Connor Allen’s Forgiveness of a Monster, performed at the Sherman Theatre , is not interested in offering its audience comfort. Blending spoken word, autobiographical confession, live music and fragmented storytelling, the production becomes an emotionally volatile exploration of masculinity, inherited trauma and the impossible complexity of forgiveness. Rather than presenting redemption as something achievable, Allen instead interrogates what happens when shame becomes inseparable from identity itself.

From the outset, the production creates an atmosphere that feels immersive and claustrophobic. Haze, fractured lighting and overwhelming sound design suspend the audience somewhere between dream, memory and confession.

Oraine Johnson’s live music pulses beneath the performance with grime, reggae, soul and spoken word influences, becoming less accompaniment and more another nervous system within the work itself. Allen’s writing is deeply lyrical, with dialogue frequently dissolving into poetry before collapsing back into confrontation or memory. The production’s fragmented structure mirrors the instability of trauma itself, refusing the polished neatness audiences often expect from autobiographical theatre.

The visual impact of the set is equally arresting. Three triangular windows frame Connor Allen, Oraine Johnson and the musician in isolated spaces that feel both exposed and imprisoned, transforming the stage into something resembling a fractured Fortress of Solitude. Jagged mirrored shards shift throughout the performance, constantly reshaping the environment around them. The design creates a sense of psychological fragmentation made physical, as though memory itself is splintering across the stage in real time. Rather than functioning as static scenery, the set becomes an extension of Allen’s emotional landscape: unstable, reflective and impossible to fully escape.

I think what makes Allen’s performance so compelling is its refusal to seek sympathy. His portrayal is jagged, restless and emotionally exposed, moving rapidly between humour, tenderness, rage and devastation. One moment invites the audience into laughter through sharp observational comedy, while the next drags them into memories of abandonment, shame and self-destruction. Allen openly confronts his own destructive impulses and emotional damage, repeatedly asking whether understanding trauma excuses the harm it creates.

The production’s exploration of masculinity feels particularly devastating because it frames emotional repression as inheritance rather than individual failure. The absent father looms over the performance like a ghost, while Allen’s Jamaican heritage threads through the work not as detached political commentary but as lived psychological reality. Forgiveness of a Monster suggests that trauma reproduces itself through silence, emotional repression and unresolved shame. The struggle to articulate vulnerability except through anger, disappearance or self-destruction becomes portrayed as a learned behaviour passed between generations.

The main thing that resonated most deeply for me was Allen’s exploration of identity and inheritance. I am not Black and have no lived experience of being Black, I am of mixed heritage, and Allen’s search through his own lineage deeply reflected my own questions surrounding identity, absence and belonging. Watching him search backwards in order to understand himself in the present felt painfully familiar. The production captures the exhausting cycle of trying to transform pain into meaning while simultaneously resenting yourself for continually returning to it. There is a particular kind of self-loathing that emerges when creativity begins to feel less like expression and more like evidence of damage.

The production’s visual language reinforces this emotional fragmentation. Mirrors, shadows and smoke dominate the stage, creating an environment where memory feels physical rather than symbolic. This traps Johnson’s performance between exposure and obscurity through stark lighting design, while this adds another layer of emotional complexity that often feels less like a singular character and more like memory itself.

Ultimately, Forgiveness of a Monster is untidy, excessive and emotionally raw, but those qualities are inseparable from its power. Allen refuses triumphant redemption arcs or neat reconciliation. Instead, the production leaves behind a far more difficult question: what happens when the person you cannot forgive is yourself?

By the end, there is no comforting resolution, only the recognition that monsters are rarely born in isolation. They are shaped through silence, absence, violence and grief. The harder question Allen leaves lingering is whether understanding that history changes anything at all.

“The Bitten Peach is a UK based, queer, pan-Asian cabaret production company.” and this May they brought their production to Cardiff. The one-night stop included drag, burlesque, and indie pop. After a surprisingly sunny afternoon drinking in Cardiff Bay, the audience of hen parties, locals and cabaret-first-timers were ready to laugh and cheer.

The Bitten Peach runs regular shows in London as well as touring productions across the UK “We tell Asian stories, create safe spaces, throw parties, produce shows, diversify Asian representation, provide platforms, and educate on racial issues.”

Cabaret shows often feature a number of different artists in a curated line up that changes from show to show and in Cardiff three Bitten Peach regulars were joined by two local performers. The cast of just four performers and a host felt on the small side, and I would have liked one more act to flesh out the night (no peach-pun intended), but the different act-types were well balanced, and it was great to see Bitten Peach using their stage to platform Asian acts from Cardiff.

The night was hosted by the stunning Asia Thorne who introduced Bitten Peach with sex and sass and seriousness – taking moments between innuendo’s to remind us of the importance of fostering opportunities for queer people of colour, and of protecting our trans friends in the light of the election news that day.

Captivating in self-made sparkling gowns, Asia closed the first half with a passionate and funny lip-sync to Céline Dion’s ‘It’s All Coming Back To Me Now’. I would have loved to reduce the amount of crowd-work between acts and seen another number from Asia in the second half.

The two local acts were ‘Wales’ first Southeast Asian Drag King’ Wan Long Kok and British born Korean drag artist Mica Soft – two excellent stage names!

Wan Long Kok swanned onto stage as a satirical stereotype that confronted racist microaggressions whilst also being entertaining. The performance was a mega-mix of acting, song, prop-comedy, audience-participation and music-video creation. Whilst it sounds chaotic to cram all that into one act, Wan Long Kok was such a confident performer that the audience had a great time with this one – and probably learned something too.

Mica Soft performed two acts inspired by Avatar the Last Airbender. As a big fan of the show, I was excited to see Mica in Azula cosplay. I’ve been dying to see ‘Avatar – the Last Hairbender’ (an Avatar themed cabaret show in London), so this felt like an unexpected treat. Mica’s acts were well thought out with song choices fitting the character’s mood in the show, and I liked the ribbon dancing to represent lightning bending. Unfortunately I think these acts lost on some of the audience who hadn’t seen the show and a short intro from the host might have helped add some context.

Alongside the host, the night included two other Bitten Peach regulars: show producer Jason Kwan who is a talented singer-songwriter and burlesque dancer Kit Khan, who each performed twice.

Model and indie-pop artist Jason Kwan graced the stage in a stylish cream outfit, his credits include Glastonbury and Meltdown Festival as well as being a face of Nyx cosmetics. He treated the audience to three songs across the evening including the premiere of ‘Break The Ceiling’ a new collaboration with Salty Chick. I’ve not seen pop as part of a Cabaret show before, and it was a great addition. Jason’s easy-going style and upbeat stylings felt like something we could certainly hear in feature films in years to come.

Lastly, Burlesque dancer Kit Khan opened and closed the show and I can see why. Kit had an excellent connection to the audience and a style that harked back to classic burlesque, that really got the audience going. Kit’s Costuming, choreography, hair and make-up all felt nostalgic: with an understated wit and glamour. Kit had clearly studied burlesque-artists-passed and it was a joy to see a good old fashioned bump and grind reimagined in their body.

(4 / 5)

‘To begin at the beginning’ is a very apt quote from Under Milk Wood, for this groundbreaking first production from the Craidd Collaboration. A cohort of organisations; Pontio, Royal Welsh College of Music and Drama, Sherman Theatre, Theatr Clwyd and Torch Theatre, coming together with the aim of putting ‘access and inclusion at the core of theatre in Wales.’

Without a doubt, this is easily one of the most accessible and inclusive pieces of theatre I have ever witnessed, which is proven by the vast variety of the audience members around me as I take my seat. The play has been reinterpreted anew, with almost every line interpreted into BSL and every line appearing on the screen behind the performers. But it is not in any way stilted or apparent that you are watching an ‘inclusive’ piece, so well is the inclusion interwoven into the production. The opening sequence of words and BSL is so beautiful and moving. The words appearing on the screen are not just standard type, they live and move as much as the words do; enlarged text when there is emphasis or shouting, sometimes to very comedic effect, words twinkling and disappearing, words weaving across the screen as magical and thought provoking as the way they are delivered verbally. Huge credit must be given to everyone involved in this especially BSL director, Adam Bassett, but also the whole production team who breathed life into this truly stunning piece of diverse and representative piece of theatre.

The strange, colourful, delightfully naughty insight into Thomas’ imagination is brought to life by an incredibly talented ensemble of actors both able bodied and disabled. They all multi role with deftness and speed, at the drop of a hat (quite literally in some cases!), a definite Brechtian feel to the piece as their different characters appear and disappear with the change of a costume, sometimes even mid scene. It would be unfair of me to call any one of them out individually, as they all bring something truly unique to the piece, as unique as the individuals who tumbled from Dylan Thomas’ mind into Llareggub.

The set design is truly beautiful and captures the very essence of the town, houses tumbling together in the rag tag manner of the terraced houses of the Welsh Valleys. So important are the houses to their inhabitants, so much a part of who they are, that they form seats, steps, tables, lidded boxes and even appear on the heads of Mog Edwards and Myfanwy Price as they confess their love to one another. The set is immersed in the performance; clambered over, sat upon, danced amongst. I was enamoured with it all and kudos to all involved in this truly dreamlike production; director, Kate Wasserberg, set and costume designer, Hayley Grindle, AD and Dramaturg, Katie Elin-Scott, Movement Director, Laura Meaton and the many other individuals who have brought this truly leaping to life. A special mention must also be made to the Composer, Oliver Vibrans and Musical Director, Lynwen Haf Roberts for the lovely, haunting melodies they have brought to the piece.

What is truly magical about this piece and the penmanship of Thomas is the mirror that it holds up to our own humanity. Especially here, with joyous inclusivity and diversity. We are, like the inhabitants of Llareggub, ‘not wholly bad or good, who live our lives under Milk Wood,’ and it is this that makes the production one that will stay with me for a long time. Its humanity is beautiful in its flaws and the rapturous applause along with the silent, but enthusiastic applause of the deaf members of the audience really shows that this production has something for us all.

(4 / 5)

First performed in America in 1953, and broadcast posthumously as a radio play by the BBC in 1954, Under Milk Wood has had many adaptations for the stage. This is the first time that accessibility has been integral to the performance and design.

The production is part of Craidd, a collaboration between five Welsh organisations working to improve mainstream representation of Deaf and disabled people both on and off stage across Wales. This staging uses integrated British Sign Language (BSL) and captioning.

This means that accessibility is literally centre stage at many times and fully incorporated into the staging. BSL trained actors are key to the delivery. use is made of video and back projections to magnify some of the action on the stage. Text is not standard surtitles but rather animated and colourful, shifting and dissolving – enhancing the experience for most in the audience.

As a seeing and hearing member of the audience it’s at times difficult to know where to focus the attention. This is a recognition of how compelling the different aspects of the production are – the imaginative captioning text which is difficult to keep your eyes off but also wishing to constantly refocus on the considerable skills of the actors. You get better at that as the play progresses. This type of accessible theatre, built into its design at the outset, can be potentially engaging for all members of the audience.

It’s an excellent ensemble piece (with each actor playing multiple roles), fast-paced and funny, musical and magical with a dizzying array of characters. This is not a conventional play in terms of plot or narrative drive. An omniscient narrator guides us through the lives and loves of the villagers and this along with interconnected vignettes advances the action. Scene settings, of which there are many, are suggested by precise lighting and sound design along with creative props. The pace of constant change makes this demanding stagecraft but it feels effortless.

Hayley Grindle’s set and lighting are stand out. The cottages imagined as oversize doll’s houses, sometimes ordered, other times in disarray, depending on the time of day, often providing a glorious warm glow to proceedings.

Kate Wasserberg has not shied away from the darker, at times uncomfortable, themes in the play, more prevalent in Part 2. ‘There’s a nasty lot lives here when you come to think.’ gets one of the bigger laughs of the evening. A lot more than mischief is hinted at in the lives of the community.

At the end we are full circle, another night is approaching. Something very like this will be happening tomorrow.

This staging captures and amplifies the play for voices – tender and poignant, funny and irreverent, lyrical and bawdy. Theatre Clwyd’s Under Milk Wood is a captivating imagining of Dylan Thomas’ masterpiece.

Andy Stroud

Credits

Creative: Hayley Grindle (Set and Costume Design), Katie Elin-Salt (Associate
Director & Dramaturg), Laura Meaton (Movement Director), Adam Bassett (BSL Director), Joshua Pharo & Sarah Readman (Co-Lighting, Video & Creative Caption Designers, Oliver Vibrans (Composer), Lynwen Haf Roberts (Musical Director), Liam Quinn (Sound Designer), Jacob Sparrow (Casting Director).

Production: Suzy Sommerville (Production Manager), Alec Reece (Stage Manager),