It is spring, moonless night in the small town, starless and bible-black ...
Last night I saw the most amazing staging of Under Milk Wood by Dylan Thomas.
It was in at Downstage which is already one of my favourite theatres, but it felt more intimate than usual.
The stage was multi-leveled and included a rotating section of floor which gave the actors room to move and at times it seemed something closer to a dance than a play ostensibly for voices. The Night was evoked using an almost unnoticeable black screen, a smoke machine and near-silhouettes.
All of the actors were just ... mind-blowing. They have to portray so many different characters but pulled it together remarkably well. I loved that they didn't rely on solely one method of characterisation, they changed their clothes, the way they held themselves, their facial expressions and voices. Everything.
I also cannot get over Loren Horsley's hair. Love.
It's only running until the 9th September but if you can, I really recommend catching it.
You can hear the dew falling, and the hushed town breathing. Only your eyes are unclosed, to see the black and folded town fast, and slow, asleep. And you alone can hear the invisible starfall, the darkest-before-dawn minutely dewgrazed stir of the black, dab-filled sea where the Arethusa, the Curlew and the Skylark, Zanzibar, Rhiannon, the Rover, the Cormorant, and the Star of Wales tilt and ride.
