Animal Farm review

Through an uneasy balance of animal and human characterisations, the familiar storyline unspools briskly. Echoing Bolshevik revolutionaries, a group of rebellious animals overthrow the owner of their home farm and establish it as a cooperative, with its own dangerously flexible rules. They clearly set out their idealistic aspirations: equal status, working for the common good and the rejection of any form of human intervention in their enterprise. Time passes and the lines between human nature and animal instincts slowly blur, prompting the pigs to modify their rules as they indulge in shameless corruption and embark upon an ugly, internecine power struggle.

The four actors combine effectively as an ensemble, with Jo Donnelly leading the charge as the thuggish boar Napoleon, hell-bent on upending the status quo and taking charge. He is supported by a parade of anthropomorphic creatures: Catriona McFeely’s canny, scheming porker Snowball and wise mare Clover; Clare McMahon’s flighty filly Mollie and valiant old workhorse Boxer; Susan Hoffman’s sycophantic Squealer, Napoleon’s sidekick; plus a gaggle of dim-witted hens and sheep.  

Tracey Lindsay’s grim, faceless cell is equipped with CCTV, a tannoy speaker, infrared lighting and a mural embellished with ferns and ivy. Does this green flourish hint that the women may be environmental protesters?  Who knows? There are several vital elements in this blend of ensemble theatre and scripted readings that require contextual explanation and clarification. While the cast’s collective physical theatre skills are to be applauded, the use of the book as an unnamed political manifesto feels disconnected from the drama, causing a degree of hesitation with lines and an unexpected drop in tension during the second act’s high-octane riot scenes. 

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