Director Mark Rosenblatt takes us to depression-era California through the smell of eucalyptus, a red dirt wasteland and water front stage with Steinbeck’s trademark alfalfa. Avant-Americana musician Heather Christian scores the show with what Rosenblatt describes as “haunting hymnals”.

Soulful singing, reminiscent of American singer/songwriter Sandy Dillon, comes from Christian as she enters, prompting three hatted figures to follow from all corners of the stage. More hatted men recline in the shadows on scattered chairs upon a wooden platform.

Christian’s vocals have a strange quality, sounding like she’s almost throwing her voice, and dramatically contrast with a surprisingly comical opening exchange between protagonists George and Lennie.

George (Henry Pettigrew) and Lennie (Dyfrig Morris) first appear from under the Quarry’s seated area, beginning exactly as Steinbeck’s celebrated novella by camping out in the brush. Unlike the printed George, Henry Pettigrew’s performance immediately emphasises the reality of his dependence on Lennie. Lennie’s mimicry of George is much more obvious on stage and the opening unexpectedly light-hearted.

As we’re transported to the bunk house, the band become the ranch workers, wheeling on beds and brightening lights to allow us to see beyond into the hay fields.

A plethora of hanging light bulbs flash, dim and illuminate in keeping with mood and light in Steinbeck’s novella. An upper walkway to the left of the stage provides levels to signify power as the boss (Cornelius Booth) looks down on his new workers and Curley’s wife. Designers Max Jones, Tim Mitchell and Rich Walsh fade between scenes accompanied by Christian’s slightly unnerving music, including extremely interesting combinations of vocals to create spooky wilderness sounds. Stamping feet, clapping and hammering on bunk beds inventively combine in the Jerk The Line song.

Steinbeck once described his novella as “a tricky little thing designed to teach [him] to write for the theatre” so it’s no wonder it translates so well. Those familiar with the book may be surprised by additional dialogue written by the man himself after he adapted his instant hit for the stage in1937. At times, new character exchanges too obviously signpost the original text’s themes and characters, almost like a flashing lightbulb moment, prompting the show’s large student audience to “MAKE NOTES NOW”.

On stage, bulked out backstories provide more rounded characters, taking away a lot of the novella’s intrigue. Carlson’s pressured campaign against Candy’s dog feels extended and over-emphasised while his jokes about Lennie not “being very small [like his name]” seem to blatantly highlight Steinbeck’s attention to detail. Curley’s wife is given new lines, accentuating the book’s themes of loneliness and the role of women (or lack of role) in Steinbeck’s novella: “There are no women around,” she moans.

Although Christian’s almost gospel vocal quality is unique, there are times the score doesn’t quite fit. A wooden puppet brought on stage by one of the actors to introduce Candy’s (Johnson Willis) dog is likely to divide and Curley (John Trindle) is under-played.

Despite all this, some of Steinbeck’s original lines are fantastically realised, like Curley “flopping like a fish” as Lennie crushes his hand. The fateful scene with Lennie, his pup and Curley’s wife (Heather Christian) is well set with shafts of light coming through the wooden barn slats and the smell of hay. Christian manages to impressively limply play dead. Her final scene is very fast-moving, but in some ways not fast enough as you’re left wondering what Curley’s wife was making such a fuss about. What feels like the play’s climax is interesting as it comes from Lennie’s hallucinations at the end – a scene in the novella often overlooked and forgotten – played dramatically here with a cast member wearing an eerie Donnie Darko style patchwork rabbit head.

Much of the dialogue is very close to Steinbeck’s original, emphasising just how dialogue heavy Of Mice And Men is. Accents are kept up and well-observed little details add fullness to the performance. Pleasingly, Rosenblatt’s production ends with an amazing gun powder smell and Steinbeck’s bold final line as a puzzled Carlson (Simon Holland Roberts) asks, “Now what the hell ya suppose is eatin’ them two guys?” Answering many of the questions Steinbeck left unanswered, this production tells a more complete story that some may prefer to the original GCSE set text.

by Leo Owen