Marc Miller takes a look at A Child's Christmas in Wales at Irish Repertory Theatre:
"Then I would be slap-dashing home, the gravy smell of the dinners of others, the bird smell, the brandy, the pudding and mince, coiling up to my nostrils, when out of a snow-clogged side lane would come a boy, the spit of myself, with a pink-tipped cigarette and the violet past of a black eye–cocky as a bullfinch leering... all to himself." Heady stuff, isn't it? You'll encounter an abundance of such lyricism and redolent imagery in A Child's Christmas in Wales, now being given the latest of its many revivals at Irish Repertory Theatre. What you won't encounter is an abundance of moods or excitement. |
