|
There is no new writing here, as Foley contrives through sound to embellish the original and then later, in a power cut, takes on some lines to help the others. In particular, she sings Polly Garter's elegiac song for Willy Wee ("who is dead, dead, dead"), breaking down as she does so and giving us a clue to what might have been in that letter.
The cast of three make their own unlikely community, with Williams forcefully hampering Foley's gleeful, drunken sabotaging of the sound effects, and Jones taking a more maternal, caring approach, offering sweets and covering her shoulders with her coat.
It takes time to build into this dynamic, but once the three knit together, it's an affecting reworking in a performance space intimate enough to be a radio studio. Gwilym and Stewart give an energetic interpretation of the original, while Pring spikes it with a wonderfully impish, helpless charm. Dylan Thomas, you sense, would have approved.
|
|