Non-presenza: il 1984 della compagnia Headlong e lo schermo in scena
10.13125/2039-6597/3335
La drammatizzazione di 1984 della compagnia Headlong (2013) e il ruolo svoltovi da uno schermo largo come il palco sono qui studiati come un buon esempio delle funzioni rilevanti e specifiche che il video può avere in uno spettacolo piuttosto tradizionale. Dopo una sintesi del rapporto fra lo schermo in scena e i ‘teleschermi’ del romanzo, un’analisi semiologica delle immagini mediate mostra che lo schermo di 1984 è eccezionale, in quanto identifica il pubblico con la Polizia del Pensiero, ma anche esemplare della capacità del video di portare in scena l’alterità di ‘una presenza che non c’è’.
application/pdf
2039-6597
3335
16
en
Vera Cantoni
Between
playwriting
Unpresence: Headlong’s 1984 and the screen on stage
Text.Serial.Journal
https://ojs.unica.it/index.php/between
8
Essay
2018-12-11
2018-05-31
2018-12-02
2018-12-11
1
Vera Cantoni
2018/12/11
10.13125/2039-6597/3335
Università di Pavia
2039-6597
16
playwriting
en
Unpresence: Headlong’s 1984 and the screen on stage
https://ojs.unica.it/index.php/between/article/download/3335/3115
8
              Unpresence:  
    Headlong’s  1984  and  the  screen  on  
                  stage  
                                     Vera  Cantoni  


                                     Introduction  
        Neither  the  relevance  of  ‘telescreens’  in  George  Orwell’s  dystopia  
nor   the   presence   of   screens   on   a   stage   were   something   new   when  
theatre   company   Headlong’s1   Robert   Icke   and   Duncan   Macmillan  
created  their  2013  dramatization  of  Nineteen  Eighty-­‐‑Four.  Yet  the  use  of  
video  they  devised  for  their  adaptation  provides  some  theoretical  food  
for   thought   because   of   its   meaningfulness,   variety   and   consistency.  
Moreover,  its  importance  within  the  production  is  clearly  shown  by  the  
fact   that   projections   are   described   in   the   script   as   part   of   the   drama’s  
development.   Therefore,   I   mean   to   analyse   the   role   of   the   screen   in  
Headlong’s   1984   as   a   significant   example   of   what   can   be   done   –   both  
directly   and   indirectly   –   by   including   video   sequences   in   a   theatrical  
performance.  




      1
             Headlong  is  a  British  Arts  Council  funded  touring  theatre  company,  
well   known   for   fostering   emerging   talents   and   producing   new   writing.  
Founded  in  1974,  it  was  formerly  called  the  Oxford  Stage  Company  and  took  
its  present  name  in  2006  under  artistic  director  Rupert  Goold,  who  was  still  
at  the  helm  when  1984  was  produced.  


Between, vol. 8, n. 16 (Novembre/ November 2018)
Vera Cantoni, Unpresence: Headlong’s 1984 and the screen on stage




       Recorded  images  have  been  part  of  theatre  performances  since  the  
early   twentieth   century2;   towards   the   end   of   the   millennium,  
technological   advancements   have   overcome   practical   difficulties   and    
multiplied   opportunities   for   their   use.   What   is   more,   the   proliferation  
of   screens   in   daily   life   has   made   their   presence   on   stage   increasingly  
imperative   for   a   realistic   depiction   of   the   contemporary   world.   Also,  
accompanying  live  action  with  a  display  of  moving  images  and  texts  is  
a   simple   way   to   comply   with   the   widespread   habit   of   attending   to  
several   sources   of   information   simultaneously:   if   the   necessity   to  
engage  the  audience  through  different  channels  at  the  same  time  could  
already   be   perceived   as   a   consequence   of   a   “now”   multiple  
environment  in  1967  (Milder  2009:  116),  its  strength  fifty  years  later  is  
overwhelming.   It   is   therefore   no   surprise   that   screens   should   appear  
nowadays   on   most   theatre   stages   not   only   in   either   technically   or  
artistically   advanced   contexts   but   also   as   part   of   rather   traditional  
productions.   So   much   so   that   they   have   gradually   lost   their   novelty  
and   the   usage   of   such   devices   outside   avant-­‐‑guard   intermedial  
experiments  is  no  longer  bound  to  be  considered  a  mere  fad.  
       Though  they  are  no  longer  the  latest  craze  for  theatre  productions,  
recorded  (or  live-­‐‑fed)  images  often  play  roles  that  still  lack  specificity,  
such  as:  contributing  to  the  creation  of  a  believable  twenty-­‐‑first-­‐‑century  
reality;   providing   a   varied   and   movable   scenery   (much   like   rolled  
panoramas   did   in   the   nineteenth   century);   or   presenting   a   second   (or  
further)   simultaneous   dramatic   action   which   could   equally   be  
performed   live   in   a   more   or   less   definitely   demarcated   acting   area.    
Icke   and   Macmillan’s   1984   constitutes   an   interesting   example   of   how  
video  can  have  on  the  contrary  a  quite  irreplaceable  function  as  part  of  
a   single,   consistent   narrative.   Of   course,   the   production’s   themes   are  
not   irrelevant,   yet   this   particular   instance   can   also   be   read   as  
exemplifying   two   essential   possibilities   video   offers   to   dramatic  
performances  in  general.  


           For  a  historical  perspective  on  the  question  of  film  and  video  on  stage,  
       2

see   Greg   Giesekam’s   Staging   the   Screen:   The   Use   of   Film   and   Video   in   Theatre  
(2007).    


2
                                                    Between, vol. 8, n. 16 (Novembre/November 2018)




                    Nineteen  Eighty-­‐‑Four’s  telescreens  
        A  dramatisation  of  Nineteen  Eighty-­‐‑Four  is  obviously  apt  to  feature  
a  meaningful  use  of  screens  on  stage.  Although  in  a  way  that  has  little  
to  do  with  the  ‘reality’  Big  Brother  format,  a  peculiar  kind  of  television  
is  central  to  Orwell’s  dystopia.  ‘Telescreens’  are  almost  omnipresent  in  
Oceania:  they  are  usually  placed  so  as  to  command  each  room  entirely  
(Orwell  1991:  5)  as  well  as  open  spaces  (at  least  within  cities,  ibid.:  113)  
and   they   cannot   be   turned   off   (ibid.:   2)3.   Their   importance   for   the  
preservation  of  IngSoc  (the  totalitarian  state’s  ideology)  is  paramount4  
and  their  role  is  double:  their  programmes  fill  every  moment  of  party  
members’  lives  with  orthodox  words  and  images,  fabricated  news  and  
engineered   entertainment   that   nourish   their   love   of   Big   Brother   and  
strengthen  their  hate  of  the  system’s  enemies;  and  telescreens  dominate  
everybody’s   actions,   not   only   by   issuing   orders   but   also   and   more  
pervasively  by  spying  anywhere  and  at  any  given  time.  
        Thus  propaganda  and  control  constitute  the  main  functions  of  the  
telescreens,   which   are   transmitters   and   receivers   at   the   same   time.  
Though   their   consequences   may   be   less   momentous   than   those   of  
direct  indoctrination  and  personal  mutual  snooping  (Luegenbiehl  1984:  
296-­‐‑7),   they   are   presented   in   the   novel   itself,   within   the   apparently  
accurate  analysis  of  IngSoc  attributed  to  its  chief  detractor  and  enemy  
Goldstein,   as   the   key   technological   achievement   of   the   totalitarian  
state:  

         With  the  development  of  television,  and  the  technical  advance  
       which  made  it  possible  to  receive  and  transmit  simultaneously  on  

       3
            There  are,  of  course,  exceptions,  but  significantly  extreme:  on  the  one  
hand,  the  houses  of  ‘proles’  are  often  free  of  telescreens,  because  the  working  
masses   are   regarded   as   little   more   than   animals   (ibid.:   71-­‐‑2);   on   the   other,  
Inner  Party  members  can  apparently  turn  them  off  (although  this  statement  
may   be   part   of   the   illusions   to   which   Winston   succumbs   on   the   subject   of  
O’Brien,  ibid.:  169)  because  there  is  no  need  for  Big  Brother’s  communication  
devices  at  the  core  of  the  system  he  represents.  
      4
            See  for  instance  Varricchio  1999.  


                                                                                                      3
Vera Cantoni, Unpresence: Headlong’s 1984 and the screen on stage



      the  same  instrument,  private  life  came  to  an  end.  Every  citizen,  or  
      at   least   every   citizen   important   enough   to   be   worth   watching,  
      could   be   kept   for   twenty-­‐‑four   hours   a   day   under   the   eyes   of   the  
      police   and   in   the   sound   of   official   propaganda,   with   all   other  
      channels   of   communication   closed.   The   possibility   of   enforcing  
      not  only  complete  obedience  to  the  will  of  the  State,  but  complete  
      uniformity   of   opinion   on   all   subjects,   now   existed   for   the   first  
      time.  (Orwell  1991:  205-­‐‑6)  

       As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  symbolical,  if  not  practical,  significance  of  
this   duplicity   is   also   suggested   by   the   fact   that   it   is   one   of   the   few  
aspects   of   Oceania’s   technologies   that   does   not   reflect   something  
already   in   existence,   at   least   experimentally,   in   the   1940s   (see  
Luegenbiehl   1984:   292),   a   rare   point   on   which   the   author   chose   to  
depart   from   this   extreme   proximity   as   well   as   from   the   general  
technological  regression  displayed  by  his  dystopian  world  (ibid.:  293-­‐‑7;  
Orwell   1991:   188-­‐‑9,   193-­‐‑5).   As   an   emblem   of   the   totalitarian   state’s  
pervasiveness,   telescreens   are   therefore   extremely   likely   to   appear   in  
any  visual  rendering  of  Nineteen  Eighty-­‐‑Four.  
       What  is  more,  transceiver  screens  constitute  a  promising  key  to  a  
comparison   between   Orwell'ʹs   invention   and   twenty-­‐‑first-­‐‑century  
reality,   in   that   similar   objects   –   smartphones,   tablets   and   the   quickly  
expanding   internet   of   things   –   are   nowadays   actually   omnipresent.   If  
already  in  1984  Umberto  Eco  could  point  out  that  closed-­‐‑circuit  control  
was   no   longer   a   matter   of   state-­‐‑of-­‐‑the-­‐‑art   innovation   but   something  
people  had  grown  used  to  in  all  public  places  (Eco  1984:  X),  thirty  years  
later,  routine  monitoring  is  gradually  spreading  to  private  lives,  for  the  
sake   of   security,   health,   communications   or   just   comfort.   Eco’s  
contention   that   this   is   one   of   the   reasons   why   Nineteen   Eighty-­‐‑Four  
could   be   read   as   a   topical   book   concerning   the   present,   rather   than   a  
futuristic   totalitarian   society,   appears   to   be   even   stronger   after   the  
successful   proliferation   of   personal   devices   that   can   indeed   record   as  
well   as   suggest   all   sorts   of   activities.   The   manifold   functions   of  
separate   existing   objects   that   Orwell   unified   in   the   telescreens   are  
currently   often   performed   by   smartphones,   that   can   as   a   matter   of  



4
                                                 Between, vol. 8, n. 16 (Novembre/November 2018)




course  strike  the  hours  (Orwell  1991:  27),  wake  up  their  owners  (ibid.:  
31),  notify  them  of  the  time  for  specific  activities  (ibid.:  63),  assist  them  
in   their   work   (ibid.:   38),         provide   them   with   news   (ibid.:   57-­‐‑8)   and  
entertainment   (ibid.:   77)   and   even   monitor   sport   and   fitness  
performances   (ibid.:   31-­‐‑2,   35-­‐‑7)   or   check   vital   functions   (ibid.:   79).  
Obviously,   this   is   not   to   say   that   IngSoc   has   triumphed   by   means   of  
computer   science,   but   that   nearly   seventy   years   after   its   composition  
and   more   than   three   decades   after   its   fictional   date   it   is   through   the  
telescreens   that   Orwell'ʹs   novel   appears   to   comment   on   widely   felt  
concerns   regarding   the   protection   of   privacy   and   the   power   of   new  
media.   It   is   therefore   to   be   expected   that   they   should   feature  
prominently  in  a  2013  dramatization  of  the  book.  
       The   force   of   this   connection   and   its   skilful   employment   in   Icke  
and  Macmillan’s  work  can  both  be  observed  by  looking  at  the  curious  
success  story  of  a  single  line  in  their  script.  O’Brien’s  assertion  that  the  
people  are  not  going  to  revolt  because  “they  will  not  look  up  from  their  
screens   long   enough   to   notice   what’s   really   happening”   (Icke   –  
Macmillan  2013:  85)  is  one  of  the  few  sentences  in  the  play  that  are  not  
taken   from   the   novel.   It   may   be   considered   a   rather   obvious  
interpolation,  because  the  image  of  people  (not)  looking  up  from  their  
screens   implies   that   they   usually   look   down   on   them,   so   it   is   quite  
appropriate  in  the  case  of  handheld  devices,  but  it  does  not  make  sense  
in  Orwell'ʹs  Oceania,  where  telescreens  are  set  in  walls  (Orwell  1991:  2).  
In  point  of  fact,  O’Brien’s  expression  does  not  apply  to  the  world  of  the  
play   either,   for   on   stage   the   transceivers   are   represented   by   an  
enormous  screen  that  dominates  the  acting  area  from  above.  This  quick  
but   unmistakeable   breach   of   fictional   reality   highlights   the   dramatic  
authors’   will   to   emphasize   how   Nineteen   Eighty-­‐‑Four   speaks   to   the  
present  and  prompts  the  audience  to  compare  what  they  see  with  their  
daily   experience.   Its   relevance   in   Icke   and   Macmillan’s   design   is  
confirmed  by  the  fact  that  not  only  the  words  O’Brien  uses  but  also  the  
ideas  he  expresses  do  not  belong  to  Orwell’s  dystopia:  in  the  novel,  the  
masses   do   not   revolt   mainly   because   they   are   “stupefied   by   poverty”  
(ibid.:   190)   and   because   “so   long   as   they   are   not   permitted   to   have  
standards  of  comparison,  they  never  even  become  aware  that  they  are  


                                                                                                 5
Vera Cantoni, Unpresence: Headlong’s 1984 and the screen on stage




oppressed”  (ibid.:  207)5.  Also  the  reference  to  what  is  really  happening  
clashes  with  O’Brien’s  teaching  that  “reality  is  not  external”  (ibid.:  249)  
but  exists  “only  in  the  mind  of  the  Party”    (ibid.).  Such  a  general  breach  
of   the   fictional   world’s   verisimilitude,   occurring   exactly   when   a  
connection  with  the  audience’s  daily  life  is  suggested,  has  the  markings  
of  a  Brechtian  Verfremdungseffekt,  designed  to  jolt  the  spectators  out  of  
the  dramatic  illusion  and  prompt  a  conscious  reflection  on  their  part.  
          The  authors’  success  appears  overwhelming,  on  the  one  hand,  in  
focusing   the   attention   of   both   spectators   and   critics:   the   interpolated  
statement   was   quoted   repeatedly   in   reviews   (e.g.   Coveney   2014;  
Maxwell  2014;  Richardson  2015;  Teachout  2017)  and  innumerable  times  
in  blogs,  posts  on  social  media  and  other  non-­‐‑professional  writings.  On  
the   other   hand,   a   troublingly   large   part   of   those   references   is   either  
ambiguous  or  incorrect  as  to  the  sentence’s  origin,  thus  suggesting  the  
interest   they   manifest   may   have   been   less   clear-­‐‑sighted   than   Icke   and  
Macmillan   hoped.   A   meaningful   example   is   the   internet   meme  
coupling   the   line   with   a   photo   of   people   watching   their   smartphones  
instead   of   interacting   in   what   is   supposed   to   be   a   social   situation,  
which  constantly  presents  the  words  as  Orwell’s,  sometimes  specifying  
they  were  written  in  1949:  some  felt  the  urgency  to  circulate  the  idea  by  
means   of   their   “screen-­‐‑endowed   devices”   rather   than   giving   it   some  
critical  thought,  in  what  seems  to  be  a  sad  confirmation  of  its  validity.    
The  silver  lining  of  this  possible  cloud  is  that  the  adaptors  managed  to  
write  something  that  seems  to  blend  perfectly  into  the  original  text  and  
draws  attention  to  its  twenty-­‐‑first-­‐‑century  topicality.  Michael  Coveney  
summed  it  up  in  his  comment  on  the  quotation:  “Is  that  Orwell?  If  so,  
it'ʹs  another  sign  of  inexhaustible  prophecy;  if  not,  it  sounds  dead  right”  
(2014).  



       5
            Once   again,   these   statements   are   part   of   the   book-­‐‑within-­‐‑the-­‐‑book  
attributed   to   Goldstein,   but   its   analysis   is   endorsed   by   both   rebel   Winston  
Smith,   who   finds   it   articulates   his   own   thoughts   (ibid.:   200),   and   Party-­‐‑man  
O’Brien,   who   says   its   description   of   contemporary   society   is   correct   (ibid.:  
261).  


6
                                                  Between, vol. 8, n. 16 (Novembre/November 2018)




                                   Headlong’s  1984  
       This   is   not   the   place   to   discuss   Icke   and   Macmillan’s  
dramatisation   as   a   whole:   co-­‐‑devised   by   a   director-­‐‑playwright   and   a  
playwright-­‐‑director,   it   is   a   complex   transmediation,   the   words   of  
which   are   almost   exclusively   the   novel’s,   while   the   structure   is  
theatrical   throughout,   and   thus   different   on   all   counts.   Yet   an  
investigation  of  the  role  played  in  it  by  the  on-­‐‑stage  screen  requires  a  
short   reflection   on   two   main   interrelated   points.   Even   before   that,   it  
may  be  worth  remarking  that  the  production  has  enjoyed  a  prolonged  
and  widespread  success,  which  supplements  its  meaningfulness  as  an  
example,   for   it   has   engaged   spectators   from   very   different  
backgrounds:   it   premiered   at   the   Nottingham   Playhouse   (which   co-­‐‑
produced  it)  in  2013,  toured  the  UK  and  then  opened  in  London,  at  the  
innovative   Almeida   theatre,   in   2014;   a   few   months   later   it   transferred  
to   the   Playhouse   Theatre,   in   the   West   End,   where   it   returned   in   2015,  
after   a   second   national   tour,   and   then   again   in   2016,   following  
performances   in   Santa   Monica,   Boston   and   Washington;   it   visited  
Melbourne  in  2015  and  then  toured  Australia  in  2017;  in  2017  it  ran  at  
the  Hudson  Theatre,  Broadway.  
       In   adapting   Orwell'ʹs   Nineteen   Eighty-­‐‑Four   for   the   stage,   Icke   and  
Macmillan   decided   to   give   full   attention   to   the   consequences   of   two  
pieces  of  fictional  paratext:  the  appendix  on  Oceania’s  official  language  
‘The   Principles   of   Newspeak’   (Orwell   1991:   299-­‐‑312),   and   the   note  
referring   to   it   (ibid.:   4),   the   importance   of   which   is   proved   by   the   fact  
that  the  author  was  even  ready  to  imperil  the  American  edition  of  the  
novel  if  it  could  not  include  them  (Icke  –  Macmillan  2013:  10-­‐‑16).  Their  
equivalent   in   a   play   text   would   apparently   be   a   note   and   an   essay   in  
the  production’s  programme  or  in  the  published  version  of  the  script,  
and   as   such   they   would   go   unnoticed   by   most   spectators.   A   direct  
dramatisation   of   their   scientific   style   and   historical-­‐‑linguistic   subject  
would   probably   require   a   second   and   quite   different   play.   What   the  

      6
           See   Orwell’s   letters   to   Leonard   Moore,   17/03/1949   (Orwell   2013:   452-­‐‑
3),  and  to  Sir  Richard  Rees,  08/04/1949  (ibid.:  459).  


                                                                                                  7
Vera Cantoni, Unpresence: Headlong’s 1984 and the screen on stage




theatrical   authors   opted   for   is   a   production   focusing   on   the   fictional  
paratext’s  capital  –  although  unspoken  –  point  that  the  book  dates  from  
a   later   time   in   which   Newspeak   is   not   the   official   language   and   even  
needs   to   be   described   and   explained.   “Newspeak   was   the   official  
language  of  Oceania”  (Orwell  1991:  4,  my  emphasis),  the  note  says,  and  
according  to  the  appendix  “it  was  expected  that  Newspeak  would  have  
finally  superseded  Oldspeak  (or  Standard  English,  as  we  should  call  it)  
by   about   the   year   2050”   (ibid.:   299).   It   stands   to   reason,   although   it  
cannot  be  taken  for  granted,  that  IngSoc  has  failed:  if  “the  Revolution  
will  be  complete  when  the  language  is  perfect.  Newspeak  is  Ingsoc  and  
Ingsoc   is   Newspeak”   (ibid.:   52),   as   clear-­‐‑sighted   plain-­‐‑speaking   Syme  
puts   it,   the   extinction   of   the   language   may   suggest   the   defeat   of   its  
inherent  ideology.  
       In   this   perspective,   Icke   and   Macmillan’s   script   adds   to   Winston  
Smith’s  story  a  frame  situation,  a  book  club  meeting  to  discuss  Nineteen  
Eighty-­‐‑Four   (Icke   –   Macmillan   2013:   14-­‐‑21,   26,   90-­‐‑2).   The   annoying  
presence   of   a   mobile   phone   (ibid.   17-­‐‑8,   20-­‐‑1)   suggest   this   might   be   in  
the  early  twenty-­‐‑first  century.  The  readers’  comments  seem  to  hint  that  
theirs  is  not  exactly  the  spectators’  world,  though,  but  rather  Nineteen  
Eighty-­‐‑Four’s   2013,   i.e.   an   age   for   which   Big   Brother   is   history,   not  
fiction,  when  they  say  for  instance  that  Winston  Smith  was  writing  “for  
the  future.  For  the  unborn.  For  us”  (ibid.:  15).  In  the  play’s  final  scene,  
the   book   club’s   time   is   made   clear:   1984   “was   over   a   hundred   years  
ago”   (ibid.:   90).   In   this   reality,   Nineteen   Eighty-­‐‑Four   is   not   a   novel   by  
George  Orwell  but  an  “account”  of  which  very  little  is  known  but  that  
Winston   Smith,   its   supposed   author,   never   existed   (ibid.:   91).   Is   it  
truthful?   The   book   club’s   host   only   states   that   the   Party   must   have  
fallen,  since  they  do  not  live  in  the  society  of  IngSoc  and  they  are  not  
speaking  Newspeak  (ibid.:  90-­‐‑1),  but  then  one  of  the  readers  expresses  a  
fundamental  doubt7:  “How  do  we  know  the  Party  fell?  Wouldn’t  it  be  



          Not   by   chance,   this   character   is   the   Mother,   who   coincides   with   the  
       7

proletarian   woman   who   sings   while   at   her   daily   chores   and   with   Winston’  
mother,   i.e.   with   the   figures   that   both   in   the   novel   and   in   the   play   seem   to  


8
                                                 Between, vol. 8, n. 16 (Novembre/November 2018)




in   their   interest   to   just   structure   the   world   in   such   a   way   that   we  
believed   that   they   were   no   longer...”   (ibid.:   92).   She   cannot   complete  
her  argument,  but  the  audience  must  do  it  for  her:  society  as  a  whole  
may  have  undergone  a  process  similar  to  the  brainwashing  of  Winston,  
who  closes  the  play  by  sincerely  thanking  his  torturer  (ibid.).  
       The   uncertainty   that   enfolds   Nineteen   Eighty-­‐‑Four’s   status   and  
accuracy   reflects   on   the   whole   production,   that   employs   the   same  
actors,  wearing  the  same  clothes,  in  different  roles,  including  those  of  
the   book   club   members.   Instead   of   smoothing   out   or   explaining   any  
inconsistencies  or  anomalies  in  the  novel,  Icke  and  Macmillan  multiply  
them.   The   protagonist’s   strange   premonitions   and   ambiguous   dreams  
(e.g.  Orwell  1991:  25,  30-­‐‑1)  become  sudden  transitions  between  scenes  
occurring   at   different   times,   in   different   places   or   even   on   different  
levels  of  reality  (e.g.  from  the  book  club’s  discussion,  through  Winston  
alone  with  O’Brien’s  amplified  voice  and  the  apparition  of  Julia  in  the  
corridor,   to   the   dialogue   with   Mrs   Parsons   and   her   child,   Icke   -­‐‑  
Macmillan   2013:   21-­‐‑2)   and   frequent   uncanny   repetitions   of   sounds,  
sentences   and   gestures   (e.g.   the   exchange   “Is   it   -­‐‑   ?   /   Switched   off.”,  
voiced  by  various  people  and  with  reference  to  different  devices,  ibid.:  
18,  21,  57,  61  and  84).  
       As  associate  director  Daniel  Raggett  put  it,  “every  line  is,  whether  
overtly   or   not,   attempting   to   do   more   than   one   thing   at   a   time   and   –  
like   the   principle   of   doublethink   –   can   express   two   truths  
simultaneously”   (2013a).   A   key   moment   may   be   one   of   the   book   club  
readers’   question   “How   about   you?   Where   are   you?”   (ibid.:   19),  
addressed  to  the  reader  played  by  the  same  actor  as  Winston  (if  that  is  
what   he   is)   and   presumably   meant   to   elicit   his   opinion   and   feelings  
towards   the   book,   followed   at   once   by   O’Brien’s   amplified   voice  
explaining   “I   am   asking   where   you   are.   Right   now”   (ibid.).   Could   the  
whole   action   be   set   in   Winston’s   mind,   during   O’Brien’s   ‘treatment’?  
Could  one  of  the  readers  be  Nineteen  Eighty-­‐‑Four’s  protagonist  himself,  



carry  an  instinctive  partial  insight  and  the  fragile  possibility  of  hope  for  the  
future.  


                                                                                                9
Vera Cantoni, Unpresence: Headlong’s 1984 and the screen on stage




who   occasionally   remembers   fragments   of   his   life   before   and   during  
the  Ministry  of  Love’s  brainwashing?  The  play  gives  no  answer.  
       The   eerie   atmosphere   of   uncertainty   thus   enveloping   the   whole  
production  is  bound  to  reflect  on  the  spectators’  interpretation  of  what  
they   see   on   the   stage   screen   too.   On   the   one   hand,   video   footage,  
especially   with   the   documentary   feel   given   by   fixed   camera   angles,  
imperfect   resolution   and   dull   colours,   is   likely   to   be   considered  
trustworthy   for   its   ostensible   objectivity.   On   the   other   hand,   an  
audience   that   has   been   trained   to   doubt   all   dramatic   actions’   status  
since   the   beginning   of   the   performance   is   apt   to   wonder   what   is   the  
source   and   who   is   the   addressee   of   those   immaterial   moving   images.  
Since   the   production   does   not   feature   any   metatheatrical   breaches   of  
illusion   regarding   its   authors8,   and   the   theme   of   visibility   and  
surveillance   is   obviously   central   to   1984   and   its   plot,   these   questions  
are   likely   to   be   considered   in   the   play’s   fictional   rather   than   factual,  
artistic   context.   Spectators   are   going   to   focus   on   cameras   in   Oceania,  
rather  than  on  operators  backstage9.  However,  any  answer  is  bound  to  
be  based  on  what  the  videos  show.  

                                Headlong’s  screen  
       In   Icke   and   Macmillan’s   rendering,   Orwell'ʹs   telescreens   are   not  
staged  directly,  but  their  constant,  dominating  presence  is  represented  
by   a   single,   huge   screen,   stretching   across   the   whole   stage   above   the  
actors,   so   that   the   spectacle   offered   to   the   audience   is   split  
approximately  in  half  along  a  horizontal  plane.  The  screen  seems  to  be  
divided  in  smaller  square  units,  thus  giving  an  impression  of  unrefined  
      8
            There   are   breaches   that   signal   towards   the   audience,   as   discussed  
below,   but   references   to   the   performance’s   spectators   do   not   necessarily  
draw  attention  symmetrically  to  the  production’s  authors.  
      9
            For  the  opposite  situation,  see  Carlson’s  illuminating  article  on  video  
and   stage   space,   especially   his   conclusion   that   “both   literally   and  
figuratively,   the   operator   of   the   video   camera   has   entered   the   theatrical  
frame,   and   both   his   images   and   his   actions   in   creating   these   images   have  
become  a  part  of  theatre’s  new  visual  field”  (2003:  626).  


10
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quality   that   matches   the   generally   drab   and   poor   appearance   of   the  
characters’  clothes  and  objects.  
      The  screened  subjects  are  always  directly  linked  to  the  live  action  
beneath  them,  and  they  fall  into  four  categories:  
      (1)  close-­‐‑ups  of  something  happening  on  stage;  
      (2)  footage  the  characters  see  on  telescreens;  
      (3)   images   of   events   taking   place   simultaneously   elsewhere   in  
Oceania;  
      (4)  words,  presumably  representing  a  character’s  thoughts.  
      This   numbering   corresponds   to   the   order   in   which   each   kind   of  
image   is   introduced.   In   the   very   first   ‘scene’   of   the   play10,   the   screen  
displays   a   live-­‐‑fed   detail   of   the   diary   page   the   protagonist   is   writing  
(Icke   –   Macmillan   2013:   13-­‐‑4).   Later   it   shows   what   characters   see   on  
telescreens,   when   Winston   is   working,   for   instance   (ibid.:   33-­‐‑4),   or  
during   the   Two   Minutes   Hate   (ibid.:   35-­‐‑7).   Around   the   middle   of   the  
drama,   the   video   projections   are   once   again   evidently   a   live   feed,   but  
originating   off   stage,   from   an   adjacent   space,   as   Winston   and   Julia  
enter   Charrington’s   storage   room,   now   their   love   nest   (ibid.:   45).  
Finally,   in   the   course   of   the   torture   sequence,   words   appear   on   the  
screen:  “Sanity  is  not  statistical”  just  after  Winston  has  pronounced  the  
sentence  (ibid.:  74)  and  “Julia”  some  time  before  he  cries  out  her  name,  
thus  betraying  her  (ibid.:  88).  
      The  four  groups  of  images  presented  in  the  play  and  listed  above    
correspond   to   the   main   functions   video   can   have   in   a   theatre  
production.  In  the  case  of  (2)  the  screen  is,  in  the  terms  of  narratology,  
intradiegetical,   that   is   to   say   it   belongs   to   the   characters’   fictional  
reality,   or,   more   precisely,   it   represents   a   screen   in   their   world11.   The  
       10
                The  script  does  not  carry  any  division  in  acts  or  scenes,  which  would  
undermine  its  bewildering  lack  of  borders  between  different  situations.  The  
play  was  even  performed  without  any  interval.  
          11
                The   difference   is   apparent   in   Headlong’s   1984,   where   the   screen   on  
stage  does  not  resemble  its  fictional  counterpart  in  that  it  is  inordinately  big  
and   it   is   set   not   at   eye   level   but   above   people’s   heads.   Furthermore,   when  
characters  look  at  the  telescreen,  they  actually  look  towards  the  audience,  as  
if   it   were   on   the   so-­‐‑called   fourth   wall.   This   is   not   a   problem   within   theatre  


                                                                                                          11
Vera Cantoni, Unpresence: Headlong’s 1984 and the screen on stage




other   three   categories   cover   everything   that   can   be   shown   by   an  
extradiegetical  screen,  i.e.  one  the  characters  do  not  see  because  it  does  
not   belong   to   their   narrative   level.   They   are   based   on   a   spatial  
classification:   the   subjects   in   (1)   are   on   stage,   those   in   (3)   in   another  
place  and  those  in  (4)  out  of  space.  A  further  distinction  might  apply  to  
the  depiction  of  things  that  are  not  on  stage,  in  that  they  may  introduce  
ulterior   narrative   levels   (e.g.   by   showing   someone   who   comments   on  
the  main  plot,  or  on  the  performance,  or  by  shifting  from  the  fictional  
world   to   the   actors   backstage).   Yet   it   is   not   relevant   in   the   present  
instance,   because   everything   in   (3)   and   (4)   is   part   of   Winston’s   story  
and   even   set   at   the   same   time   as   the   live   action;   the   off-­‐‑stage   and   the  
inner  space  portrayed  are  always  the  characters’,  not  the  performers’  or  
those  pertaining  to  a  third  frame  of  reference.  
        According   to   this   classification,   the   four   kinds   of   images  
appearing  on  the  screen  of  1984  are  quite  different,  even  disparate,  and  
their  progression  casual.  They  seem  to  share  only  the  aim  of  letting  the  
audience   see   something   essential   that   cannot   be   perceived   directly   by  
observing   the   stage:   small   details;   things   the   characters   themselves  
watch   on   a   screen;   events   happening   in   a   separate   place;   the  
protagonist’s   thoughts.   As   such,   they   do   widen   and   complicate   the  
dramatic   space,   but   –   unlike   many   of   the   more   aesthetically  
challenging   examples   illustrated   by   Carlson   (2003)   –   they   do   not  
question   or   blur   its   boundaries   and   those   of   the   characters’   fictional  
world.   Yet   in   the   play   these   images   acquire   unforeseen   unity   and  
unexpected  meanings.  
        The  close-­‐‑ups  of  Winston’s  diary  establish  the  screen’s  credibility:  
the   moment   when   the   protagonist’s   nosebleed   stains   the   paper   (ibid.:  
14),   in   particular,   institutes   a   close,   unquestionable   link   between   the  
action   on   stage   and   the   moving   images   above   it.   Henceforth   the  


conventions,  it  is  just  like  middle-­‐‑aged  actors  playing  the  title  roles  in  an  old-­‐‑
fashioned  Romeo  and  Juliet.  Yet  it  may  be  worth  pointing  out  that  as  it  is  the  
young  lovers,  not  the  more  mature  performers,  so  it  is  the  lower  and  smaller  
screens,  not  the  huge  one  looming  over  the  stage,  that  belong  to  the  fictional  
world.  


12
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spectators  are  likely  to  believe  the  video  to  be  truthful  and  the  events  it  
shows  homogeneous  with  those  performed  live.  
      The   fact   that   the   screen   should   ‘double’   as   a   telescreen   is  
ostensibly   unremarkable.   Yet   the   actors’   multiple   roles   are   not   casual  
(an   exemplary   instance   being   the   reader   called   the   Mother   –   Mrs  
Parsons   –   Winston’s   mother   –   the   proletarian   woman),   they   set   up   a  
connection,   sometimes   even   an   identification12,   that   may   be   troubling  
in  the  case  of  the  (tele)screen.  
      The   shots   of   Winston   and   Julia   in   their   love   nest   might   also   be  
taken  for  a  mere  necessity  and  their  black-­‐‑and-­‐‑white  low  quality  style  
interpreted   as   an   equivalent   of   the   room’s   old   and   dilapidated  
appearance.  But  they  do  look  like  footage  from  a  security  camera.  And  
what  need  is  there  to  put  their  hideout  off  stage,  when  their  meeting  in  
the  country  has  been  played  out  in  the  same  indoor  setting  as  the  other  
previous   scenes13?   Even   the   most   naive   spectators   are   compelled   to  
face  the  truth  when  Julia  looks  directly  into  the  camera  as  she  realises  
“They  can  see  us”  (ibid.:  6914),  seconds  before  men  in  uniform  storm  the  
room:  the  audience  has  been  watching  the  lovers  through  Big  Brother’s  
eyes,   a   hidden   telescreen.   After   this   discovery,   the   earlier   takes   of  
Winston’s  hand  writing  his  diary  may  be  reinterpreted  in  retrospect  as  
technologically  more  advanced  products  of  the  Party’s  ubiquitous  and  


       12
             Group   discussions   among   the   cast   and   the   creative   team   during   the  
2016   re-­‐‑rehearsal   established   “the   characters   most   of   the   actors   play   are  
essentially  the  same  selves,  with  different  lenses  applied.  The  same  essence,  
distilled  through  different  filters”  (Cox  2016b).  
      13
             The  stage  design  goes  through  a  radical  change  only  for  the  Ministry  
of  Love  scenes.  
      14
             It   is   worth   remarking   that   this   line   contains   a   meaningful   though  
minor   departure   from   the   same   passage   in   the   novel,   in   which   Julia   says  
“now   they   can   see   us”   (Orwell   1991:   222,   my   emphasis)   after   a   picture   has  
fallen,   thus   revealing   a   hidden   telescreen   behind   it.   In   the   book,   up   to   that  
moment,  the  lovers  could  only  be  heard  by  means  of  the  covered  transceiver,  
while  in  the  play  they  have  been  filmed  since  they  first  entered  Charrington’s  
storage  room,  as  the  spectators  know  very  well.  


                                                                                                     13
Vera Cantoni, Unpresence: Headlong’s 1984 and the screen on stage




penetrating  espionage.  The  screen  has  been  representing  IngSoc’s  point  
of  view  all  the  time.  
       The   audience’s   growing   awareness   can   take   a   further   step   when  
the  screen  shows  Winston’s  thoughts  during  the  torture  sequence.  On  
the  first  occasion,  the  protagonist  expresses  an  idea  that  is  particularly  
important   to   him,   “Sanity   is   not   statistical”   (ibid.:   74;   see   ibid.:   65),   the  
words  appear  and  then  O’Brien  asserts  “I  know  your  mind  Winston.  I  
know  what  you’ve  been  thinking.  What  you’re  thinking  now  and  what  
you’re   yet   to   think”   (ibid.:   74).   His   point   could   not   be   clearer:   the  
prisoner’s   thoughts   are   open   to   the   torturer   and,   by   means   of   the  
screen,   to   the   spectators.   His   contention   is   confirmed   by   the   second  
instance,   in   which   the   sequence   of   events   is   reversed:   O’Brien   says  
“Now,  Winston,  you  know  that  [how  he  could  stop  the  torture  of  room  
101]   already.   You   have   always   known   it”      (ibid.:   87);   Julia’s   name  
appears    (ibid.:  88);  after  pleading  to  the  audience  and  trying  to  resist,  
Winston   finally   cries   his   betrayal   of   the   woman   he   loves      (ibid.).   The  
Party’s   representative   does   actually   know   Winston’s   thoughts   in  
advance,   or   can   put   them   into   his   mind.   By   means   of   the   screen,   the  
spectators   share   in   this   knowledge   and   become   O’Brien’s   silent  
accomplices.  The  conclusion  is  terrifying:  all  through  the  performance,  
by  looking  at  the  screen,  the  audience  has  been  playing  the  role  of  Big  
Brother’s   agents.   As   Lyn   Gardner   put   it,   “merely   by   watching,   we  
become  the  Thought  Police”  (2013).  

                                       Conclusions  
      At  first  sight,  the  images  displayed  on  the  screen  in  the  course  of  
Robert  Icke  and  Duncan  Macmillan’s  dramatization  of  Nineteen  Eighty-­‐‑
Four   might   appear   to   be   interesting   because   they   exemplify   the   full  
gamut   of   what   video   can   do   on   stage   without   disrupting   the   play’s  
narrative   by   introducing   heterogeneous   material   or   complicating   it  
with  ulterior  levels.  They  magnify  details,  allow  the  audience  to  watch  
what  characters  themselves  see  on  screens,  show  actions  that  take  place  
elsewhere  and  provide  insight  into  a  character’s  mind.  Yet  considered  
together  they  are  revealed  to  do  something  more,  i.e.  set  up  a  specific  


14
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point   of   view   –   that   of   the   Thought   Police   –   and   assign   it   to   the  
spectators,   thus   bringing   about   a   forceful   identification   on   their   part.  
This   is   a   notable   achievement   on   the   part   of   Icke   and   Macmillan   in  
particular  because  by  making  the  audience  play  the  role  of  the  Party’s  
élite   spy   troops   the   authors   push   the   theatregoers   beyond   a   passive  
sympathy  for  the  protagonist,  towards  a  more  conscious  reflection  on  
the  responsibility  they  must  assume  as  part  of  a  society.  
        The   Thought   Police   is   a   character   that   does   not   appear   on   stage  
but   is   created   indirectly   by   the   video   footage   shown   on   the   screen.   It  
might   be   called   an   ‘un-­‐‑presence’,   not   just   an   absence   (what   un-­‐‑
presence   could   mean   in   Newspeak),   but   a   presence   the   meaning   of  
which  resides  precisely  in  its  being  off  stage,  either  in  the  auditorium,  
as  in  the  case  of  Headlong’s  1984,  or  elsewhere.  Together  with  making  
it   possible   to   create   a   particular   point   of   view,   conjuring   up   such   an  
‘un-­‐‑presence’  is  an  essential  opportunity  video  provides  to  the  theatre,  
not  only  in  the  subtle  way  devised  by  Icke  and  Macmillan.  The  object  
of   recorded   or   even   live-­‐‑fed   footage   generally   belongs   to   a   different  
time  or  place  and  thus  introduces  a  radical  otherness  in  the  context  of  
dramatic   performance,   that   is   characterized   by   actors   and   spectators  
sharing  the  same  hic  et  nunc15.  
        Twice  during  the  torture  sequence  Headlong’s  1984  highlights  the  
fundamental   proximity   of   players   and   audience.   First   when   O’Brien  
invites   Winston   to   speak   directly   to   the   people   of   the   future,   to   the  
unborn:  “the  house  lights  slowly  rise”  (Icke  –  Macmillan  2013:  80),  says  
a   stage   direction,   and   then   “Winston   is   aware   of   us   watching   him”  
(ibid.).  Then,  when  the  torturers  prepare  to  realize  his  worst  fear  in  the  
world,    


      15
              This   opposition   was   clearly   on   the   creative   team’s   minds:   an  
emphasis   on   theatre’s   uniqueness   as   a   live   experience   shared   by   spectators  
and  performers  both  concludes  the  2013  rehearsal  diary  (Raggett  2013b)  and  
opens  the  2016  re-­‐‑rehearsal  diary  (Cox  2016).  
          For  the  use  of  video  to  represent  a  forcefully  different  time  and  space  
in  theatre  productions  see  Dixon  2005  and  Carlson  2003  respectively.  



                                                                                            15
Vera Cantoni, Unpresence: Headlong’s 1984 and the screen on stage



         Winston  looks  at  people  in  the  audience  and  pleads  with  them.  
         WINSTON:   HOW   CAN   YOU   JUST   SIT   THERE?   GET   UP!  
                     HELP   ME   –   HELP   ME   –   YOU   HAVE   TO   STOP  
                     THEM  –  PLEASE  GET  UP  –  PLEASE  –  I’M  SORRY  –  
                     NO  –  I’M  SORRY  (ibid.:  88)  

        On   both   occasions,   spectators   are   associated   with   O’Brien.   In   the  
first  instance,  the  Party  agent  specifies  “Speak  to  us.  […]  We’re  listening  
Winston.   We’re   all   watching   you”   (ibid.:   80,   my   emphases).   In   the  
second,  it  is  Winston’s  words  that  implicitly  indicate  the  audience  (the  
only  people  who  are  sitting  at  the  moment)  and  then  address  them  as  
somebody   who   can   intervene   and   to   whom   he   apologises.   These   two  
dramatic  moments  strengthen  the  identification  of  the  spectators  with  
representatives   of   the   Party   and   more   precisely   with   members   of   the  
Thought   Police   by   manifesting   it   with   a   technique   that   is  
complementary   to   the   one   based   on   the   screen,   i.e.   by   playing   on  
proximity  rather  than  on  distance.  
        This  whole  aspect  of  Headlong’s  1984  depends  on  the  fact  that  the  
audience   is   a   very   peculiar   ‘un-­‐‑presence’   in   the   theatre,   paradoxically  
sharing  the  time  and  place  of  the  characters  while  belonging  to  another  
reality.   Consequently,   it   uses   the   screen   in   an   uncommon   way,   subtle  
but   also   extreme,   as   it   conjures   up   not   only   the   object   of   the   gaze  
embodied   by   the   camera,   but   also   its   subject.   Nevertheless,   it   is  
representative   of   what   may   well   be   the   most   relevant   opportunity  
video   can   bring   to   the   stage:   the   possibility   of   rendering   the   ‘un-­‐‑
presence’  of  something  that  is  crucially  not  there.  




16
                                                Between, vol. 8, n. 16 (Novembre/November 2018)




                                     Works  cited  
Carlson,   Marvin,   “Video   and   Stage   Space:   Some   European  
    Perspectives”,  Modern  Drama,  46.4  (2003):  614-­‐‑27.  
Coveney,   Michael,   “1984   (Almeida)”,   WhatsOnStage,   14/02/2014,  
    https://www.whatsonstage.com/london-­‐‑theatre/reviews/1984-­‐‑
    almeida_33521.html,  web  (last  accessed  29/05/2018).  
Cox,   Jocelyn,   1984   West   End   2016   –   Re-­‐‑Rehearsal   Diary   –   Week   1,   2016,  
    https://headlong.co.uk/productions/1984/explore/1984-­‐‑west-­‐‑end-­‐‑
    rehearsal-­‐‑diary-­‐‑week-­‐‑1/,  online  (last  accessed  31/05/2018).  
Cox,   Jocelyn,   1984   West   End   2016   –   Re-­‐‑Rehearsal   Diary   –   Week   4,   2016,  
    https://headlong.co.uk/productions/1984/explore/1984-­‐‑west-­‐‑end-­‐‑re-­‐‑
    rehearsal-­‐‑diary-­‐‑week-­‐‑4/,  online  (last  accessed  31/05/2018).  
Dixon,   Steve,   “Theatre,   technology,   and   time”,   International   Journal   of  
    Performance  Arts  and  Digital  Media  1.1  (2005):  11-­‐‑29.  
Eco,   Umberto,   Orwell,   o   dell’energia   visionaria,   in   George   Orwell,   1984,    
    Milano,  Arnoldo  Mondadori  Editore,  19844:  V-­‐‑XIII.  
Gardner,   Lyn,   “1984      -­‐‑   review”,   The   Guardian,   22/09/2013,  
    https://www.theguardian.com/stage/2013/sep/22/1984-­‐‑review,  
    online  (last  accessed  31/05/2018).  
Giesekam,  Greg,  Staging  the  Screen:  The  Use  of  Film  and  Video  in  Theatre,  
    Basingstoke  (UK)  –  New  York  (NY),  Palgrave  Macmillan,  2007.  
Icke,   Robert   –   Macmillan,   Duncan,   1984   by   George   Orwell,   London,  
    Oberon  Books,  2013.  
Luegenbiehl,   Heinz   C.,   “1984   and   the   Power   of   Technology”,   Social  
    Theory   and   Practice,   10.3   (1984),   A   Special   Issue:   Orwell’s   1984:   289-­‐‑
    300.  
Maxwell,   Dominic,   “1984   at   the   Almeida,   N1”,   The   Times,   17/02/2014,  
    https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/1984-­‐‑at-­‐‑the-­‐‑almeida-­‐‑n1-­‐‑
    9thdmlkfpv5,  online  (last  accessed  29/05/2018).  
Milder,   Patricia,   “Staging   the   Image:   Video   in   Contemporary  
    Performance”,   PAJ:   A   Journal   of   Performance   and   Art,   31.3   (2009):  
    108-­‐‑119.  


                                                                                             17
Vera Cantoni, Unpresence: Headlong’s 1984 and the screen on stage




Orwell,   George,   1984   (1949),   New   York,   New   American   Library   –  
    Penguin  Group  (USA),  1991.  
Orwell,  George,  Orwell:  A  Life  in  Letters,  ed.  Peter  Davison,  New  York,  
    Liveright,  2013.  
Raggett,  Daniel,  1984  Original  Tour  2013  –  Rehearsal  Diary  –  Week  Three,  
    2013,             https://headlong.co.uk/productions/1984/explore/1984-­‐‑
    rehearsal-­‐‑diary-­‐‑week-­‐‑three/,  online  (last  accessed  31/05/2018).  
Raggett,   Daniel,   1984   Original   Tour   2013   –   Rehearsal   Diary   –   Week   Six,  
    2013,             https://headlong.co.uk/productions/1984/explore/1984-­‐‑
    rehearsal-­‐‑diary-­‐‑week-­‐‑six/,  online  (last  accessed  31/05/2018).  
Richardson,   Owen,   “1984   theatre   review   (Melbourne   Festival)”,   Daily  
    Review,   17/10/2015,   http://dailyreview.com.au/1984-­‐‑theatre-­‐‑review-­‐‑
    melbourne-­‐‑festival/31650/,  web  (last  accessed  29/05/2018).  
Teachout,   Terry,   “‘1984’   Review:   Big   Brother   Worth   Watching”,   The  
    Wall   Street   Journal,   22/06/2017,   https://www.wsj.com/articles/1984-­‐‑
    review-­‐‑big-­‐‑brother-­‐‑worth-­‐‑watching-­‐‑1498177802,       online         (last  
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    World  and  Nineteen  Eighty-­‐‑Four,  Utopian  Studies,  10.1  (1999):  98-­‐‑114.  



                                      Sitography    
Explore,   Almeida   Theatre   web   site,   https://almeida.co.uk/explore,   web  
    (last  accessed  31/05/2018).  
Past   Productions   –   1984,   Headlong   Company   web   site,  
    https://headlong.co.uk/productions/1984/explore,               web        (last  
    accessed  31/05/2018).  



                                      The  author    
        Vera  Cantoni  
  



18
                                              Between, vol. 8, n. 16 (Novembre/November 2018)




Vera  Cantoni  is  a  postdoc  researcher  at  Università  di  Pavia.  Her  main  
research   interests   are   contemporary   British   playwriting   and   the   stage  
history   of   Shakespeare’s   plays.   Among   her   publications:   New  
Playwriting   at   Shakespeare’s   Globe   (2017),   “Othello   in   Hip-­‐‑Hop:   La  
traduzione   di   un   classico   della   letteratura   teatrale   in   una   lingua   orale  
del   ventunesumo   secolo“   (2018),   “I’m   juss   sayin...”.   Street   speech   on  
stage   and   page   in   Ché   Walker’s   The   Frontline“   (2016),   “Testualmente.  
L’elaborazione   drammaturgica   delle   fonti   nel   teatro   verbatim”   (2015),  
“Come  all  ye  theatregoers  –  L’uso  della  ballad  in  alcune  histories  del  xxi  
secolo”  (2015).  
  
        Email:  vera.cantoni01@ateneopv.it  



                                      The  paper    
Date  sent:  31/05/2018  
Date  accepted:  30/10/2018  
Date  published:  30/11/2018  



                          How  to  quote  this  paper  
Cantoni,  Vera,  “Unpresence.  Headlong’s  1984  and  the  screen  on  stage”,  
Schermi.  Rappresentazioni,  immagini,  transmedialità,  Eds.  F.  Agamennoni,  
M.       Rima,       S.        Tani,       Between,       VIII.16       (2018),  
http://www.betweenjournal.it/  
  

  




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