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13 of 13 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars
starless and bible black & the sunny side of the street, December 1, 2003
I was first attracted to Dylan Thomas after studying James Joyce's The Dubliners at high school. I must say that in my opinion Thomas's play/poem makes a surprisingly good film, which is sadly not available thrugh Amazon.com, but to say this play for voices is delightful would be misleading, as this deep study of the underbelly of a small fishing village is about a peculiar kind of nationalism that is both celebratory and critical. What makes it such a great experience is how the language grabs you, and you have to listen to every word, so it is intense. The narrator begins his description of the sleeping town of Llareggub from Milk Wood, above the town, then enters the cobbled streets to observe and eavesdrop, over a twenty-four hour period, dipping into the thoughts, reminiscences and dreams of the townsfolk. Since Dylan Thomas died in 1953, and this was one of his last works, the world he describes is fifty years old and seems somewhat quaint today. But his rich language on occasions soars with the romance of feeling for the beauty of his nativeland (the vicar's morning address to the town, with nobody listening, is just wonderful), and love of its people. Nevertheless, in relating the sexual dreams and fantasies and activities of the town and the world of men and women a touch of gothic intrudes. There are oppositions at play between the open-hearted, sexually generous women and the close-minded wives, the ecstatic Organ Morgan the church organist and his petty shopkeeper wife ("a martyr to music"), the mischievious butcher's subversions, numerous attractions and solicitations between adults and the budding sexuality of the young, the stultified love of Sinbad the barman, and an unscrupulous postman and his nosey-parker wife.And many other endearing characters. The portrait Thomas paints of the town under Milk Wood is tainted by his own world-view, resentful of the Church, the lack of ambition and other provincialities. There's an amazing amount of activity in the town, apart from its economy, lots of drinking, sexuality and folksong, but despite the evidence of bad-blood the community seems to thrive on love and an underlying generosity of heart that allows for the bounty that all life brings. These days I'm not a great lover of poetry, and that's what this play for voices is, but Under Milk Wood still works for me.
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13 of 13 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars
A little piece of poetic history., October 22, 1997
On November 7th, Dylan Thomas collapsed in his hotel room. On the 9th, he died. This was only a few days after the final performance of "Under Milk Wood", a special play with no acting but voices, the sort of work Thomas believed would replace the poetic impulse he feared had dried up. Although believed by many to be unfinished, "Under Milk Wood" seems perfect as it is. A journey through the events of a single day in a small town, "Under Milk Wood" is a must for Dylan Thomas fans, but also would be appreciated by fans of Garrison Keillor and other radio-storytellers. The written text cannot compare with the lively, laughter-ridden performance. Listen to the real thing, and you will, as Dylan Thomas instructed his actors, "love the words."
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11 of 11 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars
What a moon in that sunny seafaring field!, November 18, 2000
One full day, from night to night, in a Welsh village, town and harbour. All Dylan Thomas's art is there everywhere everpresent in those few odd but packed pages. Unforgettable oxymorons : « night's first darkening snow ». Unforseeable metaphors : « his dream buckets down ». Unpredictable similes : « her ears fall off like figs ». A permanent joy, even in the most squalid situations : « and quick as a flash he [Mr Pugh] ducks her [Mrs Pugh] in rat soup ». The permanent music of the language and of innumerable songs : « We are a musical nation ». The simple and healthy desires of man for woman and especially of woman for man : « Tom who is two yards long, Dick who is three feet thick, Harry who is as sweet as a cherry, the good bad boys from the lonely farms, Willy Wee who is six feet deep, and Mr Waldo in Pembroke City, the chimbley sweep, till a kind young woman took pity, come and sweep my chimbley ». Everywhere we are at sea and in the hills enjoying life and its misfits, misdeeds, and misadventures from wave to wood, from beach to bloom and broom, « Let me shipwreck in your thighs ». « Off to Gomorrah » as Jack Black says, « all black like the Ace of Spades ». Dr Jacques COULARDEAU, Paris Universities II and IX.
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