We’ve all read the book or at least are familiar enough with phrases and influences emanating from what is Orwell’s most famous novel to know how it plays out. But the Theatre Royal Bath stage production brings to life the sheer misery and also the hopelessness of those living under the cosh of Big Brother in this adaptation by Ryan Craig.
What 1984 is actually about is up for debate. Some have posited that it is about his time at the BBC, others that it’s a totalitarian society like Stalin’s Soviet Russia or what would be Franco’s Spain or any other reality where individuality counted for nothing. Whatever the novel’s basis, Orwell’s thoughts are said to have been dramatically shaped by his contribution to the Spanish Civil War and what happens if governments get too much power and a super-state takes over. And unlike many other dystopian works, life in Oceania is set in the near future rather than long in the distance.
And so this production, directed by Lindsay Posner, has a lot to live up to, given the book's acclaim and the discourse it has generated. The play certainly absorbs and even entertains the audience, as we watch the protagonist Winston Smith, a lover of literature, being lured into the trap set by O’Brien played by Keith Allen.
Winston, played by Mark Quartley, is a rather placid and somewhat two-dimensional character. He naïvely believes that the reason O’Brien gives him Hamlet (which, like many works of traditional literature, is strictly forbidden by the Big Brother regime) to read and a safe house to retire to, in which he’s able to write his own thoughts and prose, is because O’Brien is actually part of the underground counter-revolutionary movement. But Winston’s rather dull persona fails to resonate with the audience and doesn't quite win our sympathy.
His plight, however, soon becomes our plight. He undergoes processes designed to bend his mind and to perceive a reality that is not what he can see right before his eyes, with O’Brien forcing Winston to recognise the four fingers he’s holding up as five, and in doing so avoiding further horrendous torture. Had Winston been played as a stronger character, the transformation he undergoes after enduring Room 101 would have been more stark and altogether more sorrowful for us to witness. As it is, Winston emerges as a slightly lesser version of his former self.
Winston’s counterpart, Julia, played by Eleanor Wyld, is a more human character—a frustrated woman who desires luxuries such as real coffee and chocolate that she acquires on the black market, as well make-up and provocative red dresses that she dons for Winston when they meet in their safe-house. None of this is available to the average citizen in Oceania, where insipid soups and boiler suits are the order of the day. Julia seeks out recreational sex, which again is a distraction from the purposes of the Party, but she’s so mechanical in the way in which she goes about it that it’s rather hard to relate to her wants.
Perhaps the most sympathetic character is Parsons, played by David Birrell. He has already been terrorised by the time we come to him, and so he speaks with the fear of someone who understands the price of not conforming. Even so, he’s still hauled into Room 101, having been betrayed by his daughter, who heard him uttering unpatriotic words in his sleep. With his spirit completely beaten out of him, he even applauds his daughter for her action, declaring that he’s actually rather proud of her for turning her father in to the authorities to face his just punishment.
And so the plot goes, with all the characters betraying those they love most dearly as the only way to survive further torture in Room 101. When Julia and Winston meet again, they are changed, wearing clean clothes and with new hair and teeth, a newer version of themselves. It’s faithful to the novel, but there could be more visual signposting here, utilising the power that theatre has over the written text, that would help underlie what’s now missing and just how much they’ve both lost.
What remains most vivid in the minds of the audience, though, are the scenes of interrogations, where Winston is re-educated to learn that the truth is whatever we’re told it is. For example, he’s confronted with evidence he’d previously acquired proving that the enemy of the state, Goldstein, was actually not in or anywhere near Oceania at the time that Big Brother had led its citizens to believe. These facts prove that Goldstein could not have been part of the insurrection against the nation state that he’s said to be guilty of, but under duress, Winston comes to understand that his evidence is nothing but a figment of his imagination.
Do these scenes reflect the world as we’re now experiencing it, currently on a downward trajectory of fake news and alternative facts meshed in a society where all our data is under constant scrutiny? Quite possibly, and brought to the fore through Justin Nardella’s set design whereby the large lens of Big Brother sits front and centre, surveying the audience and all the stage all the time.
Every so often, the big eye turns into a screen where we meet Big Brother, played by Nicholas Woodeson, alongside state announcements made by telescreen newscaster Dona Croll. But as often happens in real life, we soon come to accept its presence as a feature of everyday existence. Whichever interpretation we choose to go with, this production acts out a text that’s as applicable to today’s world as it was to 1948 when Orwell wrote 1984.