The Esplanade's Theatre was filled to the brim on opening night. As I sat down between the sound box and a loving couple who took pictures before the curtains raised. My only gripe, how he had a terrible habit of slamming into the back of his seat, rocking the row of seats.
Having never read 1984, the stage adaption Robert Icke and Duncan Macmillian opens in a confusing fashion. The ensemble spoke over each other in a speed too fast to grasp much apart from a vague understanding that they were spouting maxims about truth and society. Maybe, it was a bad idea to not have read the book first.
And then, it came. At first a creeping cackling that slithers from your ears down your spine. Then, blinding white neon lights flash. I jumped in my seat.
And the flashes kept coming as we leap (for me, literally too) between episodic moments of hallucination and clarity. We follow Winston (Tom Conroy) working in one of the ministry's correcting history by removing people who have been "unperson"-ed; a punishment dealt to people who perform thought crime - a crime of merely thinking of transgression. And the realisation that Big Brother might not be telling the whole truth.
Between repeated scenes that look similar but not quite the same, and actors who seem to be reusing the each others' lines over and over, we see Winston falling in love with a fellow colleague, Julia (Rose Riley). Their forbidden love in a secret room in an antique store is projected to the stage via film. Winston's simmering hate culminating in him joining a revolution called the Brotherhood. Before getting caught and tortured by O'Brien (Terence Crawford), one of the highest ranking politicians; the man who had initially spurred him on.
Film was integrated seamlessly into the piece of theatre by the creative team. Although it did initially strike me as odd since one is routinely confronted with the question of whether film would come to replace theatre, the use of film was woven beautifully into the plot as a plot device; the filmed moments of Winston and Julia were revealed to be moments surveilled by Big Brother. The "traditional" theatre sets and lights graced the stage with an intangible enchantment transforming the same set transform from a room in the Ministry of Truth, to the corridor of Winston's residence, to that of a passing train.
But this stage adaptation was more than just pretty.
That much was clear as the cast shattered the fourth wall, turned on the house lights and projected live footage of O'Brien's final torture of Winston. Were any of us ready to stop what we saw in front of us?
Whatever SIFA's reason for bringing 1984 to our shores, it was chillingly relevant given Singapore's latest season of politics: the AGC's prosecution of Li Shengwu's private Facebook posting; Sylvia Lim taken to task for her test-balloon comment; Oxley Road; and the back-and-forth with the Select Committee conduct at the Deliberate Online Falsehoods' hearing.
But the most poignant moment for me was my own personal moment of double-speak (the simultaneous holding of 2 contradictory thoughts in one's head) when O'Brien confronted Winston about the answer to 2 + 2 and electrocuting Winston every time he answered 4. Winston protested and protested until he succumbed to the pain, saying 5 while in his mind still meaning 4. That still earned him more torture.
Yet, here I was accepting that O'Brien's outstretched hand had 5 fingers at first glance. What the hell? What has Singapore done to me? Why was my mind so ready to fit the contradictory narrative given by a figure of authority? Are we our own enemy?
After the applause, the curtains drew to a close. The house lights come on. I look to the couple on my right and realise that I had also been jumping in my seat each time the stage burst into its neon flash. The couple didn't seem to mind, lost in each other. The voice over announced special thanks to the National Arts Council; Singapore Tourism Board; the Ministry of Culture, Community and Youth; and its corporate sponsors as the audience shuffled out.