Dylan Thomas’s beautiful Christmas poem has that amazing ability to slow life down. It’s a poem to rest inside, with its gently tumbling sentences and twinkling memories of Christmases past. Emma Rice’s exquisite adaptation shares these qualities. There are just five performers – one pianist and four actors – but they bring a flurry of characters to life. There is a little bit of magic in every scene, all of which glow with a very Thomas-esque combination of hope and melancholy.
The ensemble performs in the Emma Rice Company’s new home, a converted church in Frome. It’s tiny. The audience sits on plastic chairs and – perhaps this is just Thomas’s poem casting its spell on me – but it feels like the memory of past communal gatherings lingers here. When encouraged to join in with the carols, the audience responds quickly and with relish. We throw snowballs and socks at the actors and pass around family photos of the characters in the play, handling them as fondly as if they’re our own.
The stage is backed by two giant weathered wooden doors, with the adults mostly inside and the children on the outside. It’s a doll’s house, a chocolate box theatre, an Advent calendar being opened. Inside sit the uncles and aunts, “like faded cups and saucers”. Outside the kids roam. In one scene, the children walk through the town in the pitch black and imagine dinosaurs roaming the street. The delicious joy of being afraid when you’re young and the relief of returning home (“everything was good again”) radiates from the tiny stage.
The ensemble shines. Tom Fox excels at clowning and contorting his face in every way possible; narrator Katy Owen reads Thomas’s poem with such passion and clarity; Robyn Sinclair’s singing has a lovely vulnerability to it; Ian Ross’s songs wind gracefully through the whole production and Simon Oskarsson’s trumpet playing could just about stop time. It isn’t perfect and a framing device about Thomas feels forced and unnecessary. But it isn’t meant to be perfect. It’s Christmas: maddening, difficult and sometimes impossibly sad. Yet somehow still special, full of love, music and moments to remember.
• At The Lucky Chance, Frome, until 21 December
