Planet Online - Wil Sam Jones

The Welsh Beckett

29.05.09
When a loved and local writer dies after a lifetime of writing plays that were for the large part, either performed by an acclaimed local amateur company or by a community touring professional company, it is to be expected that there would be  some sort of revival in his honour. So it comes as no surprise that there have been two touring productions of the work of the late W.S. Jones recently. Bobi a Sami was performed as part of a night that also included wordless short pieces by Beckett (Theatr Genedlaethol). Halibalw, his last piece in progress was finished by his daughter Elin and Valmai Jones and put on by Theatr Bara Caws. Indeed, there has also been a production of a translation by Wil Sam of Conor Mcphearson’s The Weir (Sherman Cymru/Torri Gair,) which sadly I missed.

W.S. Jones was one and the same time very much a man of his own patch and a man who delighted in theatre on an international scale. Perhaps it is this combination of the vast and the particular that lends especial relish to his work. Many describe him as a Welsh Beckett and will draw similarities between Bobi a Sami and Waiting for Godot. True, the greater part of both plays centre around two male characters who try to fill in the time between being born and dying in an interesting way as possible, but one might surmise that Vladimir and Estragon find ways to amuse themselves and thus indirectly amuse the audience, while  the author of Bobi and Sami is looking for ways to amuse the audience directly. Put another way, I know why I find Bobi and Sami funny but I find it difficult to explain why I find Beckett amusing and if it isn’t played well, then it can be agonising to watch. Perhaps it’s because Wil Sam loved and took delight in his fellow man and Beckett seems (in his work) to be basically less fond of people and more interested in delineating the plight of  nonsensical existence.

Bobi and Sami was part of an evening which offered a monologue by a new writer (which would have been fairer to the author were it performed in an evening devoted to new writing,) together with two playlets without words by Beckett. A traverse set bisecting an intimate raked audience area served for all the productions and served them well. It’s interesting to be able to view members of the audience engaging and making sense of delicately presented pieces of theatre which are concerned with engaging with and making sense of the world, whilst of course being aware of being part of this being watched oneself. This underscoring of watcher and watched fits in with the rhythms of the pieces, especially the playlets (director Judith Roberts) where repetition, struggle and resignation are the main motifs. The playing and the technical pieces, such as the jointed opening and closing tree were beautiful, disciplined and teasing.

Perhaps the joy that is so much part of Wil Sam is infectious; it seemed to me that this production of Bobi and Sami was invested with a great deal of care and affection. I’m tempted to say that the production was nurtured by director Cefin Roberts, so meticulous was the playing visually and aurally. Llyr Evans, Sion Pritchard and Llion Williams performed with wily innocence and gusto.
           
Halibalw is in the tradition of most of Wil Sam’s comedies, where violence for monetary gain and the hint of possible incest are part of everyday village life. Indeed, I’m beginning to think that there’s a subversive affinity between his work and that of Joe Orton. And again the glory here is not exactly in what is said, but in the way in which it is said. Valmai Jones and Elin Jones are to be congratulated for their seamless editing. The only slight hint that Valmai Jones had a hand in the finished script is that she may have made sure she had a rollickingly good part for herself  and quite right too!

Betsan Llwyd directed with a sure hand and wisely kept in mind the ways in which Wil Sam’s plays would have been originally staged: in a village hall with a local cast. We as audience were made to feel at home, we were invited to enjoy ourselves, to share in the jokes. There was none of your traverse stage nonsense here, oh no, there was a proper stage with furniture that might have come from our very own front room and  scenery that, thankfully, wasn’t a  semiotic puzzle.  We even had a nod to the olden days of melodrama, with characters bursting into song and indulging in an infernally lit game of chance: in this case Ludo.

The playing was gloriously heightened without being self indulgent, which is a sign of actors who are confident in their craft. The two more experienced members of the cast (Bryn Fôn and Valmai Jones) were superb and reminded me what a skilled wordsmith the author was. It helps that both have a natural ear for the rhythms of the Eifionydd dialect and can reproduce it for our delight. Delyth Eirwyn and Carwyn Jones gave assured performances as the would be lovers and I’m sure will grow in confidence as the tour proceeds.

Once more, Theatr Bara Caws gave the audience what it wanted: a good side-splitting night out. The company has been closely involved with staging Wil Sam’s plays over the years and it is lovely that they fashioned this final tribute in the way that they did, keeping things in the family as it were.

Incidentally both productions were beautifully designed by W.S. Jones’ grandson, Gwyn Eiddior. The talent lives on.

Gwen Ellis