospheric too, and it’s impressive to see how much gore can be wrung from what is obviously a small budget.

But in the end, even though I really, really want to like it, Gwledd feels like a bit of a let-down.

3 stars

Susan Singfield

Cat on a Hot Tin Roof

CAT ON A HOT TIN ROOF by Williams ; Directed by Benedict Andrews ; Designed by Magda Willi ; at The Apollo Theatre, London, UK ; 12 July 2017 ; Credit : Johan Persson

22/02/18

Once again, NT Live offers us the chance to see a noteworthy production we’d otherwise be consigned to reading about. For David Lan, who has stepped down from his role as the Young Vic’s artistic director, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof is a triumphant swan song, elegantly directed by Benedict Andrews, and beautifully performed.

The audacious casting certainly pays off. Sienna Miller’s Maggie is a standout, all bravado and desperation: strong but vulnerable; gorgeous but unloved. She really is like the titular cat, prowling the room, unsure how to function in a world where everything has changed. Brick refuses to acknowledge her, whatever she says, whatever she does. She talks incessantly, needling and provoking, removing her clothes, painting her face. Nothing works. She’s lost him. It’s a bravura performance, a faultless incarnation of a classic role.

Jack O’Connell also gives an impressive turn as Brick, the handsome football-star-turned-alcoholic, traumatised by his best friend, Skipper’s suicide, unable to accept his own homosexuality. Brick is a complex character, at once the most honest and the most duplicitous in the play. He refuses to indulge the ‘happy family’ façade, makes no secret of his drinking, doesn’t care who hears him rejecting his wife. But he lies to himself about his feelings for Skipper, even when Big Daddy offers him absolution; his own prejudices too ingrained to allow him to face the truth. O’Connell imbues Brick with dignity, despite his obvious descent; it’s a clever, nuanced portrayal of a truly tortured soul.

Colm Meany is suitably awful as the tyrannical Big Daddy, a Trump-like figure whose only redeeming feature is his willingness to accept his favourite son’s sexuality. But it’s Lisa Palfrey as Big Momma who really intrigues me: she plays the matriarch as an infantalised neurotic, who has to be protected from realities she can’t stand. Big Daddy openly despises her, calls her fat and stupid; she responds in a high-pitched, lilting, little-girl voice, her ‘He doesn’t mean it’ lines imbued with the rhythm of a fingers-in-the-ear-la-la-la denial. It’s a very different interpretation of the character from any I’ve seen before, but it absolutely works.

There’s not much to criticise here, although I do think more could be done to create the sense of sweltering heat and claustrophobia inside the house. It’s all there in the dialogue, but I never really feel it. The modern setting means there are none of the traditional plantation shutters and whirring fans, and that’s okay – I like the set – but I think I’d like the ice to melt, to know that the water in the shower is cold, to understand why Maggie is wearing tights when it’s so hot. Still, these are mere quibbles.

If you haven’t seen this yet, there’s sure to be an encore screening soon. I urge you to catch it.

4.9 stars

Susan Singfield