Animal Farm: theatre review

Last night I watched the premier of a production of Animal Farm by Rabbit in Headlights (@RabbitinHead) at the Grove Theatre Eastbourne. It was wonderful.

It dramatised and retold the George Orwell story using a cast of just six actors, each one of whom was excellent. I couldn’t imagine a Napoleon more like Napoleon (Neil James); he really brought out the arrogance and ruthlessness of a political leader. Squealer (Jodie Kenison) was cunning and duplicitous with the gift of the gab and a sinister way of twisting the truth to suit her propaganda purposes: I loved reading the expressions on her face as she thought on her feet and manipulated her audience. Michael Bucke was a convincing Snowball and even better in the second half as an Eeyorish Benjamin the donkey. Katina Thomas was a delightful Molly, the horse seduced away from the farm by sugar and a stroke on the neck; she also played the preaching raven and one of the pigs (her performance as Napoleon's tame poet was fabulous). Abi McLoughlin was excellent as the storyteller and Clover. Last but by no means least, Boxer was played by Sharon Drain, the carthorse whose personal motto is ‘I will work harder’ and who loyally assumes that Napoleon the leader must be right, even when that belief is tested far beyond the limits of credulity. I think Boxer stole the show, although for me I could not distinguish between the actors: they were all brilliant and they harmonised perfectly on stage; it was a pitch-perfect ensemble performance.

Thank goodness the production did away with masks or intrusive makeup; most of the actors were ‘animalised’ by the simple device of wearing a teeshirt. It reminded me of a performance of Equus in which, rather than the elaborate masks of puppetry that is suggested in the playscript, the actor playing the main horse ‘became’ a horse simply by stiffening his arms, whinnying and trembling all over. The stand-out moments of the production for me were the heel-toe (clip-clop) way ‘Boxer’ walked across the stage, the ‘puppiness’ of Sharon Drain when she played a dog, and the moment when Michael Bucke became a chicken both in body and in voice.

It wasn’t long, about 45 minutes in each half. The writing (a superb adaptation by Ian Woolridge) perfectly captured the essence of the book. There was a slideshow of the faces of leaders before and after the performance but I don’t think this was needed: although some knowledge of the history of the Soviet Union might have enabled me to appreciate some of the nuances of the story, I can’t imagine anyone not being able to extrapolate from the antics of the animals to the cynicism and mendacity of modern politicians. It’s about power, innit.