1984

West Yorkshire Playhouse

With American government surveillance lately dominating the news, a theatre adaptation of George Orwell’s 1984 seems particularly timely.

“Once you finish this book, you become a different person,” Robert Icke and Duncan Macmillan’s script boldly claims in this Headlong and Nottingham Playhouse production, using the novel’s appendix as a starting point to introduce Orwell’s dystopian setting.

Orwell’s protagonist, Winston, scrawls onto a pad and what he writes is projected on to a screen above the set, as a voice over explains: “The thing he was about to do was to open a diary. If he was detected, it would be punishable by death.”

From a spot-lit Winston (Mark Arends), stage lights come up to reveal the narrator walking towards a group clustered around a table in what appears to be a reference library.

Those gathered are an ambiguous group, either academics, historians or book club members, animatedly talking over and interrupting each other as they discuss “objective truth”. Their chatter halts Winston’s flow until the lights momentarily drop and a lonesome Winston is revealed.

In keeping with Orwell’s appendix first appearances of Syme (Matthew Spencer) act as a lesson in doublespeak, as does a terrifying scene showing Winston wiping someone’s existence on a projector.

Canteen conversations between Parsons (Gavin Spokes) and Winston have a repetitive Groundhog Day feel to them and include shuffling, robotic staff who seem to be drugged or acting as strategically planted “thought police” spies. The mysterious O’Brien (Tim Dutton) speaks in ominous riddles, making him intentionally difficult to read (“We shall meet again in the place where there will be no darkness”) and party mottos are disturbingly played out over a tannoy: “Ignorance is strength”.

Orwell’s terrifying conclusion is at first disorientating with the whole set opening out to nothing and stark lighting that’s almost blinding, making for a striking finish. The earlier bedroom set is cordoned off like a crime scene and wheeled away as if it was little more than a trap or one of Big Brother’s theatrical props. Room 101 has a sulphur smell with plastic-sheeted walls lined with men in matching bio-hazard suits.

Like its source material, 1984 the play is brave, unrelenting and hard-hitting with amplified gunshots, blood-splattered plastic sheeting, severed digits, flashing lights and audience gasps.

On-stage torture makes for realistic viewing. Jerky hand-held live footage is projected on to a big screen to emulate Winston’s confused state and clever optical illusions elicit surprised cries from the audience. All bedroom segments are ingeniously projected on to a screen, rather than shown live on a stage, almost reinforcing the idea Big Brother is perpetually watching.

A broken Winston makes for a strong contrast to an earlier scene where Winston and Julia (Hara Yannas) trashed a room together, feeling empowered in each other’s company. Like Winston, the audience are left drained but unlike his character we’re still able to think, contemplating his earlier dilemma of being part of a minority versus being mad.

Icke and MacMillan’s play is just as powerful today as Orwell’s novel was, with convincing performances having an overwhelming impact on many viewers, forcing us to face difficult questions, as all theatre should.

Leo Owen