With an all-LGBTQ+ creative team around them, writer Bethan Marlow and director Izzy Rabey are about to unleash NTW’s Feral Monster, an explosive new musical smashing gender, sexuality and class boundaries, across stages in Wales. But first, they tell Hannah Collins about their creative – and deeply personal – processes.
Thinking about queer lives in Wales and the rest of the UK shouldn’t be confined to designated times like Pride Month in June; and in practice, it isn’t: Pride events are summer-long, even year-round things, these days. However, as we enter LGBTQ+ History Month this February, these official observances still serve as important reminders, especially for those outside the community, to consider the experiences of others. Timely, then, for National Theatre Wales’ latest production, Feral Monster, to be kicking off a tour around the country.
Created by an entirely LGBTQ+ creative team, Feral Monster is billed as a rambunctious musical for and about all the “weird, rural queer” teens – in director and musician Izzy Rabey’s words – out there. Specifically, it tells the story of Jax (she/they/“whatever”): expelled from school, unable to hold down a job and living with their nan. Inside Jax’s head, however, is an explosion of colourful, hormone-fuelled narration as they roam around their small, dull town in full “street rat” mode. Then they meet Ffion, and queer companionship and all of its often messy forms at a formative age kicks in – and off.
While not autobiographical, Jax’s point of view is still very personal to writer Bethan Marlow (who Buzz last interviewed about their theatrical adaption of Pijin). “I grew up in the 80s and 90s, where non-binary labels hadn’t yet been invented. I also grew up in a community and a family that let me wear whatever I wanted and I very happily identified as a tomboy (I still do). So the ‘whatever’ [in Jax’s gender identity] is more of a reflection of my lucky upbringing where no one was bothered that I was a topless, tree-climbing, BMX-riding girl with spikes. I feel passionate about showing this rural, working-class Wales that accepted me with open arms because it most definitely exists.”
While influenced by experiences in decades past, Feral Monster feels right at home within current queer discourse, which has embraced its chaotic side of late. Partly inspired by the character alignment matrix of games like Dungeons & Dragons, memes, products, writing and music celebrate the ‘chaotic gay’ aesthetic in opposition to respectable assimilation into a prevailing heteronormative society. As Jess Boland writes for In magazine, its appeal is “a chaotic energy that current mainstream media is unable to repackage for mass consumption. The perturbing rawness of their queerness is not intended to generate empathy and understanding from straight audiences, but simply to exist in their own authentic truths for their queer – and even cool straight – followers to fuck with.”
Marlow feels that this chaoticness certainly comes from external pressures: “Living and surviving as queer in this straight world often requires a lot of energy. When we’re in a space where we feel safe and loved then we’re just having a lovely time!” However, they also told me the years they spent researching and chatting to young people in Wales – who didn’t all identify as LGBTQ+ – revealed that underneath a disordered surface, they were more focused on finding stability, belonging and joy than anything else. “I wonder if the chaotic feeling is something that you see when you look back on that time?”
They add: “I work closely with the LGBTQ+ community of Wales, currently on a new project in Swansea called Queertawe, and I feel that the energy that resonates most is one of resilience. A feeling of only being able to focus on the present because what’s happening right now is always quite full-on – whether it’s dealing with family or finding a new kind of family, employment and how you present yourself at work, the cost of living crisis and the rise in hate crime.”
For Rabey, bringing all this to the stage coherently while maintaining energy levels is right within their wheelhouse. “The show is about embracing the joy and the chaos of humans, teenage humans specifically. I often make work where a lot is happening at once, where the stage gets messy, where there’s lots of activity. On a practical level with the actors, it’s about going through all these shifts slowly and bit by bit to then build a flow to the work.”
With a career that’s taken them to the US, Africa and India, Rabey is accustomed to new environments and challenges. “Working in the UK and internationally has influenced me in the context of presenting work that has never been seen before. I am fascinated by intersectionality and how you explore that alongside all the contradictions and complexities that reside within us as humans – this is why I love directing. I like work that isn’t tying up existence into a neat and tidy bow at the end: life and humanity is a messy thing.”
But they maintain a strong link to their roots, in part, via their brother, a youth worker in rural Wales. “Through his work, I’ve been able to see that there is still a lot of work to be done in terms of both bringing queer stories and events to rural teenagers. It’s a little better, but there’s still such a long way to go!”
Queer or not, teenagers have always been defined by fluctuating existences, not quite children, not quite adults; living on a knife edge at times between good and bad decisions to carve out space for themselves. This is embodied in the title Feral Monster, which could be positive or negative depending on your perspective. “I read this really interesting research paper on how teenagers are described in the media,” Marlow tells me. “The words ‘feral’ and ‘monster’ were amongst the most popular. And then only when they die do they start using words like ‘angel’, ‘potential’ and ‘gifted’.”
As well as personal and collective experiences, from its inception, Marlow envisioned Feral Monster as a musical, “epic, outrageous and loud”. Working with composer/sound designer Nicola T. Chang, Rabey’s influences for the score came from who Marlow listened to as they wrote, particularly Kojey Radical – as well as hip-hop, r’n’b and soul fusion artists with “atmospheric sounds” like Hiatus Kaiyote, Erykah Badu, Tune-Yards and Common. But you can expect the unexpected in terms of reference points (Celine Dion, for one), which are character- not creator-led.
In terms of lyrics, Marlow weaves in a love of spoken word poetry. “A lot of my work and dialogue is written with a strong rhythm so it felt like a natural progression. I like to play with the rhythm of how people speak and see how that connects and clashes and crashes when talking to others.” They also confess a secret desire to become a songwriter since their early 20s, penning tunes “usually after a woman had broken my heart!”
Far beyond Pride and LGBTQ+ History Month, with the Wales Millenium Centre’s Cabaret space, creators like Luke Hereford (QueerWay), companies like Aberration, and the growth of the Welsh Ballroom scene, Wales’ theatre scene is diversifying in new and excitingly chaotic ways. Rabey is optimistic about the future while pointing out that representation still needs to be less about box-ticking and more about fully-rounded characters from a recognisable reality.
“What I love about Feral Monster is how it intersects with class – how queer working-class experience is different to queer middle-class experiences, and for me, that’s the kind of work we should be encouraging building in Wales: stories that aren’t just about ‘being queer’ in capital letters but more of a 3D exploration of a human/character and how their context influences who they are and how they behave, queer or not.”
Feral Monster, Sherman Theatre, Cardiff, Thurs 15-Sat 17 + Wed 20-Sat 24 Feb; Aberystwyth Arts Centre; Thurs 29 Feb-Fri 1 Mar; Pontio, Bangor, Wed 6 + Thurs 7 Mar; Y Ffwrnes, Llanelli, Wed 13 Mar; Theatr Brycheiniog, Brecon, Thurs 21 + Fri 22 Mar.
Tickets: £5.50-£22. Info: here
words HANNAH COLLINS
