Reviews

1984

9 December 2009

With multi-media now being a regular, if not expected, facet of the
theatrical scene it is refreshing to see a company who are taking it back to
basics. Puppet aficionados Blind Summit Theatre do just that with their
low-tech version of George Orwell’s seminal 1984. Their
consummate ‘here’s one I made earlier’ style makes for a vibrant evening that
will open this text to an audience whose only knowledge of Big Brother is via
Channel 4. But ultimately their image of this dystopia is too safe; if
Orwell’s vision of the future was a boot stamping on a human face, Blind Summit
choose to see it as a teenager’s trainer, tapping gently.

With nothing but ‘honest props’, titled scenes and a sardonically
vocal chorus, Orwell’s tale of love, betrayal and the pointless fight for
freedom is unveiled by seven comrades in an upfront comedic production that
Brecht would have applauded roundly.

Blind Summit’s co-artistic directors, Mark Down and Nick Barnes,
bring a three-dimensional comic book feel to each scene, both in the carefully
outlined performances and quirky punchy set. Only a
handful of puppets make an appearance but they certainly make a statement;
their expressive heads made from angular cardboard and soft cotton bodies
belying their basic construction to spring to life with great sophistication. In a reversal of power it is their style that leads the movement;
the cast’s overblown physicality mirroring a puppet’s alien ability to be both
loose and precise simultaneously.

And so these highly skilled performers are at once fluid rag dolls
and stiff finger puppets. But whilst this playfully optimistic form makes for
some amusing and impressive moments, it gets in the way of a true telling of
Orwell’s desperate and sinister story. If Gergo Danka’s portrayal of
O’Brien, albeit grotesquely impressive, reminds me of the mockable Gestapo
office in ‘Allo Allo’, this cannot be a good thing. Only Julia Innocenti,
whose Julia is a potent combination of sensual swinging hips and stubborn
flashing eyes, and Simon Scardifield, with his wistful idealistic Winston,
are allowed to break from the fold at any point and piercingly communicate with
the audience.

Chris Branch’s haunting techno score, with its ambient melodies
and witty computerized beats is at points disturbingly emotive, going some way
to breaking the ‘jolly’ appeal of the rest. But ultimately the bite has been
taken from this 1984, in a youth friendly make-over that
will entertain but only superficially engage, never asking enough of its
audience to fully explore the emotional terror at the centre of Orwell’s
masterpiece.

– Honour Bayes