Audiences at Aeschylus's The Persians, performed in the heart of the Brecon Beacons as part of the inaugural season of the National Theatre of Wales, could well expect an experience beyond that of ordinary theatre-going.  And we were certainly given that, especially on the night of 19th August, when the company and the audience shared the bleak uplands in weather conditions which were extreme, to say the least.  For me  (and I believe for most if not all the audience members) the quality of this extraordinary production was enhanced by the driving rain and howling winds.  Whilst production quality would have undoubtedly been similar on a sunny evening, the cathartic experience which was created that night was unforgettable: I am glad to have been there then, and would not have wanted any other conditions.

The production has already received glowing reviews in the national press (and it would have been interesting to have shared a coach with metropolitan critics, more used to taxi-ing down to London's south bank to see a national company than a half-hour coach journey up into the hills).  Kaite Reilly's adaptation provided a text which communicated perfectly, providing the richness and taut rhythms essential to Greek drama, and there was a fusion between text and Mike Pearson's direction which gave the production a totally organic feel.  And this fusion included our experience as audience.  Given army ponchos and ordered (I use the word advisedly) to put them on before leaving the coach which took us from the army carpark at Sennybridge to the army ranges high above Brecon, we were immediately de-personalised, as we became the crowd listening to the inflated oratory of politicians, before walking through the streets of an eerily deserted, and quite sinister, mocked-up village used by the army to train for house-to-house combat, to a basic, open-air grandstand facing a cut-away concrete "house", where the action took place.  Demarcation between actors and audience was torn away, and the sacred celebratory nature of theatre, such as was experienced by the original audience at the Dionysia in Athens in 472 BCE, was reinvented.

There is so much that is memorable about this production.  It combined a respect for the essential nature of Greek drama, with so much that is good about a modern approach to theatre.  As is the case with the drama of its era, the story of the defeat of the Persians by the Greeks at Salamis is presented all by report, but the impact of these horrific events, brought about by the rashness and hubris of the young commander Xerxes, gains its power from the reactions of the survivors, not from blow-by-blow presentation.  The Chorus, comprising the senior councillors, changes from confident and self-controlled politicans to writhing, howling images of fury and loss.  Their disintegration counterpoints the growing despair of the Queen (an unforgettable performance by Sian Thomas).  The combination of physical theatre at its best was enhanced by the use of simultaneous filming and projection;  close-ups of the raw emotion of a country's leaders symbolised the media exposure of moments of private grief as well as public oratory of a country's leaders.

This production is proof that the National Theatre of Wales has, in its launch year, produced theatre which stands comparison with the work of the other British national theatre companies. I did not have an opportunity to see the work produced at other venues throughout Wales: I know that they were all very different, and each one carefully tailored to location.  The Persians and an army range in the Brecon Beacons were a perfect match, and the production drew on the skills of Welsh practitioners whose vision and talent made for unforgettable theatre.  I'm looking forward to what they will give us next year