Just received an email from an old friend who went to the theatre the other night back home. Specifically, he went to the theatre in Wash DC, my old stomping ground. And what did he see? 1984 as play, eh? Done by a bunch of iPhone totting liberals, I bet. Oh well. Obviously, as worstwriter and failed playwright, I can’t let this one go by without worst-comment. And so…
George Orwell been put to the stage eh. Whoop-dee-f’n-doo! More of the same pseudo-intellectual regurgitation mixed with uncreative minds—what else can compulsive behaviourists working in “theatre” do? So how is Winston’s hole in the wall? And what about those intimidating rats? Room-101 still missing a hinge on the door? Does Julia spit or swallow—for big brother? The only problem with Orwell right now is that it’s probably too late to figure him out or even apply what he wrote to what’s going on politically in this worst-world. More appropriate (at this time) would be Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar, which was done in NYC during and after Trump’s election. I kinda cover that here.
Doing 1984 (as a play) now because of Trump only reassures me that I’ve always been right about the psuedo creative environment of #Americant theatre—especially New York or London theatre. I mean, if there’s any proof of the lack of creativity in the arts right now, it’s in these places. And since we live a world that has long forgotten how to nurture creativity, I suppose this is all that’s left to be done. My worst-point being: it’s too late to show people Orwell. He should have been all over stages and airwaves in the early 90s when Faux Newz started in the US. Btw, conservatives figured out in the 70s that to circumvent the antifascist ideals Orwell espoused, just let the masses consume themselves to death. Yeah, baby. Consume-to-surivive. Seems to have worked very well up to now. But I digress.