Birdsong, Malvern Theatres/ touring, review In his introduction to Birdsong - his bestselling and, to many, his finest book, set mainly on the Western Front - Sebastian Faulks recounts how he was left near-speechless at the age of 12 after reading aloud the names of those at his school who had died in the two world wars. "The list was so long that I was treated that night for a sore throat," he notes poignantly. It's a tribute to Alastair Whatley's superb touring revival of Rachel Wagstaff's stage adaptation of the novel - better structured than the sniffed-at version premiered in the West End in 2010 by Trevor Nunn - that it left me choked up and blinking back the tears at the end. It's a tribute, of course, to Faulks. But above all it's a tribute to the sacrifice of the millions of men who died - just a glimpse of whose horrendous experiences the evening affords. With a major BBC adaptation recently aired, and a feature film in the offing, Whatley's production can't compete in terms of epic scale or gruesome verisimilitude. But with an imposing set by Victoria Spearing that evokes the murky squalor of the trenches while allowing enough space for multiple flashbacks to pre-war Amiens, a virtue is made of theatre's constrictive dimensions. In Birdsong, Faulks dwells on the hellish tunnelling and explosives-laying operations conducted below the battlefield. Using atmospheric lighting and crouching, nerve-racked movements to conjure an ineffable mood of tension, Whatley's cast powerfully conveys the terror of being buried alive in narrow earthy passageways dripping with blood. Newly graduated from drama school, Jonathan Smith acquits himself very well as the upright, uptight young officer Stephen Wraysford, who is left doubting his faith in humanity and heartbroken, too, as the war, and the infidelity of his married French sweetheart, Isabelle, take their toll. If Sarah Jayne Dunn struggles as Isabelle to enlist much sympathy, that's primarily because her character exists to flesh out Stephen's journey; neither are helped by a birdbrained lovemaking scene that employs coy symbolic dance moves to the strains of what sounds like Vaughan Williams. That aside, there's sterling work from the rest of the 12-strong ensemble, especially from Tim Treloar as the long-suffering, stoical miner Jack Firebrace, who doesn't live to see - hardly a spoiler this - the exhausted, numb day of peace arrive. Thoroughly recommended. Touring to August: birdsongthetour.com