Review: Snowflake, Polka Theatre

You know that feeling when you enter the auditorium, sit down, and there’s a sense of gentle calm that makes you think: “Ah, this will be something quietly magical, nice”? That’s how The Snowflake begins. Soft, tinkling music drifts through the space, snowflakes hang above an abstract living-room set design, with cushions and carpets creating a cosy thrust-stage environment. Two snow-heavy clouds hover overhead like benign guardians. It’s serene, soothing… almost disarmingly so. Those who know the charming book by Benji Davies, upon which this co-production for 3–6s from Polka Theatre, Birmingham Rep and Little Angel Theatre is faithfully based, will feel very welcome.

We meet Noelle, whose home-school task is to write a poem about something Christmassy. A paper snowflake discovered in the decorations box prompts a gentle song about what makes a snowflake unique – symmetry, shape, beauty – unfolding into a soft conversation between Mum (Eleanor Toms) and her daughter (Rhiann Kellman), about this and that.

Then comes Pappie (also played by Toms), arriving with Fozie – a fabulous dog puppet – to stay for a while. We assume that Grandma has died, and Pappie is lonely, and the family is trying to adjust. It’s handled simply and kindly: a bit of reminiscence, a tender song (“We will be the best of friends”), a sense of intergenerational bonds being rebuilt; the world feels safe and warm.

Alongside this domestic thread runs the tale of a newborn snowflake – a silky, lit puppet drifting gently across the audience, joined later by a large, sparkly, lit and floating cloud who offers reassurance that “all will be well.” Suitcases open to reveal miniature towns, light boxes glow with a tiny shop window – in one, a beautiful Christmas tree. Swirling snowflake puppets join our snowflake in a cluster to sing, “We all need somewhere to land.” Themes of belonging, acceptance, and family are clearly referenced.

But despite the charm, something never quite takes hold. The piece relies heavily on shifting set elements – boxes moving, props emerging and disappearing – and the frequent pauses create a sense of drift rather than wonder. The young audience quickly grew restless, and you could feel their attention slipping. The narrative switches between granddaughter–grandfather scenes and the snowflake’s journey, yet neither thread builds enough momentum, logical connection, or emotional jeopardy to anchor the experience. The storytelling is just too purposeless.

There are some lovely touches: a mirror ball scattering light across the room, a soft snowfall at the end, puppetry moments that sort of tap into the show’s emotional potential. But too often the pacing is slow and the singing – though sweet – never quite feels committed enough to lift us to a place of magic. The message is heartfelt, the themes important, but the delivery feels oddly muted.

Audience participation arrives late in the form of a sing-and-clap moment after the curtain call, which feels slightly tacked-on rather than earned. At around 40 minutes, the show is short, but still manages to feel overstretched – not because children lack patience, but because the piece never builds the spark, playfulness, or theatrical inventiveness that this age group thrives on.

For a story about loss, home, intergenerational love, and finding your place in the world, this production needs more emotional colour, more magic, more delight. Young audiences deserve theatre that meets them with imagination and energy – and this, sadly, feels a little too snow-soft and sleepy to land fully. But it is, at heart, old-fashioned Christmas theatre for families: gentle, well-meaning and warm.

Based on the book The Snowflake by Benji Davies
Director/Adaptor: Matt Aston
Set & Costume Designer: Laura McEwen 
Lighting Designer: Jonathan Chan
Composer & Sound Designer: Julian Butler 
Puppet Designer & Puppetry Director: Oliver James Hymans
Associate Director: Maia Kirkman-Richards

The Snowflake is aimed at ages 3-6 years and runs at Polka Theatre until Sunday 25 January.