At the beginning of A Child's Christmas in Wales, Thomas says that he can never remember "whether it snowed for six days and six nights when I was 12 or whether it snowed for 12 days and 12 nights when I was six." Similarly, he states toward the beginning that "memories of childhood have no order and no end," but this presentation is sequenced smoothly.

The actors don't attempt Welsh accents, although a light version wouldn't be more difficult or more obtrusive than English accents. Not doing so misses an opportunity to pull us more deeply into the characters and their stories.

Dylan Thomas, with his skillful literary weaving of joy for life and respect for death, is rediscovered every generation by English majors impressed by his lyrical gift. John Malcolm Brinnin, who brought Thomas to the States for his tours and ineffectively tried to herd him, was a professor of mine for a poetry writing class. He said the man was a handful, vainly running away from death as he did. It's a shame that this cheerful production doesn't try to get the poet, and us, to acknowledge that dark fact, which gives his good cheer its real value.

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