For a Welsh theatre marking its 50th anniversary, Under Milk Wood is both an obvious and a risky choice. Dylan Thomas’s “play for voices” is so bound up with its own mythology—its lyrical density, its association with Richard Burton—that any staging must negotiate the tension between fidelity and reinvention. Kate Wasserberg’s production does so with intelligence and flair, even if it occasionally brushes up against the limits of the text itself.
Written for radio and first broadcast in 1954, Thomas’s portrait of a day in the fictional Welsh village of Llareggub (read it backwards) remains a defiantly literary work: episodic, associative and rich to the point of saturation. Its comparison to Thornton Wilder’s Our Town is not misplaced, but where Wilder offers clarity and restraint, Thomas revels in excess—of language, of character, of image.
Wasserberg sidesteps the problem of the single, authoritative narrator by distributing the role across the ensemble. Douglas Walker opens as Captain Cat with the famous “starless and bible-black” line, and while the shared narration occasionally sacrifices gravitas, it pays dividends in establishing a sense of collective ownership. This is, emphatically, a village piece.
There are finely judged performances throughout. Mackenzie McKay and Izzi McCormack-John lend real tenderness to Mog Edwards and Myfanwy Price, their tentative, letter-bound romance handled with a lightness that avoids sentimentality. Georgia Griffith’s Polly Garter carries a quiet emotional ache, while Amy Conachan and McKay, doubling as Mr and Mrs Pugh, inject a vein of sharply observed, dark comedy. These moments of focus are crucial in a work that can otherwise feel diffuse.
The production’s greatest challenge—its density—is not entirely overcome. The opening stretch is undeniably demanding, with a rapid succession of voices and stories that can blur into one another before the audience has time to fully orient itself. Yet this sense of overload is, arguably, intrinsic to the piece, and Wasserberg shows a sure hand in allowing patterns to emerge gradually. Sean Carlsen’s Reverend Eli Jenkins provides a welcome anchoring presence, easing the audience into the rhythms of the village.
Where the production truly distinguishes itself is in its visual and physical language. Hayley Grindle’s set of miniature houses creates a delicately surreal Llareggub, a place that feels both observed and imagined. The performers move among and above it with a fluidity that suggests both intimacy and omniscience, an effect heightened by Laura Meaton’s choreography, which draws subtly on balletic and folk traditions without ever becoming decorative.
The decision to project Thomas’s text onto the backdrop is a bold one. At times it risks over-emphasis, directing attention away from the performers, but it also reinforces the centrality of the language—reminding us that this is, above all, a work to be heard, even in a visual medium.
The integration of signing throughout, as part of Theatr Clwyd’s Craidd initiative, is handled with care and purpose. If it occasionally feels uneven in its application, it nevertheless expands the expressive range of the production and underscores a genuine commitment to accessibility and inclusion.
If Wasserberg’s Under Milk Wood does not entirely resolve the inherent tensions of staging such a text, it comes remarkably close. It honours the musicality and strangeness of Thomas’s writing while finding images and rhythms that make it theatrically alive.
Verdict: A richly imagined, visually distinctive staging that meets the demands of Thomas’s elusive masterpiece with confidence and care.
Reviewer: Paul Wilcox
Reviewed: 19th March 2026
North West End UK Rating: