Review: Little Women at Theatre Royal Plymouth – A Classical Story Beautifully Reimagined for the Stage

Reviewed by Bracken Jelier

There’s something deeply comforting about returning to a classic story. Amid the noise of new, experimental, and often deliberately provocative contemporary theatre, it was an unexpected joy to sit in the dress circle at Theatre Royal Plymouth and be transported straight back to the pages of Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women — a book that held pride of place on my childhood bookshelf.

This new adaptation, directed by Loveday Ingram, is tender, rich, and completely absorbing. For anyone who’s grown up loving the March sisters — Meg, Jo, Beth and Amy — this production is a warm embrace of nostalgia, crafted with care and intelligence, and brought to life by a wonderfully harmonious cast whose voices, both spoken and sung, filled the theatre with something close to magic.

The show opens on Christmas Eve in the March household, with a beautifully lit tree and soft carols underscoring the warmth of family even during hardship. The American Civil War looms in the background, but the March home — complete with a glowing hearth, upright piano, and gentle flickers of snow — becomes a sanctuary for both characters and audience alike. The set design is simple but utterly effective: bare tree trunks give a sense of both forest and interior, and clever lighting and sound shift the seasons before your eyes. It's one of those rare pieces of stagecraft that is subtle but deeply immersive.

Jo, played with fierce energy and heartfelt nuance by Grace Molony, is the heart of the story. She tumbles across the stage like a spark of defiance — a young woman determined not to let the world define her by the rules of marriage, money, or gender. Her resistance to society’s expectations is not loud or preachy, but human, intelligent, and often very funny. Molony brings a grounded, magnetic presence to the role, and I found myself completely drawn into her world.

The joy of this production lies not just in its sentiment but also in its humour. Despite the setting and themes, this isn’t a dusty, overly reverent period drama. The cast — especially the four sisters — breathe life and laughter into every scene. The sibling dynamics feel real and lived-in, full of teasing, arguing, giggling, and moments of quiet love. Their relationships unfold organically, shaped by years of shared rooms, secrets, and growing pains.

Ellie Pawsey (the understudy for Honeysuckle Weeks) took on the role of Marmee and brought a gentle warmth holding the family together while her husband serves as a chaplain in the war. Pawsey’s performance is understated but deeply felt, creating a maternal presence that offers strength without showiness. Meanwhile, Belinda Lang’s Aunt March adds a spark of sharp humour with by playing with her vocal tones and a physical presence of old-school formality, creating just the right foil for Jo’s headstrong nature.

The male cast offer equally thoughtful performances. Cillian Lenaghan’s Laurie is charming and playful, never reduced to just the ‘boy next door’ but allowed real emotional depth. Jack Ashton is excellent as John Brooke, bringing steadiness and soft sincerity to a character often overshadowed in the story. The chemistry between all the cast members is a quiet triumph — you truly believe in the bonds, both romantic and familial.

Musically, the production shines which felt like a very happy little surprise. The harmonies are exquisite — rich, layered, and spine-tingling at times. Composer Matthew Bugg and movement director Mike Ashcroft have worked wonders here, blending music, choreography, and atmosphere into something seamless. It never feels like the show stops for a song; rather, the music feels as though it springs from the very soul of the March family, especially in moments of joy and grief.

And yes — grief. Because Little Women isn’t just a light-hearted period piece. It holds within it some of the quietest, saddest moments. And this production doesn’t shy away from them. There are scenes — and I won’t spoil them — that left me with a lump in my throat. Moments that are gentle, even understated, but emotionally devastating in their simplicity. It’s not easy to carry the audience through those turns without tipping into melodrama, but the production handles it with restraint and care.

I was especially struck by how the cast seemed constantly present. Rarely was the stage almost empty — the full ensemble often remained in the background, ghostlike in presence, as if to remind us that time moves forward, that family stories unfold with us even when we're not watching. This continuous presence gave the show an almost dreamlike, continuous flow.

While I haven’t seen the 2019 film adaptation, I didn’t feel I needed to. This version of Little Women felt like coming home — to the book, to the characters, to a kind of theatre that isn’t afraid to be sincere. It’s a reminder of why we fall in love with stories in the first place.

In a world where cultural work often demands that we interrogate, challenge, and deconstruct, it was beautifully refreshing to attend a show that simply allowed me to feel. To laugh, to reflect, to remember — and yes, to hold back a few tears. This is what theatre can be when it’s at its most human. And Little Women is, above all, a human story. One of love, loss, sisterhood, and growing up.

If you’re lucky enough to catch it during its run at Theatre Royal Plymouth, I urge you to do so. Whether you’re meeting the March sisters for the first time or reconnecting with old literary friends, this is a production that holds you close.