TYLWYTH | STAGE REVIEW
Sherman Theatre, Cardiff, Thurs 12 Mar
Surprisingly, coronavirus did not affect the superb turnout at the press night of Daf James’s latest Welsh-language play, Tylwyth [Family], a co-production between the Sherman and Theatr Genedlaethol Cymru. It’s a companion piece to Llwyth [Tribe], which he wrote a decade ago, about a group of Welsh-speaking gay men on a night out in Cardiff.
That play’s exploration of a tribal view of identity, whether in terms of Welshness or queerness, does not quite hold as much water in 2020: the age of marriage equality, gender fluidity, Brexit, a Welsh-speaking middle-class, and Grindr. That same group of friends are still together: older, but not necessarily any wiser. For old times’ sake, they go out on the town for one more night, and find the city is not the one they once knew.
Would-be writer Aneurin, named after that ancient Welsh poet of Y Gododdin, finds himself with a loving partner, Dan, and two adopted children, apparently living the good life. But he still longs for the hard-partying debauchery of his youth. Old friends Rhys, Gareth and paternal figure Dada are still around to support him, but there are some demons only Aneurin can deal with.
His self-destructive behaviour is unfortunately symptomatic of repressed or unreconciled homosexuality, carrying all the guilt and shame that some of us are brought up to associate with it. “There are good gays and bad gays,” says Gavin, the secretly underage boy from Llwyth, who is now 25, falling into an abusive relationship tainted by risky sex and drug use.
Daf James is always making enlightening connections between sexual, national and political identity in Wales. However, his radical political commentary does not eclipse how bloody hilarious the dialogue is. The text shines brightest in this production, and makes the experience of following along with the surtitles rather enjoyable.
These beautifully drawn characters are brought to life by an outstanding cast: Simon Watts, Danny Grehan, Michael Humphreys, Arwel Davies, Martin Thomas, and Aled ap Steffan. It really feels as though you’ve known them all your life. Director Arwel Gruffydd, also in that role for Llwyth, allows for moments of tension, poignancy and glorious flamboyance – a glittering tribute to Anglesey songstress Margaret Williams, a balletic interlude of sauna sex, a jubilant gospel choir. A simple yet wonderfully versatile set (designed by Tom Rogers) is a befitting backdrop for a fateful night on the tiles, and Ceri James’s multicoloured lighting design adds vibrancy and suspense.
While the culture and literature of Wales (from epic poetry to sentimental Welsh hymns) are central influences, there are echoes of the classics of gay theatre too. The banter between the old friends has all the barbed bawdiness of Mart Crowley’s The Boys In The Band, while the relationship between Aneurin and Dan (trying their best to fit into the heteronormative lifestyle of married adoptive parents) is not far away from that depicted in Harvey Fierstein’s Torch Song Trilogy. But I couldn’t help thinking of Tylwyth, and indeed Llwyth, as Welsh renditions of Tony Kushner’s Angels In America.
If anything though, Daf James refuses to allow his depiction of homosexuality in contemporary Wales to conform to the tragic aspect of those predecessors. There is pain, sadness and suffering here, certainly. But the play’s conclusion is suffused with hope and optimism. With a finale which had many audience members sobbing with joy, we realise how far we have come.
words SAM PRYCE photos MARK DOUET