A turning point? Branwen: Dadeni certainly feels like it. This “epic new Welsh language musical” heralds a potentially exciting new era for the nation’s theatre. Why? Because it is by far the most ambitious, large-scale theatre production in the Welsh language yet. Testament to what can be achieved when the might of Wales Millennium Centremeets the creative ambition of Frân Wen. It is no understatement in describing the show as worthy of a West End run. The culmination of a long-held confidence by some that our culture is worth investing in.
Adapted from The Mabinogi, this new version exports the mythic weight of the original into a bold and contemporary style. The result is a classic piece of theatre, Shakespearean in size, but with a cutting edge that makes it feel fresh and new. The musical element is a key component to this: a combination of choral tradition, music hall operetta, Sondheim-influenced harmonies and Disney-inspired ballads. Seiriol Davies has not been afraid to draw from the wide pool of musical theatre history and infuse it with Welsh character to create a score brimming with personality. The result is a captivating story. An absorbing commentary on power, family and history that could have been heavy or dictatory but has, instead, been generously and lovingly portrayed.
The costumes fit nicely with each of the characters: from the flowing dresses of the idealist Branwen (Mared Williams) to the army-like uniform of her renegade half-sister Efnisien (Caitlin Drake). So too, the choreography captures beautifully their contrasting personalities: particularly the swish swooning of Matholwch (Rithvik Andugula) in the presence of a buttoned-up Bendigeidfran (Tomos Eames). It is in the songs though that this royal cast of kings, queens and consorts really comes to life. And when one hits the right note, the emotional affect can be overwhelming. Take the tale of the snowfall for instance. The way that Mared gently presses her vocal against the window through which her character witnesses such a scene. So poignant and hopeful, it brings a tear to the eye. Or Gillian Elisa’s vivacious solo, in which her character runs roughshod over the King to proclaim where true power lies. It is delivered with such abundant force as to raise a rapturous applause from the audience.
These are moments which are memorable not just in the context of the show. They make an indelible mark on the mind in the way that some of the best musical theatre productions do. Finding yourself driving home with lyrics still playing out in your head. Fingers tapping the melody on the steering wheel. Feelings still flowing through your body as you go to bed. This is a sure sign that Branwen: Dadeni has in some way been a success. It certainly lays down a marker for future work, which is as challenging as it is inspiring. At a time when investment in the arts is in danger of falling, may Branwen: Dadeni be the start and not the end of something.
Reviewed on the final night at Pontio Arts Centre in Bangor.
Originally written for and published on Get the Chance on 26th November 2023.
It has been almost a month since I returned from my first trip to Nashville. My first solo trip abroad at that. I had only ever been outside of the UK and Ireland once in my life before this point, and that was with other people. Many have commented since my return on “how brave” I was to go on my own. “Such a big thing”, some said. “I wouldn’t have been able to do that”.
This response got me thinking about courage. It was in many ways a leap of faith that led me to go ahead and book this trip. In fact, if it wasn’t for my faith then I’m not sure that I would even have gone. For this is something that I’ve dreamed about ever since my conversion to country music a few years ago. I remember looking at holiday packages doing tours to the Musical Heartlands of the American South both pre-Covid and post-pandemic. I could never quite bring myself to make the jump though, partly due to cost but mainly because of fear. It’s been interesting then, to that regard, to look back on the journey that I’ve been on to overcome this obstacle.
As a Christian, I believe in a God who is “patient and kind”. And for me, that patience has been shown in the way that I have been gently nudged to expand my horizons. A few years ago, Liverpool seemed like a far-flung place from my home in North East Wales. I remember being incredibly anxious when I took my first trip by car and then train to a job interview just outside the city. But this journey soon became routine enough that trips to Manchester and London by the same means followed. After initially looking at a trip to Nashville in 2019, I decided to take a day trip to London instead to see Vic Allen at the Green Note. The second time, in 2022, I opted to go on a Writer’s Retreat before heading to see a friend on the Isle of Man. These all felt like far safer and more comfortable options than flying across the pond, though I regretted another missed opportunity due to anxious fear.
Country on the Coast 2023
My trip to the Isle of Man proved pivotal in allowing me to grow however, as did a solo trip to Country on the Coast in Portsmouth back in April. This is because I had to travel back from Douglas to Liverpool via plane. The process of online check-in, security, boarding, and the flight itself ended up being perfect practice for my later flights to and from America. Meanwhile, my time in Portsmouth was an opportunity to check into an independently-owned apartment and overcome my anxiety with regards keypads, fobs, and staying somewhere on my own. Though I didn’t know it at the time, these were small steps in giving me the confidence to know that I could do this. I didn’t need anyone else with me in order to travel.
To journey to another country though is a different kettle of fish. Even here though, little encouragements fed to me via musicians on Instagram made me believe that doing this trip was possible. ‘Plane Tickets‘ by Beth Keeping, in particular, proved most fruitful. Alongside these, my work colleague Paul’s trip to Switzerland (though not undertaken alone) was another gentle push towards believing, You can do this. It was my reading through the Psalms in the couple of months before I made the decision that sealed the deal. The key verse for me was “In the day of my fear, I put my trust in you”. It triggered a memory from a few years ago of a seminar that I attended on the relationship between faith and fear. The key message that I took away at the time was that God does not remove our fear but promises to be with us through it. It was this that spoke to me once more as I finally faced my fear and pushed through the anxiety to hit confirm on my flights to America. The swirling thoughts and mild panic attacks that followed in the intervening weeks were no less substantial after making this step. But it was also like anxiety had lost its grip on me somewhat. The extent to which would become clear when my plan was put into action.
Atlanta
Perhaps it was because I had planned out my trip beforehand that when it came to enact it, there was no anxiety to be found. Not even a terminated train on my way to the airport seemed to phase me. Instead, I quickly dashed to the taxi rank at Manchester Piccadilly where I met two girls in the same predicament. I was grateful that they allowed me to share a ride with them, and I loved hearing a bit of their life story during the twenty minutes it took to get to Terminal 2. I then went through the motions of security, gates and boarding, relying on my experience in Douglas for familiarity without ever being daunted by a very different type of plane journey. I think it was this drawing on some similar experience from the past that set me up for when I got to the other side too, landing in Atlanta and getting a taxi to a hotel without any real fuss; checking into the hotel before making my way to the State Farm Arena without a second thought.
State Farm Arena
There was a moment once I’d entered my hotel room when I looked out of the window and thought, I’ve done it. I’m actually here. A sense of disbelief mixed with a joyous thrill. I still drew on that thread of familiarity as I went to see Lauren Daigle live that night, thinking how much the space was like the O2 Arena in London, where I had been for C2C. But even when the unexpected appeared the day after, the lack of real panic or fear was evident. For my intention had been to catch the 4.35pm coach up to Nashville. But when I arrived, after a lovely, sunny morning in Piedmont Park, instead of a short stay in a crowded bus station, I spent some three hours waiting for it to arrive. But as I sat there, unperturbed, I considered that I would not have got this experience on a package holiday. In place of worry was an acceptance of the situation. I spent my time in the company of these ordinary Americans, watching, listening. One guy just wanted to get home to his wife and kids. A woman who was travelling in this way for the first time exclaimed, between cigarette breaks, that it would also be the last. And when the bus did finally turn up, the guy who sat next to me was harmlessly raging against his employers for putting him on a bus when, usually, they pay for him to travel by plane.
Piedmont Park
Such grievances reminded me of the complaints made back home about the trains. And it was the occasion, twelve months ago, when I had to take a rail replacement service from Manchester after a gig, that I drew on when we eventually arrived into Nashville. First, because like then, I walked across the city in the early hours of the morning, through silent side-streets covered in a light mist. Second, because like then, my nerves were jangling until I reached my destination. Unlike back home though, they didn’t subside once I arrived. This is because I experienced my only intense period of fear throughout the whole trip once I’d got to my hotel room, courtesy of two next-door neighbours shouting racial slurs and white supremacist ideologies which I could only describe as the worst effects of Trumpism. As a result, I got up and went down for breakfast at the earliest opportunity, checking out quickly and feeling much lighter as soon as I walked out the door. The rest of my time in Nashville would be marked by the absence of such things (thankfully). It was replaced by a sense of peace that I carried with me, first on my walk to church that morning for a service, and then on through every other activity I undertook till my final day in Music City.
Country Music Hall of Fame
I was surprised by how much Nashville became like a home-from-home. Then again, as I had done throughout my trip, I wonder how much my ability to compare it to other places that I was already familiar with fed into that feeling of home. I recognised in its skyline of high-rise construction something of Manchester; in the hustle-and-bustle of Broadway’s streets, London life; the friendliness and sense of community in its people and places, Liverpool; and the short distance out to quiet suburbs, Chester. It also reminded me a bit of Bangor: something about its manageable size; the ability to walk to most places without the need of a car. In fact, the only time that I needed to use a form of transport was on the day I bid farewell to the place. This also happened to be where anxiety at last appeared, though even then, it was by no means acute. I think it was knowing that I had to make it to the airport somehow, and my inexperience of getting a bus fed into a general sense of dread. Drawing on the familiar wasn’t possible here, and this seemed to be the effect. I needn’t have worried however. For, assured by the presence of an Information Point when I got there, the lady behind the glass screen was both helpful and reassuring. The presence of a guy with a suitcase at my stop also underlined that I was not alone here. Everything was going to be fine.
Nashville
And it was. I got to the airport and went through the motions. That short spate of anxiety was replaced by a satisfactory sigh. I sat in a window seat and looked out as the plane took off and thought, I’ve done it. My dream has now become a reality. Coming into land in New York for my connecting flight, I found that I had been struck by a travelling bug. I might make this my next destination, I thought. I’ve always wanted to see a show on Broadway. I was returning home a changed person. Having done something that I never thought I’d be able to bring myself to do.
Not that anxiety is beaten. Those who experience it will know this all too well.It just leaves you “until the next opportune time” (Luke 4:13). In this case, it was a fortnight later, as I contemplated going to see Taylor Swift‘s ‘Eras Tour Concert‘ in the cinema. I had kept looking online at the seating plan throughout the week, waiting to see if anyone else had booked. When the time came, there were only four seats selected. Better than being on my own, I thought. But still awkward. I spent a good bit of time wrestling with the thoughts in my mind, particularly over how I’d be perceived. This guy, who had just taken himself on a solo trip abroad to America, was now fretting over a trip to his local cinema.
The Ryman
I did go in the end, joined by two women and two girls who took advantage of the otherwise empty space by dancing in front of the screen. It added to the experience, I think, and made me reflect on the impact of Taylor‘s music, including on my own life. The verse that really struck me over the course of the night was from ‘Lavender Haze‘: “I’m damned if I do give a damn what people say”. I know that it’s going to take more than this line to combat such a thing. But if my trip to Nashville has taught me anything, it’s that each point on the journey can be a small contribution toward something more significant as time goes on. Nothing is ever wasted, I was recently told, in the Kingdom of God.
My hope is that this story of mine will be one of those points to someone, and encourage them on their own journey.
Featured Image of The Parthenon, Nashville (C) Gareth Williams. All other images also (C) Gareth Williams
As the year begins to wind down, so the release of Rebecca Richards’ EP feels timely. ‘New Yesterdays’ is a slow-tempo, ballad-based set of tracks that mark the turn into a season of reflection. Each of the six songs on the record feel like Autumn leaves: shaded with different-coloured emotions that emerge at relationships’ end. They fall into one another in a steady motion, the brown lament of opening track ‘Unluckiest of Hearts’ drifting into the red wrestling of ‘New Yesterdays’ and the yellow yearning of ‘Just Say’.
Their softness is given definition in Rebecca’s vocals, which in some way belie the strength of attitude in her narratives. ‘Sorry Not Sorry’ in particular presents an incongruent mix of defiant lyrics encased in an easy listening sound. There are echoes of Dusty Springfield here, as well as Gretchen Peters on ‘Memories Don’t Know’ and Laura Marling on ‘Overthinking’. This crossover of genres – Country, Folk, Jazz – infused with Blues throughout, is underpinned by a stripped-back presentation that encapsulates the quiet tragedy and beauty of autumnal change. For while there is sadness in the fact that “I can’t unlearn… unwalk… unsmile… unvow”, there is also empowerment in “going back to be the girl from way back when”.
This gentle pathos in its seasoned rhythm means that ‘New Yesterdays’ expresses a confidence in its exploration of relationships that comes from experience. It extinguishes the forever flame with genuine remorse while also acknowledging the potential that can come from the supposed death of love. As such, Rebecca Richards offers the sort of hope that comes with the season. The possibility of change and transformation.
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To mark the release of her latest EP, Cara Hammond is undertaking her first headline tour. And it could not have gone any better in her hometown of Wrexham. The singer-songwriter was supported with gusto and grace by an almost sell-out crowd, huddled together in the performance space of Tŷ Pawb. Short but sweet, her set was defined by a subtle versatility, reflected somewhat in her choice of support acts. For while Rebecca Hurnopened with a half-hour of wispy and melodic Folk, Sasz presented some twenty minutes of reflective indie-rock. The common thread that ran through their performances was a lyrical emphasis that continued into Cara’s own.
Beginning with the opening track from ‘Borderlines’, she had to start ‘America’ again almost immediately after receiving some unwanted feedback through the speakers. Not the best of starts, but she remained unfazed, going into ‘Hometown’ with an echo of appreciation for all who had turned out to see her. There was also some well-humoured audience interaction as she threw a lemon-shaped shaker into the crowd and asked the person who caught it to accompany her, which they did with aplomb.
As the set progressed, there emerged a real sense of the musical diversity which marks not only her vocals but general style. ‘Late August Birthday’ contributed a heady mix of RnB and jazz, followed by the alt-pop of ‘Losing Balance’, which came with a touch of funk. ‘Ray’ then offered some sublime soul which segued nicely into the lo-fi sound of ‘Seven’. The acoustic segment which featured these two songs was particularly special, as the chatty atmosphere of the crowd descended into intentional listening. It meant that when it came to welcome the band back on stage for final song ‘Wishing Well’, her powerful vocal display was more keenly felt.
With echoes of Corrinne Bailey Rae, Celeste and Adele throughout, Cara Hammond really does branch out into many genres, pulling them into an artistic whole that always makes room for the lyrics. Nowhere is this truer than on ‘Borderlines’, the encore that made sure her show finished on a real high.
Click here for further dates and info on the ‘Borderlines’ tour.
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In contrast to NTW, Theatr Genedlaethol Cymru goes from strength to strength. Rhinoceros is the latest in a series of shows and commissions to offer fresh, bold and imaginative theatre. In fact, Manon Steffan Ros’s adaptation of the classic text by Eugène Ionesco is the first Welsh-language production that feels not just national but international in scope. This, in spite of the fact that pop cultural references populate the dialogue.
I say this as a Welsh learner who had to sit and listen to the play without audio description or captions. A problem with the Sibrwd app meant that I was forced to engage with it on its own terms. It is testament to not only the actors but the whole creative team that I became immersed very quickly in this increasingly-apocalyptic world. Set in an unknown location in Wales, friends Bérenger (Rhodri Meilir) and Sian (Bethan Ellis Owen) are enjoying tea outside the local grocer’s shop when a rhinoceros runs in front of them across town. The small but effective skill of the actors to shake the furniture to create the vibrations of its movement is but one of several parts that make this a spellbinding watch. Everything from the placement and use of props to the physical manifestation of the creature within each of the characters makes Rhinoceros a captivating commentary on social conformity.
Bethan Ellis Owen perfectly embodies the absurdity that underscores the whole production. For in her transformation, we witness the destructive, dramatic and the ridiculous. Her hysterical movement and exaggerated speech causes laughter among the audience even as it contains a nervous quality that points to a more serious tone. For Meilir presents an increasingly distraught and tortured soul as he fights desperately against the change, from person to creature, that friends and colleagues succumb to. This is no linear tale however: horror is always punctuated with the comic; fairy dust is often laced with fatalism; and the funereal contains a certain cultural irony. It is a melting pot of genres and emotions, expertly crafted and directed by Steffan Donnelly and his team.
What ratchets up the drama and emotion of Rhinoceros is the absence of an interval. It allows the momentum to build to an epic proportion, making its conclusion all-the-more powerful and demanding. It is, at its best, a warning: do not allow the light to be infected by the dark. And this speaks not only to its distinctly Welsh culture but to a Western world in danger of doing just that.
Originally written for and published on Get the Chance on 4th November 2023.
There are few who do Trad Country better in Britain than Megan Lee. The Welsh singer-songwriter sprinkles modern sensibilities over a concoction of fairly typical Country sounds on debut EP ‘Origin’. Opening track ‘Light of the Moon’ contains a sprinkling of pop; ‘Hey Danielle’ a silky electric guitar finish; and ‘Now You’re Gone’ an electro-beat. But behind and beneath remain classic elements of acoustic guitar, simple storytelling, and old-time honky-tonk energy.
Influenced by the likes of Cam and Midland no doubt, this combination of past reverence and present innovation serves Megan well. It enables her to tell her stories with integrity and clarity. The characters in each of the five tracks on this EP are well-drawn and come to life as a result. Whether it be the trash-talking Jersey Shore wannabe on ‘Light of the Moon’ or the bluebell-beautiful but lacking-in-love antagonist of ‘Hey Danielle’, Megan has a way of painting them onto a musical canvas with bold colours and hard-edged lines. Her smooth vocals have a versatility that is subtle but noticeable. She conveys the sweetness of ‘Lost Boy’ and the acerbity of ‘Now You’re Gone’ with equal conviction.
Final track ‘Church on a Sunday’ embodies her central qualities. It features the classic Saturday night / Sunday morning tension of Country Music but is encased in a very modern Rock/Gospel sound. The two verses present a very evangelical change in the central character, contrasting alcohol, divorce and infidelity with sobriety, selflessness and religiosity. Confession, forgiveness and “solemn prayer” all play a part in the chorus on which this transformation takes place. It is a stereotypical faith narrative of the genre in many ways. Yet Megan Lee, like she does throughout ‘Origin’, seems to present it afresh.
She honours the past while being influenced by the present.
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A Welsh adaptation of Fleabag seems quite superfluous in the face of Anfamol’s success. For this is a production that takes the best of Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s comedy and turns it into something original. First conceived as a stage play, the critical acclaim which it received has seen Rhiannon Boyle now adapt it for the screen. She has taken the frank, witty, dark and direct elements of her monologue and traversed them into a script that is punchy and pointed, hilarious and harrowing. The result is a five-part series that injects S4C’s schedule with something that is vivaciously fresh. Boundary-pushing at its best.
Bethan Ellis-Owen reprises her role as Ani, a forty-something single woman looking to become a mother on her own terms. Ellis-Owen brings a subtle sharpness to her emotions; able to portray dogged determination and inner brokenness with apposite aplomb. Her knowing side-looks to camera borrow unashamedly from Waller-Bridge; while the addition of fantasy sequences, particularly with exotic sperm donor Estevez, offer the kind of quirky aside that feels distinctly Welsh. (Think Parch or Enid a Lucy). There is a dark side to such visions however. For alongside the comic that, in part, comes from its overtness to sex and unabashed portrayal of the fertility process is the devastating effects of postnatal depression and the exacting reality of life as a single mum. Ellis-Owen manages to navigate these emotional shifts with ease; and in doing so, presents to us a character that is highly empathetic, and authentic in every way.
She is joined by a stellar support cast, of which Sara Gregory is the most prevalent. Playing Nia, a kind of nemesis to Ani, Gregory brings a chic strength to her character that cleverly masks a hidden life of sadness and despair. While publicly portraying herself as “Blueprint Mother” online, privately, Nia is struggling. Her birth-plan goes out the window; her marriage is distant, husband absent; and when Ani trolls her online, her success as an online blogger is left in tatters. But along with Ani’s seemingly perfect sister (played by Lowri Gwynne), the drama comes to a point where perfection is extinguished as a myth and vulnerability is celebrated in all its f***ed-up glory. Sticking two fingers up to the chauvinistic, infantile male sex at the same time, it becomes a powerful and thought-provoking piece on feminism, motherhood and mental health in the present age.
Anfamol continues S4C’s excellent batch of female-led dramas whilst offering something very different to what has come before. And though it may feel derivative of Fleabag, it is by no means a copy of it. It has its own distinct subject matter and significant narrative to tell.
‘Seasons Change’, the new EP from Caitlin Mae, is a real paradox. For beneath the punchy chords and punkish vocals lie themes of loneliness and lost loves. Her style is more akin to the heavy metal genre; yet though she borrows elements of it, she shares her vulnerabilities through the familiar sound of Country-Rock. Pop also plays a part in her storytelling, thus softening the edges of four tracks that are hard-hitting emotionally.
Lead single ‘Fiona’ is particularly good at displaying Caitlin’s powerhouse vocals whilst simultaneously sharing feelings of isolation. Borne in lockdown, it is both frank and defiant in the face of personal struggle. The chorus is especially evocative thanks to its mythic imagery, borrowing partly from fairy tales (“My princess tower is taller than Fiona’s”) and partly from her Welsh heritage (“My fire-breathing dragon is deceiving”) to convey the distance and dangers in being alone.
The title track ‘Seasons Change’ takes this idea and approaches it from a different angle. It is nonetheless still charged with emotion as Caitlin reflects on the loss of her best friend. Its acoustically-led sound belies what could have been a painful experience, suggesting a coming-to-terms-with that makes this song perfect for a Songwriters’ Round. By contrast, ‘Love Story Tragedy’ feels raw and, as such, more visceral. The antithesis of ‘Love Story’ (Taylor Swift) even as it is Swiftian in nature, the central premise is that “I can’t love you / if I can’t love myself”. Honesty is Caitlin’s policy here, with some superb lyrical lines that embody a defensive (“I get in my own way / so I don’t get hurt”) and despairing (“everyone says I’m happy / Is that what a smile means?”) soul.
Final track ‘Curtains Closed’ takes that despair to new heights lyrically. It was once a situation that I could readily identify with, but now thankfully don’t as much. The loneliness that threads through this whole EP is underwritten here by a punkish moodiness that prevents it from becoming a wallowing ballad. For it conveys a truth that is relatable, and therefore conversely holds a faint hope. In this way, it does what her previous EP ‘Perspective’ achieved: positively affecting the listener by the very fact that those who “suffer alone with the curtains closed” find that, through this song, they are not actually alone in their experience.
‘Seasons Change’ therefore continues Caitlin Mae’s legacy of honest and mature storytelling. It seems loneliness is not so lonely after all.
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Behold! The bright lights and festooned rides of ‘The Carnival’ are about to wander into town. For singer-songwriter ELERI presents a music spectacular that is not to be missed. An eclectic show of country bops and reflective folk moments. Prepare for your listening ear to be drawn keenly to the sound that she presents. For this Welsh musician has a message to deliver. A celebration of female empowerment. Hear love, passion; catch a glimpse of vulnerability; and feel the music course through your body as genres mix and collide. ‘The Carnival’ is yours to enjoy. Take a seat and listen.
‘Magic’ introduces us to the concept of the album. It plays on the typical sights and sounds of the carnival scene; an atmosphere induced initially by rapturous cheering and applause. “Roll up, roll up”, ELERI cries, and so we do. Not only to be entertained by this delightful twist on a lovesong but to be spellbound by the burlesqued ‘Heels to Hell’. Its sultry, Blues inflections are reminiscent of ‘New Sin’, a continuation of her previous material, as ‘Heads I’m Yours’ threads through elements from debut album ‘Earthbound’.
The eclecticism on show here is part of her marvel. She warps and weaves many colours together to create a patchwork that truly reflects her musical style. One minute, the sweet, gentle Folk of ‘Blue Skies’ is promising better times, and the next, ‘Snake Like You’ is biting its Rock into the ‘Medicine Men’ that Elles Bailey sings so astutely about. On the latter, Millie Blooms features. And on ‘Good for a Girl’ and ‘Bang Bang’, Eädythand Paige Wolfe appear respectively. All are powerful voices in an industry still dominated far too readily by men. ‘Good for a Girl’ cleverly turns its mansplaining and bullshitting culture on its head, offering warranted criticism whilst celebrating women in music, and challenging the inequality at its heart with dry wit and excellent irony. ‘Bang Bang’ picks up elements of the same theme and runs with it, in three-and-a-half minutes, on pure adrenalin. It is the hidden gem on ‘The Carnival’ site, tucked away behind the disco ball staging of ‘Karaoke’ and the meditative darkness of ‘Burn the Candle Down’.
There is truly something for everyone to enjoy here. To be enthralled by. And that also includes moments to contemplate, as with the flickering flame she burns with Leon Stanford on ‘Burn the Candle Down’. A simple song but so effective. As is, in some ways, ‘Every Road’, which brings ‘The Carnival’ to a close. For when all is packed up, the journeying done, and the adventure over, we often find ourselves back where we started. Back home. A subtle but poignant note on which to end.
ELERI really does put on a show here. ‘The Carnival’ is an album definitely worth buying a ticket for.
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The Covid lockdowns presented both challenges and opportunities for creatives. For actor Keiron Self and producer Kevin Jones, The Martin Decker Show was conceived in such a context and now reaches its climax in a 70-minute film. Shot almost entirely on iPhone and GoPro cameras, it is a witty and cleverly conceived mockumentary that parodies the self-made ‘stars’ of social media. It lightly pokes fun at the online world of gaming and fitness videos while telling a story that contains a real depth of emotion. I was pleasantly surprised by its ability to be both humorous and heartbreaking. It is by turns off-piste and tragic.
Fans of Self will recognise in his protagonist some of the hapless romanticism of another of his characters, Roger Harper, from the sitcom My Family, for which he’s best known. In Martin Decker though there is a repressed sadness behind the jollity that eeks out as the narrative progresses. This results in a story that is full of pathos, made all the more prominent by the comedy on which it is built. What is witnessed is, in essence, a mid-life crisis; a mental breakdown of sorts of a white, middle-aged man who refuses to accept that his wife no longer loves him. The film ingeniously points to this state of affairs: from the slightly rundown semi-detached dwelling to Martin’s loose-fitting appearance in shirt and tie, not to mention the many calamitous moments while filming videos for his YouTube channel. He is, in many ways, a reincarnation of Keith Barrett, actor-comedian Rob Brydon’s character in the sitcom Marion & Geoff. He certainly displays the same kind of false positivity that at once draws sympathy and pity. But there is also a growing insanity, presented in such an offbeat style that one is forced to laugh at him at times, in spite of oneself and his situation. Martin’s stubborn refusal to admit what is happening right in front of him becomes both the cause and effect of his comedic value. Add in the deadpan commentary of Lynne Seymour, who also plays Martin’s wife, and it is a recipe for pure entertainment.
There is a serious side though. For encased within scenes of Minecraft videos and tinselled-up cars are genuine moments of tragedy. They beat palpably through the silence which is held by Self with such deftness that it’s hard not to be emotionally struck by the hopelessness and humility of his personal circumstance. It comes to a head in the bathroom, where most of Martin’s videos have been shot. He hides in a cupboard from whom he thinks is his wife’s new fella when, in fact, it is her. There is something incredibly poignant about her message to him, delivered, as it is, via the very camera that he has used to form his own YouTube channel. The consequence, when he finally faces up to reality, is so simply and beautifully done that one is left to admire, with satisfaction, a film of unexpected depth and genuine charm.
The Martin Decker Show may start with its protagonist faking applause for his own show. But by the end, this real audience member was clapping authentically, so impressed was I by this lockdown creation.
For more info, including cinema screening dates, click here.
Originally written for and published on Get the Chance on 7th September 2023.
desperatelylostcity.com 