Animal Farm at Stratford East and on tour – review

“Assume good intentions for as long as you can”, so says the playscript’s prefacing notes.

This is the prevailing spirit with which Tatty Hennessy has adapted Orwell’s culturally ubiquitous novel. There’s a sense, long after hairline cracks become cavities in the Animal Farm’s idyll, that things might still get better – with the right crisis of conscience, the right rousing speech. Which in turn makes it all the more heartbreaking when it all goes to the pigs.

No longer set in the picture-perfect bucolic farm, Hayley Grindle’s set sees an industrial landscape: metal cages, steel scaffolding and Farmer Jones’ glass-enclosed concrete barn bearing over it all. The animals are signified, not with twee masks or matching costumes, but crude labels stamped on their backs. Director Amy Leach has no intention of disguising this political allegory as a charming pastoral folk story.

While Orwell intended a parallel with 20th century Soviet Russia, it’s not hard to make the leap to contemporary politics here, at least in the vagaries: fake news and conspiracy theories abounding, politicians flat-out lying or accusing their enemies of their own crimes, and, the prevailing message of the evening, all animals are equal, but some are more equal than others.

Robin Morrissey is brilliant as the pigs’ visionary, Snowball; a strong, charismatic leader whose tyranny we only glimpse before he’s run out of the farm. The more complicated Napoleon, played by Tachia Newall, is not a natural leader. Newall plays him as likeable, but stroppy. And his head is all too easily turned by the seemingly deferential “comrade” Squealer (Tom Simper) who, we’ll discover, is the real tyrant all along. Simper’s performance is artfully disquieting. He appears so sweet and fragile when accused of stealing milk from the other animals, you don’t just want to believe he intends no harm, but that, in fact, it’s his head that’s being turned by unseen forces. It’s only the steady accumulation of small actions – a casual suggestion here, a quiet word there – that illustrate his immense ability to manipulate.

But more disconcerting than the grabs for power is the growing lack of nuanced discussion. Brydie Service’s Clara, the chicken, delivers a heartrending, distressing speech after she’s lost her hatchlings and been accused of betraying the farm. While she dramatically confesses, it seems obvious that she’s being sarcastic. She couldn’t possibly be guilty of the crimes of which she’s being accused. And yet, the words have been spoken, she can now be quoted as saying she did it, and that’s that. Her bloody demise is the tipping point in which good intentions are now well and truly dead.

Leach has incorporated a lot of sign language into the production, which combines beautifully with the already very physical character work. There’s also a live audio description every night, narrated by Everal A Walsh who plays Old Major. While he only has a small part at the story’s beginning – making him ideal to come off stage and audio-describe for the rest of the show – his “small part” is a booming speech, which he delivers with regal gravitas. And given he’s narrating in character, I imagine this gives a new layer to the storytelling which I wouldn’t mind listening to myself.

Having read, studied and watched Animal Farm more times than we’ve had prime ministers in the last ten years, you would think I’ve heard it enough. But Leach’s clear-eyed and unfussy production reminds me that unfortunately this is a story as relevant as ever.