Four legs good. Two legs bad. Simple enough.

This, of course, is the credo of the animals who overthrow Farmer
Jones and establish their own domain, aka the Animal Farm. The
Rogue Theatre is presenting an adaptation of George Orwell’s novella as
the first show of its season, and the inaugural production at its new
theater in the Historic YWCA.

Most of us are familiar with the book. For many, it was required
reading in school. We probably were intrigued with its premise and,
perhaps, with the idea of talking animals in a grown-up’s book. We even
might have been a bit disturbed in a way we could not appreciate or
even articulate. But a seed of apprehension just might have been
planted.

For this production, Andrew Periale has adapted Orwell’s story, and
he follows the book pretty closely. It is given life by director
Cynthia Meier and a group of actors who are committed, energetic and
universally invested in Meier’s vision.

The story is the rise and fall of a group—Farmer Jones’ farm
animals—who feel wronged. They experience a call to action in
service of a universal, lofty principle. With the highest of
intentions, they revolt—and revolutions are rarely
bloodless—to establish a new order, pure of purpose and heart.
They will share each other’s fortunes and burdens. All will work hard.
They will look out for each other.

All will be equal.

Ah, but individuals are complex. A relationship between two creates
complications, and relationships among many increase exponentially our
complexities. Needs differ. Talents and skills differ. Problems arise.
Leaders emerge. Classes develop. Absolutes are challenged. Conflicts
fester.

Some become, in Orwell’s words, “more equal than others.” So the new
order stumbles, revealing itself, ironically, to be much like what it
fought so hard to replace.

Actors Jill Baker, Avis Judd, Joseph McGrath, David Morden, John
Shartzer and Daved Wilkins are the spirited corps of this ambitious
romp. They are animals; they are narrators. They are singers and
puppeteers, dancers and Greek chorus. They need to switch seamlessly
from one entity to another. Sometimes, they execute multiple creatures
and functions simultaneously.

And they do it quite well.

The audience works hard, too. There’s much to take in and connect to
and contemplate. Don’t go if you don’t want to be challenged.

The production’s style requires some accommodation as well. Meier
and company take an approach akin to the epic theater of Bertolt
Brecht: We are always aware that we are watching a play. Actors play
multiple roles, and they often address the audience. There is no
convention of the fourth wall, and there is no attempt to foster a
sense of real illusion—it is never intended that these folks
onstage will attempt to make us believe they actually are animals. We
are aware that the play represents a discussion of political ideas.

This presents a challenge for contemporary audiences. We have come
to expect emotional connections in our theater-going. We identify with
characters; we put ourselves inside their story. Their troubles and
triumphs—rendered in a style that does attempt to create
illusions—become ours.

That is not how this Animal Farm works. We watch with
interest, but also a sense of detachment. We enjoy the humor. We ponder
the plight of these characters, but we really don’t identify with them.
We engage, but not in an emotional way. There is a distance between us
and them, and it is in that distance that the real impact of the piece
is delivered.

This Animal Farm is full of fascinating elements. It is
inventive and inviting; the story is supported by its production
values. There’s even a sort of soundtrack, overseen by music director
by Harlan Hokin, who punctuates action with drum beats and cymbal
clangs as the actors themselves contribute clucks and moos and
clomps.

The evening is dense. Everything has a similar degree of intensity.
The action never drags, but it beats with a ponderous rhythm. By the
evening’s end, we are quite worn out.

The production succeeds in what it seeks to achieve. But not
everyone is going to embrace it.

The Rogue has been around for five years now. It has been consistent
in its purpose, and its members keep aiming high. They work with
passion to hit their mark. Even though we can’t wholeheartedly embrace
everything that dances—or stumbles—on their boards, we can
applaud their integrity.

We do.

This article appears in Sep 17-23, 2009.