Under Milk Wood – Theatr Clwyd, Mold

Writer: Dylan Thomas

Director: Kate Wasserberg

To begin at the beginning, it seems excellent timing for Theatr Clwyd’s production of Under Milk Wood to open on a bright Spring Day. Originally commissioned as a BBC radio play and more aptly described as a play for voices by Dyan Thomas himself, we are indulged into the thoughts, dreams, desires and ruminations of the eclectic and eccentric residents of the sleepy coastal village of Llareggyb. Embedded into the very fabric of Welsh literature, it is a beloved piece of lyricism, poetry and performance. 

The challenge for any director of this piece so firmly rooted in the audio is just how to stage it effectively. The only parameter can be imagination itself. Kate Wasserberg leans heavily into its dreamlike qualities. We are invited into the lives of the characters by Thomas towards the end of the prologue: “Time passes. Listen. Time passes … Come closer now … From where you are, you can hear their dreams.” From the outset, there is a sense that we are dangling in a sort of limbo – somewhere suspended between consciousness, where nothing quite makes sense but the world ticks by anyway. The play is a sea of voices, washing over one another, like the ebb and flow of the tide in the seaside village or the ever-shifting clouds above. We are transported from dawn until dusk of one bright Spring Day and listen in to the burbling of the village, bubbling like soup on the stove. It has the feel of a transistor radio tuning in and out of stations, quickly visiting snippets before tuning out again. 

The cast of eleven has the challenge of covering over sixty characters. It is impressive and extremely busy, especially given that the production also incorporates full British Sign Language integration. If an actor is not speaking, they may well be signing or melding into the general mis-en-scene of the piece. The design of the production also incorporates full captioning. However, Joshua Pharo and Sarah Readman’s video and creative caption design achieves so much more than simple captioning and increased accessibility: it has personification, bringing to life Thomas’ lyrical eccentricity and helping those members of the audience who may lack an unnuanced Welsh ear! The design, overall, is excellent. Hayley Grindle’s miniature buildings remind us we hear houses sleeping in the streets. Liam Quinn’s soundscape keeps the village of Llareggyb babbling and Laura Meaton’s movement direction keeps the entire cast permanently employed creating a visual as well as aural feast. 

We are often reminded of its auditory origins through Blind Captain Cat’s (Douglas Walker) listening to the town, intricately knowing all its inhabitants through sound alone and lamenting his lost love, Rosie Probert (Mirian Fflur). We are treated to a vast array of voices and oddballs. Macsen McKay revels in the juxtaposition of the lovesick Mog Edwards fantasising about a life with Myfanwy Price (Izzi McCormack-John) and the murderous Mr. Pugh, fantasising about poisoning Mrs. Pugh (Amy Conachan) – his awful wife. We pop in and out of the lives of strange and peculiarly named people: Willy Nilly, Butcher Benyon, Mr. Walso, Mrs. Ogmore-Pritchard, Organ Morgan, Ocky Milkman, Dai Bread, Nogood Boyo to name a few. We are merely voyeurs passing by on another ordinary day in the village. There is a sense that, like Samuel Beckett’s Waiting for Godot, nothing will happen again the next day and time will tick by relentlessly. After all, Llareggyb spelt backwards is Thomas’ little hidden joke. 

Under Milk Wood is certainly a quite different type of theatre experience and one that is genre defying. For some, it is a celebration of Welsh language, poetry and lyricism, integral to the fabric of the nation and national identity. For others, it will always be a peculiar and surreal piece that, intentionally or not, engenders a soporific effect: a lullaby of the theatre world. Like the sea lapping at the shore of the village, let it wash over you, revel in the beauty of its sound and come back tomorrow for it all to happen again.

Runs until 4th April.