In a pretty meaty concert, RPOand Vasily Petremko offered up a blockbuster. A rarity from Galina Ustovlskaya, pupil of Shostakovich who had a fraught relationship with him. After the Soviets tightened up on expression in the arts, Ustovlskaya would be one of innumerable creatives told to change their radical ways. In The Dream of Stepan Razin, convention is frontal by literal gun point, in a folk fantasy with the serious Yuriy Yurchuk as baritone solo. This would prove how versatile a composer can be, even after previous experiments.
Benjamin Grosvenor joined for Beethoven’s Piano Concerto No. 1, I assume most of the audience were here for him. In this telling first offering Beethoven proves the piano’s early promise of a variable instrument, harsh and tender, lush and soaring. Grosvenor plays with grace, a resounding ease on the piano. Joyous movements meld with deeper, softer thoughts, as the piano often mirrors the orchestra. Petrenko, who always leads, is the most focused and sharing conductor you can watch today.
Shostakovich’s 10th Symphony came after Stalin’s death. Balancing the fine line between evoking his tyranny and celebrating his demise, Shostakovich had to be incredibly careful. It’s structure is bizarre, an movement order of slow-fast-slow-fast can feel uneven. The woodwind often shine with gurgling depictions, the composer’s own initials are baked into the score. Terror and mania also are an affront, the second movement a warped highlight. Always within its Russian sound world, this is one of Shostakovich’s best. It is Petrenko who makes it special.
Upon closer inspection, this concert looked intriguing. A puny title would see much love for Poland and the Czech Republic, in a dizzying programme. I know little of Grażyna Bacewicz, a female composer from Poland, her Overture from 1943 came the most turbulent time for the continent in the last century. A pressing snare and various actions are heard in the orchestra, less a sense of jubilance and more of the uncertainty of the time.
Bohuslav Martinů fled to America during the same conflict and continued to write alarming music of acclaim. With soloist Josef Špaček, his Violin Concerto is interesting for a few reasons. The sense of urgency in his work is lesser held here, the slow middle being less effective. Evocations of his native Czech homeland are frequently produced. The violin of Špaček is resounding, his model looks, firm musicianship and audience pleasing tendencies are what make him a star. He shone in the outer fast movements with finesse. An encore of Dvořák’s Humoresques is typical for the themes, if one piece I simply cannot stand. Yet with this fine violinist, I was easily won over by it.
My Polish plus one recalls Witold Lutosławski living over the road in Warsaw. With an extensive career, one of his last commissions saw one from the Los Angeles Philharmonic in 1993. His 4th Symphony is sparse and compelling work has room to inhale, as the strange orchestration leads with jolting dynamics and timbres. Ever an original voice, there might have been an influence of John Cage upon this brief symphonic work. It commanded the hall and Edward Gardner as conductor had a total grip over all. Myself and my plus one agreed it was the most interesting piece of the night.
A wrap up with Janáček’s Taras Bulba, based on the Gogal’s Cossack novella. Ever the Russian culture vulture, the Czech composer is a true one off. This odd piece has highlights for pipe organ and tubular bells, the strings and percussion also remain strong. Perplexing jumping rhythms aside traditional folk songs and absurdly dramatic attacks are Janáček’s forte. I personally don’t think this is his best work, yet it is a gateway to his brilliance. This inspired concert saw a variety of tones, colours and textures and paid off successfully.
Jukebox musicals are always a bit hit and miss for me, in all honesty. Obviously, the songs are the best part; we all know them, we can tap our feet along to songs we already know and love. However, the plot can suffer at the expense of forcing the existing back catalogue to fit a storyline. I must admit, I am exactly the right target audience for this show, having grown up loving Steps and their music. I am happy to report that my worries about jukeboxes were allayed with Here and Now, which found its way into my heart with a great deal of ‘leg shufflin, big grinnin’’ and ‘body spinnin’’ across the Donald Gordon stage.
This is the perfect dose of fun for millennials who grew up with the undeniably catchy songs from Steps. They’re all featured here alongside high-octane dance numbers which feature the whole ensemble and I was unable to stop the grin on my face or the tapping of my feet. The hugely talented ensemble really carries the energetic, exciting dance numbers which utilise the world of the Better Best Bargains supermarket of the tale to great effect; pirouetting shopping trolleys, acrobatic feats from checkouts and a great sequence featuring the supermarket back alley and its wheelie bin. With such upbeat, high tempo songs, the members of the ensemble are the lifeblood of Here and Now and they all really shine.
The plot, in a book penned by Shaun Kitchener, really works here and does give every lead cast member time to shine, with some great moments for the secondary characters too. The friendship group of four, made up of Caz, Vel, Neeta and Robbie all have their moments in the spotlight and are well rounded, believable characters because of it. The script is topical and has genuine moments of heart and hilarity. There is a definite balancing act between the inevitable humour and cheese of a Steps musical but with human moments which are presented with sensitivity and heart. The songs are tied in cleverly with the plot and work well within the confines of the story; they do not feel shoe-horned in at any point, which is the downfall of some jukebox musicals I’ve seen!
The cast is another asset to the show. Our four leads, especially, deserve a mention. Rosie Singha is Neeta and is an absolute tonic in her awkwardness and inability to talk to her crush, Ben. This humour is matched by a beautiful voice with some lovely belts. Dean Rickards was our understudy, Robbie. His vocals were fantastic; soaring during those deceptively difficult Steps power ballads. We began the night with Jacqui Dubois as Vel, loveable and hilarious in equal turns. Sadly, she was indisposed at the interval, which meant we ended the show with Rosemary Anabella Nkrumah, who stepped into Vel’s shoes with ease, matching the energy brought by Dubois with her own distinct take on the character and some lovely vocals throughout the act. Special mention to River Medway, whose spectacular rendition of Chain Reaction in a ethereal world of light up washing machines really brought down the house. The whole cast understand the brief, huge energy, great comic chops and incredible vocals.
Leading the show as Caz, Lara Denning is exceptional. She has some of the most difficult, belted numbers of the show and she delivers in absolute spades. She brings moments of silence to the otherwise loud, excitable audience; my particular favourite was her beautiful rendition of One for Sorrow. She is the ‘mother’ of the group and is instantly believable in this role, her relationship with each character in the friendship group is well defined and heartfelt.
Here and Now has been described as the new Mamma Mia, but does it deserve that accolade, comparing it to a show that has really stood the test of time and has also inspired two films? It’s a resounding yes from me! I grew up with Steps and I was always going to love the music, but this production is far from a Tragedy! Here and Now is a delightfully camp, heartfelt show, with plenty to inspire any jukebox musicals waiting in the wings. From the most established Steps fan, to someone who might know one or two to hum along to, this is a fabulous show which will have you ‘Foot kickin’, finger clickin’, leather slapping’ and even ‘hand clappin’ through every single number.
I’ll handle this review with care. In the first review of the year. A London stop off would see a highly stimulating crossover of cultures at the Barbican. The Theatre of Kiribati and the Britten Sinfonia defied borders and cultural barriers to present Sea Beanth the Skin/Song of the Earth.
The damnation of climate change has deeply impacted Kiribati, the island country profoundly. Polynesia has been under threat for years and recent political upheaval can only increase further tentions. This hefty cry is mirrored rather bizarrely with Mahler’s The Song of the Earth. The stage is tranfixed into a Samoan dwelling, through the aid of lighting, two pillars and other auras. We would hear this German language song cycle spread out over the near two hours, as chants and dances are interspersed.
Jarring would be one word to use here. Yet to see the spiritual offerings from countries so far away from our own was touching. Bone chilling moments came with shrieks, proclamations, fluttering gesticulation and lucid foot work. We wouldn’t be seeing these remarkable moments were it not for this collaboration, yet this is broadly two seperate events stitched together. The theme of nature never evaded Mahler (the words are settings of Chinese verse), this final masterpiece is often heavy as a standalone.
The songs feel very idle in this context, as if a Euorpean ignorance of the bigger picture. There is a wink to the late Robert Wilson, harsh lighting, slow lingering bodies and such. Lemi Ponifasio as director has chosen depth and atmosphere as the most telling markers and this is effective. The Britten Sinfonia appear muted behind the screen, at the back of the stage in their own lone isle. Conductor Nuno Coelho is strong with the reduced ensemble for these songs. Tenor Sean Panikkar get the drunk and lively numbers, with vocal delivery often sharp and ringing. Mezzo Fleur Barron has the bulk of the narrative songs, her delivery often perfumed and touching, with a command of stage presence. The final Farewell song is one of Mahler’s best moments. Rich in horn, winds, harp, celesta and tam-tam phases, it remains extremely impactful. Barron got the stage alone for herself for most of its demands, she caught the wistful acceptance of it all wonderfully.
Curious how this would end (it also was 30 minutes longer than billed), the circle was closed as The Theatre of Kiribati returned with final spiritual honouring’s with more dance, as the stagey sand poured on the floor earlier began to be spread around due to busy feet. Whale song and dreamy sleep would be the finale, as we gently blacked out and wrapped up.
Whilst flawed in principle, this fascinating show sees our small world can come together and perform, play and prove we are all alike.
As part of MimeLondon, Companie le Fils du Grand Réseau bring us this hilarious “silent” comedy, Fish Bowl. While part of MimeLondon and, as highlighted by quotation marks over the silent, it is not wholly a silent mime example, it is a whole lot of fun and chaos.
Fish Bowl is about three apartments in the same building, each containing a very different resident. Their tiny living quarters are sliced in half to allow us to see within, for their daily lives spread across all seasons and events. While on a large stage that is the Peacock Theatre, this one set has the sense of its small areas enhanced by the performer’s over-exaggerated movements and clever positioning of the staging interiors. For example, the tiny hallway, in reality, opens across the whole stage, but the performers contort themselves around the boxes and keeping to this small slither to really show how tiny this little world is.
Each character is starkly different, and there is something cartoon-like in the stereotyped universes they inhabit. We have a suited moped man whose flat is all white and clean, helped by his habit of hoovering his shoes as he enters; the hippy type who is full to the brim of items from boxes to furniture, leading to his sleeping area to consist of a hammock which evokes laughter when we first see it; and lastly, a pretty female whose flat is all pink and girly yet full of comfort. Despite these differences, we see the group warm to one another, the men lusting after the woman, friendships begin and fade and rekindle, and these character’s stories go in directions you never would have thought.
The humour is brilliantly done – a lot is reliant on physicality and involves clambering the staging or clever prop trickery, with some of the hilarity coming from age old comedy such as toilet humour or a peak at someone in their pants. Others are a bit darker but no less hilarious and shocks us in the transition.
When I highlighted silent in air quotes, this was to mean that the production isn’t wholly silent. However, this doesn’t diminish from the great physicality and some which is shocking and surprising. Music accompanies parts, there are sound effects and the only vocal sources from the characters are almost “Mr Bean”-like, with exclamatory noises or one words chorused. We understand everything that happens and these sound bites only add to the great action on stage.
Fish Bowl is a highly engaging feat of physical comedy, pulling from ordinary and relatable characters and lives but heightening the action to create a hilarious and fun production.
It’s hard to categorise this show, but it’s essentially a piece of stand up combined with a lot of clowning. The clowning animates an hour-long monologue that circles the issues raised by an obsession, in this case getting married before your twenty-seventh birthday.
There are a number of sketches – narrative moments which take us to a ball, a lunatic asylum and the house of an aged aunt. Jane Austen is invoked along the way, of course, but so is Fleabag, the intention being to show the continuity of the central issue over two hundred years. Love Island is not referenced, probably due to copyright issues. Depth and range are added to the stories by the use of black and white film clips shown on the backdrop which are punctuated by ironic remarks. There are a lot of asides and a lot of audience participation, with one hapless individual being invited on stage to play a prospective suitor. (He told a good joke.)
The monologuer, comedian Rosaline Minnitt, is energetic and friendly. She has an appropriate repertoire of facial expressions, and she flips her tones of voice easily. She can sing and project and imitate accents. She is confident of her material, throwing everything bar the kitchen sink at her subject. There is no let-up, but she wins over her audience completely. I was pleased that in all the verbal torrent there is only one expletive which could have been deleted.
Personally, I was interested and amused rather than blown away. Still, credit where credit is due. Most members of a Saturday night audience at Theatr Clwyd are the ‘wrong’ side of 40 and you might have expected them to be staid and unresponsive but Minnitt got on the right side of them/us straightaway. Everyone sang a bit and we waved little electric lights in the air on cue One of the high points of the evening was an audience member’s rendition of a screech owl’s call.
Not being either overwhelmed or partisan, I was well placed to appreciate how much effort had been put into the show by ensuring the incomprehensible storylines stayed on a crazy track. The technical back up was efficient. Lighting and sound effects happened – apparently – on time and the film clips ran smoothly (things like that have a habit of going wrong on the night).
In the end, the stage was left in a mess, with Clementine’s dolly figures of her parents and 67 sisters mixed up with the scores of love/hate letters that fluttered down at one point, but despite everything she had been doing for an hour, Minnitt still looked fresh and up for her next performance. I’d be curious to see what she and Liebenspiel do get up to next. It would be nice to see her working with or off another performer or two and -tackling a subject a tiny bit more – demanding? Just a suggestion.
It’s a statement that makes sense once you stop asking it to behave. It’s also an excellent way into Meet Fred — a show that invites us to loosen our grip on certainty, definition and systems that insist on being right. Walking into the space to a David Bowie track immediately helps me feel settled. It’s a small act of care that signals this is a room where arrival matters, where bodies and minds are allowed to take their time.
https://youtu.be/J3mPIO-KD_k?si=corN-602V7JqY2-5
Meet Fred is a quietly assured piece of theatre that reflects Hijinx Theatre’s long-standing commitment to reimagining how learning disability is understood, represented, and lived with on stage.
Rather than negotiating with the disability models, the production rejects that school of thought entirely, exposing how institutional frameworks repeatedly fail the very people they claim to support.
At its heart, the show is about identity — how we find out who we are, and how others decide who we should be. Fred reminds us that we can be more than one thing simultaneously.
He is a puppet, (who f*****g loathes the Muppets and don’t get him started about children) He is also sensitive and kind (his attempts to compliment are legendary), foul-mouthed and funny, fearful of change and incandescent with anger at systems that do not work for him. His fury, particularly when directed at the DWP — reimagined as the Department of Work and Puppets — lands with sharp humour while pointing clearly to institutional failure rather than individual deficit.
Structure becomes a form of care. The board outlining each plot point serves as a reminder of what is to come — reassuring, steady, and revealing how much comfort there can be in knowing what happens next. Routine here is not mocked or overcome; it is respected. Access is not added on but fully integrated. The interpreter is woven into the show, moving through the space and responding to the cast in real time.
Responding to subtitles is strange at first — a productive strangeness — reminding us that genuine integration requires adjustment from everyone, to feel at home having 3 languages available simultaneously, not just those most often asked to adapt.
The use of music carry cases is remarkably simple and yet transformative. As they move, the space reshapes itself, demonstrating how environments are continually constructed — and how small shifts can radically change experience.
Each performer is given moments of focus, paying homage to the collective labour and care that animates the piece. I found myself noticing how white the room and the stage were.
It didn’t undo the care or intelligence of the work, but it did linger — a reminder that access and representation are not the same thing, and that some stories are still easier to tell than others. Those moments on stage hold humour, tenderness, and fury — particularly the anger that comes when a support system is removed or withdrawn. This rage is not softened or made palatable; it is held as a justified response to systemic neglect. Silence is one of the production’s most powerful tools. Here, silence feels safe, not abandoning. It slows time, holds the space, and allows us to root for Fred without explanation. Even as a faceless bunraku-style puppet, he feels profoundly human — shaped by attention, care and collective effort.
For those familiar with Housemates, Meet Fred feels like a continuation of Hijinx Theatre’s essential work. It does not ask for a better world — it demonstrates one, and trusts the audience to recognise it.
Meet Fred left me thinking about how often we celebrate access without interrogating who that access is currently working for.
The production models care, patience and integration with clarity and confidence, yet the lingering whiteness of the space suggests that inclusion is never a finished task — even within work that resists dominant systems. This doesn’t diminish the power of the piece. If anything, it sharpens its relevance.
By rejecting institutional logic around disability, Meet Fred opens the door to further questions about race, visibility and whose bodies are most often permitted to take up space — gently, slowly, and without having to explain themselves. Like the show itself, this reflection isn’t a demand. It’s an invitation: to notice, to stay with the discomfort, and to imagine how care might expand if we keep asking who is still missing.
You can find our more about the production and book tickets for the current tour at the link here
Rebecca Reid’s adaptation of the 1992 film of the same name ramps up the tension and psychological thrills as Single White Female takes to the Donald Gordon stage at the WMC. The 34-year-old classic film is brought bang up to date with Reid’s references to social media, Mounjaro, Vinted and Matcha Lattes! It ensures that the story remains timeless and relevant to a modern-day audience.
The set is exceptionally designed; detailed enough to mean we totally believe that we are inside a small city flat shared by mother and daughter, and claustrophobic enough to mean that the tension is ramped up exponentially once the action starts proper. The sound effects of the temperamental building also add to the drama, as both actors and audience react to the sudden moans and groans of the old city block. Light and darkness are used to great effect too, with the stage plunging into darkness for the passage of time with lights streaming around the proscenium arch, showing us both the passage of time and increasing the feeling of unease throughout the audience.
In a small but mighty cast, each actor delivers here, in absolute spades. Lisa Faulkner is completely believable as divorcee Allie; doggedly working to set up her business and make a better life for herself and daughter, Bella. She captures the growing uncertainty around roommate Hedy perfectly, adding complete believability to the final climactic action of the show. Allie’s friend, Graham, is brought perfectly to life by Andro, who ably adds a slice of well needed comedy to the piece. He is a great balance to Faulkner’s Allie.
Jonny McGarrity as Sam and Amy Snudden as Bella complete the cast. Their exchanges as slightly absent father and daughter are delivered very well; their interactions completely believable and realistic. McGarrity walks the line between deadbeat ex and trying father very well, it is very hard to dislike his charming swagger. Snudden captures the physicality of teenage girl with ease, in turns sassy and awkward, clashing with Allie at one moment and craving her mother’s affection in the next.
Kym Marsh portrays Hedy perfectly here, building the unease with expertise. She begins as an incredibly likeable new lodger and the descent into unbalance is cleverly woven into her performance. Her presence is commanding and instantly makes you want to see exactly what the nefarious Hedy is getting up to in this scene!
This could feel like a dated piece with the inspirational material now being over 33 years old, but this is a clever adaptation that is easily accessible whether you’ve seen the source material or not. It’s a great evening of theatre; one that’ll have you gasping and on the edge of your seat throughout.
Based on the hit television series sharing the same name, This production is a well crafted reimagining of ITV’s long-running Inspector Morse, hailed by Radio Times as ‘The greatest British crime series of all time’.
Inspector Morse- House of Ghosts written by Alma Cullen based on the characters by Colin Dexter offers a new generation of Morse fans to take a look behind the scenes of a production of Macbeth and view the unraveling web of lies and deception in real time. Director Anthony Banks plays well with the balance of comedic devices and well placed quips alongside the harsh themes of Suicide, Marital affairs, Deceit and Murder. This adaptation is the first of its kind and is an impressive reimagining from the screen to the stage, staying true to the original tone of the well loved television classic.
The manipulation of perspective allows the cast to shift the audience and place them exactly where they are needed, with limited set this directional choice was fundamental in creating various locations and moments in the piece so that we too are moving with the performers through the story as it unravels.
The titular character of Inspector Morse is played by the notable Actor Tom Chambers who is dedicated in his performance of this beloved character. His physicality was instrumental in capturing the essence of the inspector, blending the inspectors stolid professional life with his desire to peruse a romantic relationship with Ellen. Another performer of note was the delightful Jason Done responsible for the role of the antagonistic Director Lawrence and the contrasting saintly Father Paul. The juxtaposition between these roles allowed us to see the extensive range of the performer, from the notable change in vocal mannerisms to the way in which each character held themselves we were engrossed with Jason’s performance from the moment he entered the auditorium.
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Inspector Morse- House of Ghosts at the New Theatre Cardiff is a delightful evening for Morse enthusiasts and fans of detective fiction and mystery alike. The production hides nothing from the exposed wings to the secrets laced within the delicious writing, the lighting and set design much like the writing plays with the light and dark elements of the production. A great evening of entertainment that leaves you wanting more.
Russ Williams is an author who enjoys exploring the often overlooked aspects of Welsh culture. His debut book Where the Folk: A Welsh Folklore Road Triplooks at the history and origins of some of the country’s most influential folktales.
When we think of fairies, we tend to think of pleasant, winged little darlings here to make our dreams come true with a wave of their sparkling magic wands. You’d be forgiven for thinking they would make for rather laughable foes in any horror film, yet in Rabbit Trap, the latest feature film to bring Welsh folklore to the big screen, they are anything but. That is because the film draws inspiration from Wales’ answer to the fairy myth; the Tylwyth Teg. And in Welsh fairy tales, people rarely live happily ever after.
This psychological horror, produced by Anglesey-based production company Mad as Birds, follows the story of married couple Darcy (played by Dev Patel) and Daphne (Rosy McEwen), who have relocated from London to a house in rural Wales, seemingly so that professional singer Daphne can focus on her new album. Darcy spends most of his days capturing natural audio clips for Daphne’s new record and it is these field recordings which ultimately invite a malevolent force into their home, which arrives in the form of a nameless child (played by Merthyr Tydfil actor Jade Croot) who just won’t go away. The film stays true to the lore of the Tylwyth Teg, blending different aspects together to portray these Welsh fairies in the way our ancestors would have imagined them; as powerful beings that should be avoided at all cost.
Throughout Wales, Tylwyth Teg take many forms and their nature and motivations vary. Many locales have a story about a ‘Lady of the Lake’; beautiful women who would appear near ponds or lakes and marry a local mortal, an arrangement that inevitably ended in tragedy. Bodies of water were once believed to be places where the veil between our world and that of the fairies was at its thinnest and the film subtly references this. Other tales tell of how the Tylwyth Teg would kidnap human children and replace them with Plant Newid, Wales’ answer to the Changeling, a piece of lore integral to the film’s narrative. Our ancestors would also leave out gifts for the Tylwyth Teg (more often as a peace offering) or would adorn their homes with various charms believed to ward off those benevolent tricksters, something else that is represented well.
Another important bit of lore integral to the plot of Rabbit Trap is the link between the Tylwyth Teg and music. There are many tales of how the Tylwyth Teg used music to lure people into a trance, such as the story of poor Ned Puw, doomed to play his fiddle for all eternity in the gloomy depths of Tal Clegir Cave. As terrifying as they were, Welsh fairies loved a good party and the ruined state of Pennard Castle on the Gower Peninsula is testament to what happens when humans try to stop them from having a good time. The story goes that the tyrannical lord who once dwelled there denied entrance to a band of fairies who wanted to join his daughter’s wedding party; they responded by conjuring up a sandstorm and engulfing the castle and all those within.
This isn’t the first film to introduce Welsh folklore to the world. The classic 1985 animated dark fantasy The Black Cauldron borrows heavily from the Mabinogion and was based on a series of books called The Chronicles of Prydain (Prydain being the Welsh word for Britain), which reimagine Welsh mythology with a fresh narrative. The titular cauldron itself is inspired by the Pair Dadeni (Cauldron of Rebirth) from the Second Branch of the Mabinogion, which the Irish used to gain the upper hand in a war against the Welsh.
Then there’s the more recent eco-horror film Gwledd/The Feast (2017), in which the character Cadi is portrayed as a Nature Spirit, punishing the family for their desire to harm the land. The popular ‘Lady of the Lake’ tales I mentioned do indeed end in tragedy, but mostly due to the destructive nature of humans – sometimes one needs to look inward to find the real monster. Then there’s The Green Knight (2021), which also stars Dev Patel. Loosely based on the epic 14th-century poem Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, it features St. Winifred’s Well (there’s no shortage of holy wells here in Wales) and Cewri (Welsh giants).
References in other films are less obvious and may surprise you, such as Studio Ghibli’s Howl’s Moving Castle (2004). Hayao Miyazaki, one of the studio’s founders, grew an affinity for Wales after falling in love with the landscape, language and architecture following a visit here and he based much of the animation on the sights he had seen here. The titular wizard Howl even speaks a bit of Welsh. The film was based on a book by Diana Wynn Jones, which tells the story of a Welshman who becomes a wizard after visiting a magical land.
Rabbit Trap does a great job of bringing the scarier aspects of Welsh folklore to the big screen and proves that stories about Tylwyth Teg aren’t just for children. Hopefully it will encourage other filmmakers to look to Welsh folklore for inspiration, as there is certainly no shortage of stories to choose from. One of my personal favourites is the tragic tale of doomed lovers Rhys and Meinir, which concerns an old wedding tradition of a game of bridal hide-and-seek that goes terribly wrong. There’s also the legend of Cantref Gwaelod, the ‘Welsh Atlantis’ that was lost to the sea somewhere off Cardigan Bay thanks to the intoxicated gatekeeper, Seithenyn.
Then there’s a whole pantheon of terrifying Welsh monsters, such as the banshee-like Gwrach-y-Rhibyn, a monstrous hag who would appear out of the mist and drain the blood of her victims; the goblin-like Coblynau who terrorised Welsh miners and even followed them to Welsh settlements in America; and the demonic black mastiff Y Gwyllgi with its glowing red eyes, who attacked those foolish enough to travel along lonely country lanes at night. But filmmakers shouldn’t feel restricted to folk horror; just think of the epic fantasies we could adapt from the tales of the Mabinogion; stories of quarrelling dynasties, dragons and powerful wizards.
The Welsh have always been great storytellers; hopefully this is the start of a new trend that will allow us to share them with the world.
Rabbit Trapis coming to cinemas across the UK from January 30, 2026.
The film has various connections to Wales including production company Mad as Birds and Merthyr Tydfil actor Jade Croot. Rabbit Trap was partly filmed in North Wales.
This article was commissioned by Film Hub Wales as part of its Made in Wales project, which celebrates films with Welsh connections, thanks to funding from Creative Wales and the National Lottery via the BFI.
Creating opportunities for a diverse range of people to experience and respond to sport, arts, culture and live events. / Lleisiau amrywiol o Gymru yn ymateb i'r celfyddydau a digwyddiadau byw
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