★★★

“thumpingly well executed and fervently pursued”

“The enemy within.” Has a ring to it, no? Or what about this? “See It. Say It. Sorted.” Another hoary command broadcast by The Party and also by TfL on the way home. That’s immersive for you.

The relevance of George Orwell’s dystopian how-to guide 1984 rarely has to be overworked. There’s always a poisonous little despot in some benighted land somewhere trying to expunge disloyal thoughts by means of semantic trickery or a bag of rats.

For the purposes of this site specific interpretation of Orwell’s evergreen nightmare, Hackney Town Hall doubled as the Ministry of Truth. A great choice. With its restored art deco panels, plush carpeting and infusion of civic duty, the council chamber supplied the architecture of grand coercion.

Soon you’re believing – as mandated – that our beloved Oceania has always been at war with Eurasia even though someone sidled up to you in the atrium over pre-show drinks and told you that was a lie. A few minutes later he was carted off by party apparatchiks only to return to the production later, bloodied, bruised but presumably purified.

That was also the fate awaiting 6079 Winston Smith (an effective Joe Anderson) who indulged in rebellious pleasures with 2374 Julia (a bewitching Neetika Knight) bringing him to the attention of steel-eyed party enforcer O’Brien (a chillingly smooth Dominic Carter).

O’Brien had earlier occupied the council chamber exhorting us to give ourselves fully to the Party and this production was, in conceit, an assessment of our suitability to work for the Ministry. To that end, perma-smiling cultists greeted us with the disturbing vacancy of the true believer. Later they would brandish the lights, mics and cams of Big Brotherly voyeurism. And later still they would clutch the instruments of blissful torture. Made no difference to them as long as they were serving the Party.

We were numbered, divided and drilled around Hackney Town Hall like the sheeple that we were. The interactive immersion of the prelude gave way to a more conventional, if a tad duller, dichotomy of entertainers and entertained.

That’s the flaw in this immersive process. There’s always a lingering sense of confusion – are we supposed to be saying something? Or simply enjoying the show as docile recipients? Is that the point? The complicity?

That’s not to criticise director Jack Reardon’s snappy production which was thumpingly well executed and fervently pursued. The sound and lighting (Munotida Chinyanga and Ben Jacobs) were mightily impressive. The back projections on a vast wall (Dan Light) were particularly effective in emulating the real-time myth-making so beloved of dictators.

Full credit to the creative team for staging something so steeped in familiar iconography but in a fresh and stimulating way.

However, for all the logistical wizardry and lurid fascistic paraphernalia, the production was at its most engaging when depicting the simple story of two people falling in love against the odds. Despite the eye-catching techno trappings and bleak tarpaulin torture scenes, it was the indomitable need for human connection that made most impact. That was the thoughtcrime we successfully smuggled out into the London evening, right under the watchful eye of Big Brother.

TATTOOER at the Charing Cross Theatre

★★★

“an authentic taste of Japanese theatre and art that Hoaglund’s translation respects”

At first there is silence. A slowly revolving set, plain white but daubed with an insect caught in a web of vivid brush strokes. The characters will gradually get lured into the web too over the next hour and a half. Many metaphors too; enough of them to feed the hungriest black widow. Lanterns hover above, vibrating like moths around a flame, or like the early tremors of an impending earthquake. Another metaphor? Who really knows? Takuya Kaneshima’s play, “Tattooer”, is inscrutable enough to withhold the answers, but open enough to leave us hanging on in the vain hope that we might find them.

Based on, or rather inspired by, the short story – ‘Shisei’ – by renowned Japanese author Jun’ichirō Tanizaki, it centres on Seikichi (Leo Ashizawa), a tattoo artist of high repute whose longtime wish is to ‘carve his soul’ into the skin of a beautiful woman. We never really understand his motives; whether it is merely to create a masterpiece or whether there is something more ominous going on. Seikichi relishes the pain of the tattoo too much. There are explicit undertones of sado-masochism, and there is something sinister and lecherous about him. Coercive even. Far from erotic, it renders Seikichi a wholeheartedly unlikeable character.

Before we meet him, we are introduced to the tattooer’s muse (is ‘tattooee’ a word?). She is Kazuyo, initially frightened but her compliance roots her to her fate. We are plunged into further obscurity by the fact that Kazuyo is split into two characters. Mao Aono is ‘Kazuyo A’ while Aki Nakagawa is ‘Kazuyo B’. The pair give wonderfully restrained and haunting performances. Their movements are sculptured, like ivory netsukes that slot into each other’s bodies and personalities. But like the play itself, our minds are filled with questions that never find their answers. Linda Hoaglund’s translation is as sparse as the original text’s intention, leaving us to rely on the almost mime-like spectacle – at times beautiful, at other times grotesque. Are they two sides of the same woman, are they sisters? Are they body and soul separated? Does Aono represent the pre-tattoo Kazuyo while Nakagawa depicts the aftermath? Are they representations of death and life?

Seikichi drugs Kazuyo A into submission. Kazuyo B wakes up transformed. Nakagawa deftly demonstrates a triumphant cruelty as the roles are reversed and the tattooer seems now to be the victim. But this is where our understanding becomes buried under the weight of allegory. Seikichi blinds himself. A twisted moment but gripping, courtesy of Rob Halliday’s lighting and Hogara Kawai’s direction. Black blood splatters through a crimson haze.

It is a short piece, and we are invited to stay in the auditorium at interval to watch the ink-brush painter Gaku Azuma paint the back of a newly arrived male model. By the second act he has created a work of art that covers the entire playing space (at the end of the run these should be put up for auction). The newcomer is Nozomi de Lencquesaing, an Englishman who has crossed the oceans to find the ‘legend’ that is Seikichi. A touch superfluous, it nevertheless brings the differing cultures closer together. But even without it, the evening is an authentic taste of Japanese theatre and art that Hoaglund’s translation respects. It may be an acquired taste for many, but it is sharp and refreshing. And mystifying. Kazuyo asks of the now blind tattooer; “Am I in the world I see, or the world you see?” We, too, are never entirely sure whose world we are seeing here. Yet it is an intriguing one. Picturesque and alluring, but too much of an enigma that never really gets under the skin.

1984 at Hackney Town Hall

★★★

“thumpingly well executed and fervently pursued”

1984 at Hackney Town Hall

Reviewed on 17th October 2024

by Giles Broadbent

Photography by Maggie Jupe

Previously reviewed by Giles:

1984

1984

TATTOOER at the Charing Cross Theatre

★★★

“an authentic taste of Japanese theatre and art that Hoaglund’s translation respects”

TATTOOER at the Charing Cross Theatre

Reviewed on 17th October 2024

by Jonathan Evans

Photography by Mark Senior

Previously reviewed at this venue:

TATTOOER

TATTOOER

JOIN US