Like so many other
students, I first discovered Hilary Bell’s Wolf Lullaby at school.
Set the task of designing a set and costumes for the play, we became engrossed
in the hypnotic darkness, the encroaching claustrophobia which runs through so
much of the play, and I think it was one of the first plays that made me think
that maybe theatre was something I should consider spending my time on (pre-dating
my Shakespeare-lightbulb-moment by about fifteen months.)
Currently
playing at the New Theatre, it’s quite strange to see a play that you’ve
got a history with performed in front of you, brought to life as it were. It’s
like watching an old family story made real – you’ve seen or heard it so many times that you know exactly how it
goes, but when it moves there’s just something about it which feels eversoslightly
surreal, as though the lens isn’t right or the details are slightly blurry… I
guess what I’m trying to articulate is that having studied it at school, having
known it for nine years, the Wolf Lullaby
in my head is naturally not the one others see, but it is still unmistakably
Bell’s ‘Lullaby.’
