
What's most impressive is how Ant Hampton, who directs the project, has managed to sustain this energy through the entire show. There are a lot of technically minute instructions, and a lot of ways for things to go wrong (though one gets the feeling that, like a Reeses peanut-butter cup, there's no one right way to do Doublethink), and as the show evolves into a complex avant-garde work of strangling lightbulbs, frenzied physical pantomime, and vodka-flinging antics, we're actually drawn in further: not because we understand it any better, but because our two actor surrogates don't understand it any more. They have instructions whispered to them, or scrawled out on cards, but they're as much in the dark as we are.
I wouldn't dare to guess at the meaning of Doublethink, but whereas other shows that rely on hapless guest performers often come across as gimmicks (like last year's An Oak Tree), this show's double-blind opening and quickening crescendos were too slick to be glib, and too human to see forced. Trust, communication, and committment were put to the test on Friday, and it turns out that's what makes us human most of all.
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