![]() ![]() ![]() In a society which cannot see, problems common to a supposedly eye-opened society come up: lack of trust, greed, intrigue, dissidence. Stevenson’s narration is so vivid, and the tech design so atmospheric, that you’d almost swear you could see each scene playing out in front of you.Īt Donmar Warehouse, London, until 22 August. Jos Saramago’s involving language portrays an awkward, but not at all Monica Stefani impossible, situation: a place where everybody is blind, but one woman (ironically, the ophthalmologist’s wife). ![]() But Blindness is an exquisitely told story of resilience, violence, and hope. ![]() It feels as if Stevenson is whispering right into your ear, stroking your arm, holding that dripping knife.įor anyone finding conversations about the coronavirus pandemic extremely anxiety-inducing, this is not a show to distract you. At these points, the lack of sight is disorienting and the Ringhams’ binaural sound design properly takes effect as the violence of the piece crawls beneath your skin. The piece is claustrophobic by nature, but when wearing the required mask on a swelteringly hot day, breathing suddenly feels much harder. The rumbling sound design by Ben and Max Ringham – the brothers behind last year’s creepy Berberian Sound Studio – creates a constant, aching tension.Īt certain points, the room is plunged into a thick, heavy blackness. The audience, wearing face masks, sit under glowing bars of criss-crossing, colour-changing light, beautifully designed by Jessica Hung Han Yan, that illustrate the story powerfully. The Donmar’s regular seating has been taken out and replaced with wooden chairs scattered about in suitably distanced pairs. Juliet Stevenson backstage during a recording for Blindness. ![]()
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