★★★

“well worth a jaunt back 400 years, if only to take a peek at ourselves”

“All is God’s will,” declares Puritan father Richard Edwards, trying to find comfort in his serial bereavement.

The Almighty’s works appear particularly capricious and cruel in writer/director Joanna Carrick’s careful re-examination of the 1645 witchcraft trials of Mistley and Manningtree.

Such is the Lord’s evident delight in his culling that he picks up his pace until his efforts appear indistinguishable from those of the Devil who also frequents these rural Essex byways, scaring horses, killing cows and taking the form of kitlings to fool innocent girls.

Despite this and with mighty hearts, Richard and wife Susan resolve on joy. They re-commit themselves to sin-free lives to ensure the next child escapes the Lord’s rapacious harvest and makes it out the cradle.

However, into this set-up comes tormented mope and wannabe witch-finder Matthew Hopkins (Vincent Moisy, burdened with a stutter and too many calcified pronouncements). He has other ideas, seeing sin everywhere but most especially in women who, in his eyes, are minxes, fornicators and sufficiently vacant between the ears for the Devil to take up residence without overcrowding.

From this brew – tragedy, suspicion, grief, religious fervour – a story of slow-burn paranoia and witchcraft emerges. Eventually, for the purposes of this drama, all is heaped on gullible and blubbing Rebecca West (a deft cameo by Rei Mordue) who exposes the hollow posturings of the vainglorious Matthew by dint of being little more than a screeching, immature girl playing silly games.

It is a time of superstition, mass delusion, blame, shame and misogyny. Never more relevant then.

The heart of this drama, though, remains the couple. Nadia Jackson as Susan gives a gut-wrenching portrayal of fathomless grief while booming Christopher Ashman is powerful and charming as a man with a predisposition to joy who finds himself lost in a world he once commanded but now rarely understands.

Under Carrick’s direction, this episodic play is never more effective than when these two are fumbling and flirting their way into an initially well-starred marriage. Their union remains strong, their chemistry palpable, and it is a shame that we lose sight of them when the story demands they temporarily relinquish character and each other in order to hurry home the message.

Indeed, these two performances outpace a script which never quite moves fast enough and, at times, becomes too enamoured of its own research, preferring a meticulous accumulation of oddities to a truly gripping rampant maelstrom of hysteria.

Susan’s growing bitterness and Richard’s surrender to casuistry are the slow, remorseless drumbeat of the piece. Don’t lose focus, we cry from the dark.

Although the drama never truly reaches the cathartic heights the story demands, these two performances of intensity and passion are truly admirable. The Ungodly is well worth a jaunt back 400 years, if only to take a peek at ourselves.

1984 at Hackney Town Hall

★★★

“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.

THE UNGODLY at Southwark Playhouse Borough

★★★

“well worth a jaunt back 400 years, if only to take a peek at ourselves”

THE UNGODLY at Southwark Playhouse Borough

Reviewed on 24th October 2024

by Giles Broadbent

Photography by Bernie Totten

Previously reviewed at Southwark Playhouse venues:

THE UNGODLY

THE UNGODLY

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