1984 is one of those novels that everyone thinks they’ve read, perhaps because we are constantly reminded, by commentators from across the political spectrum, how Big Brother is always watching us, whether Big Brother is the spooks, the marketers or the EU. So, despite being nearly70 years old, it’s a tale that always seems contemporary and politically relevant.But it is sometimes forgotten that at the heart of 1984 is a tragic love story: In a totalitarian dystopia, two reluctant Party members find a way to conduct an illegal love affair, away from the prying eyes of the authorities until, inevitably, they are betrayed and our hero, Winston Smith, succumbs to the brutal brainwashing of the regime.
Unsurprisingly, (some might say predictably), Jonathan Watkins’s retelling of the story for Northern Ballet focuses on its romantic aspect, and if you come looking forward to the odd romantic pas de deux then you won’t be disappointed. But the piece is at its best in its depiction of the background against which the romance takes place. The Party members, the Proles (the uneducated underclass) and the lovers are nicely differentiated and defined by each group’s physical language (the angularity of the Party members, the fluidity of the lovers, the ground-hugging exuberance of the Proles), which is easily accessible to an audience unfamiliar with the genre and emphasised by Simon Daw’s unfussy, functional design. Andrzej Goulding’s LED telescreens provide some visual fun as well as some much-needed menace, letting us know when Big Brother is watching and when he isn’t (which is helpful). And we understand that it’s the Proles who are having all the fun, which may not be the most enlightened political message, but there it is.
Alex Baranowski’s pleasant score, with its nods to 20th century minimalism alongside 19th century romanticism is efficiently cinematic in its storytelling: The hit-points are hit, the moods are unambiguously set for us. But the emotional heights and depths remain un-reached and un-plumbed and this, disappointingly, is a significant problem with the whole piece: The story is set up in exemplary fashion, but there is no follow-through
Tobias Batley as Winston and Martha Leebolt as Julia dance with great virtuosity and they work together with assurance and familiarity, but their passion never reveals itself, even when BB isn’t watching. O’Brien, danced by Javier Torres, is a baddie from the moment he appears and never gets any better or any worse. Scenes of supposedly vicious torture and mind control amount to little more than a bit of firm persuasion, and the sex is embarrassingly polite. (Two fully-clothed lovers get into bed, pull the covers over them and turn the lights out.)
Northern Ballet is making some interesting programme choices and 1984 left me sufficiently convinced of their potential to want to go back and give them another chance to thrill me. But in a thoroughly comfortable couple of hours, my heart-rate wavered not once in either direction. Almost as if the thought-police had got there first.
In 2004 film maker Alexander Payne adapted Rex Pickett’s semi-autobiographical novel about a two man stag trip through America’s wine producing regions, the result was an academy award and an upsurge in the popularity of Pinot Noir. Now Picket has returned to his hit book and dramatised it for the stage. I'm new to the party having neither read the book, seen the film or chosen wine based on either.