MUSIC:
THEME ... THEN IN BG
ANNOUNCER:
From THE NBC UNIVERSITY THEATER, a first radio production of a most challenging novel of 1949, George Orwell's "Nineteen Eighty-Four." Our star -- Mr. David Niven.
MUSIC:
FILLS A PAUSE, THEN OUT BEHIND--
ANNOUNCER:
Herewith, a disturbing broadcast. A dramatization by Milton Wayne of George Orwell's "Nineteen Eighty-Four." In his current and very widely-discussed novel, Mr. Orwell has projected the totalitarian techniques abroad in the world today to their terrible extreme. The plight of the individual in this world, we leave you to assess for yourselves, as you listen to the story of Mr. Winston Smith, portrayed today by the internationally-known British actor David Niven. At intermission, we will bring you a commentary on Mr. Orwell's writing by another distinguished author, Mr. James Hilton. Here, then, is David Niven in George Orwell's "Nineteen Eighty-Four."
SOUND:
BELLS TOLL ... WIND BLOWS ... THEN IN BG
NARRATOR:
The clocks of London are striking thirteen. On this cold April day, you hurry to escape the vile wind. You slip quickly through the glass doors of Victory Mansions ...
SOUND:
BELLS OUT ... WIND CONTINUES
NARRATOR:
... though not quickly enough to prevent a swirl of gritty dust from entering along with you.
SOUND:
WIND FILLS A PAUSE, THEN FADES OUT UNDER--
NARRATOR:
The hallway smells of boiled cabbage and old rag mats. At one end of it, an enormous coloured poster with a man's face more than three feet wide. The face, a ruggedly handsome forty-five with a heavy black moustache.
NEIGHBOR:
'Big Brother is watching you.'
WINSTON:
(STARTLED) What's that?
NEIGHBOR:
No need to jump like that, Mr. Smith. I - I was just reading off what it says on that poster.
WINSTON:
Oh. Of course.
NARRATOR:
It's seven flights up to your flat, and it's slow going for you, Winston Smith. Frail and underweight and thirty-nine and tormented by a varicose ulcer above your right ankle. You have to rest several times on the way.
SOUND:
FOOTSTEPS UP STAIRS ... CONTINUES IN BG
NARRATOR:
On each landing, the poster with the enormous face looks down on you. And the eyes follow you ...
POSTER:
(FILTER) 'Big Brother is watching you.'
NARRATOR:
... everywhere -- from every wall -- from every building.
POSTER:
(FILTER) 'Big Brother is watching you.'
SOUND:
FOOTSTEPS TO DOOR ... DOOR LATCH TURNED ... DOOR OPENS AND CLOSES ... STEPS IN
NARRATOR:
You're in your flat, but you are not alone. You are never alone.
TELESCREEN:
(FILTER, READS THE NEWS) '... that the total production of pig iron is fifty-eight-million, three-hundred-and-twenty-eight-thousand, nine-hundred-and-twelve tons ...' (CONTINUES BEHIND NARRATOR)
NARRATOR:
The voice comes from an oblong metal plaque, like a dulled mirror, which forms part of the surface of the right-hand wall. You turn a switch and the voice sinks somewhat ...
TELESCREEN:
(VOICE LOWERS IN VOLUME BUT CONTINUES IN BG TILL MUSIC)
NARRATOR:
... but there is no way of shutting it off completely. The telescreen receives and transmits simultaneously. So long as you remain in its field of vision, you can be seen as well as heard. And there is no way of knowing when the Thought Police might plug in on your wire. There is no way of knowing. You move over to the window.
MUSIC:
BRISK BUT MENACING, FOR PUNCTUATION ... THEN IN BG
1ST VOICE:
War is peace.
2ND VOICE:
Freedom is slavery
3RD VOICE:
Ignorance is strength.
MUSIC:
FOR PUNCTUATION ... THEN FADES OUT BEHIND--
NARRATOR:
You stand at your window and you look down. You think, with a vague distaste--
WINSTON:
(TO HIMSELF) This is London. This, the chief city of Airstrip One, the third most populous of the provinces of Oceania. Was it always like this? Always these rotting houses -- their windows patched with cardboard, their roofs with corrugated iron, their crazy garden walls sagging in all directions? Was it - always? When I was a child-- But, I can't remember. I can't remember! I never can.
NARRATOR:
You turn quickly from the window and you go to the table in the small alcove where you are cut off from-- (LOWERED VOICE) From being seen by the telescreen. Quickly, you take the secretly-bought notebook, the archaic pen point and holder out of the drawer. What you are about to do - can mean death.
WINSTON:
(TO HIMSELF) It's not illegal to keep a diary. Nothing is illegal since there are no more laws. But if the Thought Police find out -- it's death. Or at least twenty-five years in a forced labor camp.
NARRATOR:
You ink the pen, and you falter for - just a second. A tremor goes through you.
WINSTON:
(TO HIMSELF) I must start! I must mark the paper!
SOUND:
PEN SCRATCHES ON PAPER
WINSTON:
'April fourth, Nineteen Eighty-Four.'
SOUND:
SCRATCHING STOPS
WINSTON:
(TO HIMSELF) But how do I know? How can I be certain that it is Nineteen Eighty-Four? No, it must be. I'm fairly sure that I'm thirty-nine. I believe I was born in Nineteen Forty-Four or Forty-Five. But it's never possible nowadays to pin down any date within a year or two. But what difference does it make? How can I speak to the future? If it's like the present -- no one will listen. If it's different -- how will they understand the things happening now? I mustn't think about it. I must begin now.
SOUND:
PEN SCRATCHES ON PAPER, IN BG
WINSTON:
'April fourth. Last night to the flicks. All war films. One of a ship full of refugees being bombed somewhere in the Mediterranean. Audience much amused by a shot of a helicopter, firing at a man swimming away. He was full of holes; the sea around him turned pink. Audience shouting with laughter when he sank. And then you saw a lifeboat full of children with a helicopter over it ...'
SOUND:
VOICE AND SCRATCHING FADES OUT
NARRATOR:
You write on, wildly ridding your mind of painful memory. But, as you write, another memory comes clear in your mind. It happened during the Two Minute Hate Period at the Ministry that very morning. After the chant of loyalty to Big Brother, Winston Smith noticed O'Brien, the big man wearing glasses and the black overalls of the powerful Inner Party. That morning, O'Brien had turned and his eyes had met Winston's. And Winston knew that O'Brien was thinking the same thing as himself. It was as if O'Brien was saying--
O'BRIEN:
I am with you. I know all about your contempt, your hatred, your disgust. But don't worry. I am on your side.
NARRATOR:
Then O'Brien's face was as inscrutable as everybody else's. But even that was a memorable event in the locked loneliness in which one had to live.
SOUND:
PEN SCRATCHES ON PAPER, FOR PUNCTUATION
MUSIC:
BRIDGE
SOUND:
PEN SCRATCHES ON PAPER ... THEN OUT BEHIND--
WINSTON:
(TO HIMSELF) 'Down with Big Brother, down with Big Brother, down with Big Brother!' I'll fill the page with it or the whole book. Makes no difference now. The Thought Police will get me just the same. Even if I never put the pen to paper, I have committed thoughtcrime and for that, they're bound to get you. Sooner or later, but they'll get you. Always. During the night, you simply disappear. Your name removed from the registers. Every record of you - wiped out. You are abolished -- annihilated -- vaporized! They'll shoot me in the back. ...
SOUND:
PEN SCRATCHES ON PAPER, IN BG
WINSTON:
(TO HIMSELF) ... I don't care! 'Down with Big Brother!' They always shoot you in the back of the neck! I don't care! 'Down with Big Brother!'
SOUND:
KNOCK ON DOOR ... SCRATCHING STOPS
NARRATOR:
Already! You sit still. Maybe they'll go away.
SOUND:
KNOCK ON DOOR
NARRATOR:
The worst thing would be to delay. You get up, and you move heavily toward the door.
SOUND:
WINSTON GETS UP, WALKS TO DOOR, OPENS IT
MRS. PARSONS:
Oh, comrade! Do you think you could come across and have a look at our kitchen sink? It's got blocked up and--
WINSTON:
(RELIEVED BUT UNSTEADY) I'll - I'll see what I can do, Mrs. Parsons.
MRS. PARSONS:
I'm sorry to bother you. Of course, it's - it's only because Tom isn't home.
NARRATOR:
Amid the clutter of the flat you notice the banners of the Youth League and the Spies on the wall, and a full-sized poster of Big Brother.
MRS. PARSONS:
Don't mind the looks of the place. It's the children. They haven't been out today.
WINSTON:
Have you got a spanner?
MRS. PARSONS:
A spanner? I - I don't know. Perhaps the children--
FREDDIE:
Up with your hands!
NARRATOR:
A tough-looking boy springs at you with a pointed toy automatic pistol. He is dressed in the uniform of the Spies.
FREDDIE:
Higher! Get them up higher!
WINSTON:
This high enough?
FREDDIE:
You're a traitor! You're a thought-criminal!
MRS. PARSONS:
(PLEADS) Freddie! Please let Mr. Smith fix the sink.
FREDDIE:
He's a traitor! A thought-criminal!
MRS. PARSONS:
(EXPLAINS, TO WINSTON) Oh, he and his sister are disappointed because they couldn't go to the park to see the hanging of the Eurasian war prisoners.
FREDDIE:
Why can't we go? All the other children are going!
MRS. PARSONS:
(SIGHS) Take you next time.
FREDDIE:
Oh, that won't be for another month!
WINSTON:
There, Mrs. Parsons. I think that does it.
MRS. PARSONS:
Thank you, comrade. Say 'thank you,' Freddie.
FREDDIE:
I will not! He's a traitor! He's a follower of Goldstein!
SOUND:
PARSONS' DOOR CLOSES ... WINSTON'S FOOTSTEPS ACROSS HALL ... WINSTON'S DOOR OPENS AND CLOSES ... STEPS IN
NARRATOR:
You go to the window. Down in the street, the wind flaps a torn poster with the word 'INGSOC.' You stand watching it.
WINSTON:
(TO HIMSELF) The three sacred principles of Ingsoc -- Newspeak, doublethink, the mutability of the past. What past? The past is dead. The future is - unimaginable. I am alone, lost in a monstrous world. What living human creature is on my side? How do I know that the power of the Party won't endure forever?
NARRATOR:
Like an answer, the three slogans on the white face of the Ministry of Truth come back to you.
SOUND:
AS VOICES BEGIN, TELESCREEN CHIMES LIKE A CLOCK ... CONTINUES IN BG
1ST VOICE:
War is Peace!
2ND VOICE:
Freedom is Slavery!
3RD VOICE:
Ignorance is Strength!
NARRATOR:
The telescreen strikes. You have to leave in ten minutes to be back at your work at fourteen-thirty. You see the diary on the table.
SOUND:
STRIKING CLOCK STOPS
WINSTON:
(TO HIMSELF) Who am I writing it for? Only the Thought Police, who'll read it before they wipe it out of existence and out of memory. But there are things I must say or I can't stay sane!
NARRATOR:
You go back to the table -- dip your pen -- and write.
SOUND:
PEN SCRATCHES ON PAPER, IN BG
WINSTON:
'To the future or to the past. To a time when thought is free -- when men are different, one from another, and do not live alone. To a time when truth exists and what is done cannot be undone. From the age of uniformity, from the age of solitude, from the age of Big Brother, from the age of doublethink -- greetings. I am already dead. For I am committing thoughtcrime and thoughtcrime is death!'
SOUND:
TRANSITIONAL PAUSE ... CANTEEN CROWD MURMURS, THEN IN BG
SYME:
You're just the man I was looking for.
WINSTON:
Oh, what can I do for you, Syme?
SYME:
Tell me, have you got any razor blades?
WINSTON:
Not one. I've been using the same [blade] for six weeks.
WOMAN:
(OFF) Keep the line moving! Next, please!
SYME:
Er, did you go and see the prisoners hanged yesterday?
WINSTON:
I was working. I'll see it on the flicks, I suppose.
SYME:
A very inadequate substitute. It was a good hanging, Smith. I think it spoils it when they tie their feet together.
WOMAN:
(OFF) Next, please!
SYME:
Oh, there's a table over there, under the telescreen. Let's pick up a gin on the way.
MUSIC:
BRIDGE
SOUND:
DINERS MURMUR, USE UTENSILS, ET CETERA ... IN BG
WINSTON:
Syme, how's that dictionary of Newspeak getting on?
SYME:
Slowly. I'm on the adjectives. It's fascinating.
WINSTON:
Must be quite a job inventing new words.
SYME:
Oh, that's not our chief job at all. We're destroying words. What sense is there in having a whole string of useless, vague words like 'excellent' and 'splendid' and all the rest of them? 'Plusgood' covers the meaning. Or 'Doubleplusgood' if you want something stronger still. Don't you see the beauty of that, Winston? It was B.B.'s idea originally, of course.
WINSTON:
Why, I know that, Syme; one of Big Brother's most revolutionary ideas.
SYME:
Oh, it's not just words. In the end, we shall make thoughtcrime impossible -- because there will be no words in which to express it. Has it ever occurred to you, Winston, that by the year Twenty Fifty not a single human will be alive who could understand such a conversation as we're now having?
WINSTON: Oh, except the proletarians, of course.
SYME: Oh, the proletarians are not human beings. Proles and animals are free. The whole literature of the past will have been destroyed. Chaucer, Shakespeare, Milton, Byron -- they'll exist only in Newspeak versions.
WINSTON:
Then they'll be changed into something different?
SYME:
Even the slogans of the party will change. How can you have a slogan like 'Freedom is Slavery' when the concept of freedom has been abolished? The whole climate of thought will be different. In fact, there will be no thought as we understand it now.
PARSONS:
(APPROACHES, CHEERFUL) Hullo, hullo, hullo, hullo! Mind if I sit down?
WINSTON:
Not at all, Parsons.
PARSONS:
By the way, old boy, I hear that little beggar of mine gave you a rough time yesterday.
WINSTON:
I think he was a little upset at not going to the execution.
PARSONS:
(LAUGHS) Ah, well. Shows the right spirit, doesn't it? Oh, by the way, do you know what that little girl of mine did last Saturday, when her troop was on a hike out Berkhamsted way? She got two other girls to go with her and spent the whole afternoon following a strange man. And then, when they got to Amersham, handed him over to the patrols.
WINSTON:
What did they do that for?
PARSONS:
Ha! My kid made sure he was some enemy agent! Might have been dropped by parachute. Pretty smart for a nipper of seven, eh? (LAUGHS)
WINSTON:
(LOW) What happened to the man?
PARSONS:
Oh, well, uh, that I couldn't say, of course, but I wouldn't be surprised if he was now an 'unperson.'
SYME:
Oh, good.
WINSTON:
(DUTIFUL) Of course, we can't afford to take chances.
PARSONS:
Oh, what I mean to say is, there's a war on. Oh, uh, I suppose you don't have any razor blades you can let me have, hm?
WINSTON:
Not one.
PARSONS:
Mm, just thought I'd ask you, old boy.
WINSTON:
I'm sorry.
SOUND:
LONG, LOUD WHISTLE BLOWS
PARSONS:
Well, it's back to work, old boy.
SOUND:
TRANSITIONAL PAUSE
NARRATOR:
You sit in your flat listening to the telescreen voice. The diary is open before you but you're not writing. Once again, you feel that protest in your stomach, in your skin -- a feeling that you've been cheated of something that you had a right to. You try but you can't remember anything different. You turn to writing in your diary.
SOUND:
PEN SCRATCHES ON PAPER, THEN OUT BEHIND--
WINSTON:
'How can I know what used to be? There is the party slogan, "Who controls the past, controls the future. Who controls the present, controls the past." The party can thrust its hand into the past and say of this or that event, "It never happened." And this is more terrifying than mere torture and death. The party says, "Reject the evidence of your eyes and ears." It is the final, most essential command. Maybe - maybe I'm a lunatic. Perhaps a lunatic is simply a - a minority of one. But the obvious, the silly, the true, has got to be defended! The solid world exists. Stones - are hard. Water - is wet. Objects unsupported fall towards the earth's center. Freedom - is the freedom to say that two plus two make four. If that is granted, all else follows.'
NARRATOR:
(BEAT) It's dangerous thing you're doing now. You've walked for several miles through the proletarian section where the Thought Police would have many questions to ask if they found you. Now, you find yourself inside the junk store where you had bought the diary.
CHARRINGTON:
I recognized you on the pavement. You're the gentleman that bought the keepsake album.
WINSTON:
(NERVOUS) I was passing; I just looked in; I don't want anything in particular, Mr. Charrington.
CHARRINGTON:
Ahhh, it's just as well, because I don't suppose I could have satisfied you. Between you and me, the antique trade's just about finished. Now, there's another room upstairs that you might care to see.
SOUND:
TRANSITIONAL PAUSE ... LOUD TICKING OF ANTIQUE CLOCK, THEN IN BG
WINSTON:
Oh, you lived here at one time?
CHARRINGTON:
Until my wife died. Now, don't you think this is a quiet, cozy room?
WINSTON:
There's no telescreen.
CHARRINGTON:
Ah, I never had one of those things. Now, if you happen to be interested in old prints-- Here, sir. The frame's fixed to the wall but I could unscrew it for you, I dare say.
WINSTON:
I know that building, Mr. Charrington. It's a ruin now. It's - it's in the middle of the street outside the Palace of Justice.
CHARRINGTON:
That's right, sir. It was a church at one time. St Clement Danes its name was. (RECITES) 'Oranges and lemons / Say the bells of St Clement's.'
WINSTON:
What's that?
CHARRINGTON:
Oh, that was a rhyme we had when I was a little boy. A full sixty years ago.
WINSTON:
How does it go on?
CHARRINGTON:
I don't remember, but I do know how it ended up. (RECITES) 'Here comes a candle to light you to bed / Here comes a chopper to chop off your head.' It - it was a kind of dance, and when they came to, ah, 'Here comes a chopper to chop off your head', they brought their arms down and caught you. It was just the names of churches. All the London churches were in it. All the principal ones, that is.
WINSTON:
I never knew it had been a church.
CHARRINGTON:
Oh, there's lots of them left, really, though they've been put to other uses. (TO HIMSELF) Now, how did the rhyme go? Ah! I've got it! (HALF SINGS) 'You owe me three farthings / Say the bells of St Martin's.' There, there now. That's as far as I can get. A farthing -- that was a small copper coin, looked something like a cent.
WINSTON:
Where was St Martin's?
CHARRINGTON:
That's still standing in Victory Square. It's the building where they have the models of the rocket bombs and the floating fortresses and - and the pictures of enemy atrocities. St Martin's-in-the-Fields it used to be called.
SOUND:
TRANSITIONAL PAUSE
NARRATOR:
You leave Mr. Charrington. You should never have come back here without knowing if the old man could be trusted. You start down the street. You'll come back to buy the engraving of St Clement Danes and carry it home hidden under the jacket of your overalls. And you'll even drag the rest of the poem out of Mr. Charrington's memory.
WINSTON:
(CHANTS QUIETLY TO HIMSELF) 'Oranges and lemons / Say the bells of St. Clement's.' 'You owe me three farthings / Say the--'
NARRATOR:
Suddenly your heart turns to ice. A figure in blue overalls is coming toward you. A dark-haired girl in her twenties. The narrow, scarlet sash of the Junior Anti-Sex League is wound around her waist. You know her but you've never spoken to her. She looks straight into your face, then walks on quickly as though she hadn't seen you. For a few seconds, you're - you're too paralysed to move. Then you turn and walk heavily away.
SOUND:
FOOTSTEPS
WINSTON:
(TO HIMSELF) It's at night they come for you. Always at night. The proper thing is to kill yourself before they get you. And they'll get you. Once you succumb to thoughtcrime -- you're dead.
SOUND:
FOOTSTEPS FADE OUT ... TRANSITIONAL PAUSE
ANNOUNCER:
From Hollywood, THE NBC UNIVERSITY THEATER is bringing you David Niven in a radio version of George Orwell's "Nineteen Eighty-Four."
If you are interested in supplementing your enjoyment of these NBC UNIVERSITY THEATER productions with home study under college supervision, be sure to listen to the announcement at the close of this program.
And now, our intermission commentator, the distinguished author, Mr. James Hilton.
HILTON:
George Orwell is a distinguished English writer who is desperately concerned, as many others of us are today, with the shape of things to come. And he is also aware that such earlier prophecies as those of Mr. Wells and Mr. Aldous Huxley were not so much incorrect as incomplete, and are now in need of restatement and revision before a modern audience. Thus Mr. Wells forecast the engulfment of modern civilization in total war. But war, says Mr. Orwell, is not all. Nor is it quite the worst imaginable thing. And as long ago as Nineteen Thirty-Two, Mr. Huxley satirized the regimented state in his book called "Brave New World." But some people in those days probably missed the satire and thought that with all its mass production techniques and scientific management, Mr. Huxley's new world might even be worth looking forward to. But today no one is so naive as that. Indeed, the crisis of our civilization is in some danger of becoming a cliché for
after-dinner speakers.
Mr. Orwell, however, is the first writer to warn us, in the form of fictional satire, what might conceivably happen if all the worst features that exist anywhere in our modern world were to prevail over all the others, and if, in addition, all these worst features were to spread all over the earth. Since the story is told with nightmarish detail and inexorable logic, a commentator can perhaps serve best by a few mild warnings of his own.
First, that despite any easy assumptions that might readily and even excusably occur to both listener and reader, Mr. Orwell's satire does not bear exclusively against any one country. Certain early symptoms of that breakdown of the human soul which he forecasts are diagnosable in all countries today. And most of us also, to a greater or less extent, are already victims of certain types of doublethink. And it would be a useful private exercise to examine near home for such instances as well as to recognize them more spectacularly in other parts of the world.
Personally, I find Mr. Orwell's picture horrible and timely and fascinating. It will probably take its place among the memorable works of its kind, both for its technical virtuosity and for a sort of intellectual passion that pervades it throughout. Mr. Orwell is, as we say, "burned up" about the state of the world. But the fuel of that fire is not only in the world but in his own mind. This is what makes the satirist at all times and in all ages. And it's why, having read Mr. Orwell's "Nineteen Eighty-Four," you may not feel you'd like to meet any of its characters but you do feel you'd like to meet Mr. Orwell, if only for an argument.
Outside of literature, however, it might be said that "Nineteen Eighty-Four" suffers from a philosophic flaw inherent in all such prophetic fiction. It does not allow for the fact that history is not an exact science -- perhaps not even a science at all -- and that any equation of the future is bound to contain many variables.
And yet, with all the reservations some of us might make, this book that Mr. Orwell has written deserves our serious attention. It is not a likable story and one may hope, and even believe, that it is not a likely story either. But when we think of all that has happened throughout the world during our own lifetimes, it does not seem quite an impossible story.
ANNOUNCER:
Thank you, Mr. Hilton. Our radio version of "Nineteen Eighty-Four," starring David Niven, will continue from Hollywood after a brief pause for station identification.
SOUND:
A BRIEF PAUSE FOR STATION IDENTIFICATION
NARRATOR:
It's the middle of the morning and you've left the work cubicle to go to the lavatory. A solitary figure comes toward you from the other end of the long, brightly-lit corridor. It's the girl with the dark hair. Four days ago, you ran into her outside the junk shop. She's about ten feet from you.
SOUND:
JULIA'S FOOTSTEPS APPROACH ... SHE STUMBLES AND FALLS
JULIA:
(CRIES OUT IN PAIN)
WINSTON:
Are you hurt?
JULIA:
(SHAKEN) It's nothing. I-- My arm. I - I'll be all right in a second.
WINSTON:
Haven't broken anything?
JULIA:
No. No, I'm all right. It just hurt for a moment, that's all.
WINSTON:
Here, let me help you up.
SOUND:
WINSTON HELPS JULIA TO STAND
JULIA:
Thanks. I'll be all right. I only gave my wrist a bit of a bang. Thanks, comrade.
SOUND:
JULIA'S FOOTSTEPS AWAY
NARRATOR:
She walks off briskly. While you were helping her up, she slipped something into your hand -- a scrap of paper folded into a square. You will open it when you are away from the telescreens in the corridor and in the lavatory.
WINSTON:
(TO HIMSELF) Whatever's on the paper it must have some kind of political meaning. She's an agent of the Thought Police. They have reasons for the message. Maybe a threat, a summons, an order to commit suicide, a trap. May-- Maybe not that at all. Maybe - a note from an underground organization. Perhaps the Brotherhood exists after all! No, absurd. The message means only one thing. Death.
NARRATOR:
Ten minutes later, in your cubicle, you open it. In a large, unformed handwriting--
JULIA:
(PASSIONATELY) 'I love you.'
NARRATOR:
It's hard to conceal your agitation from the telescreen.
WINSTON:
(TO HIMSELF) I've got to get in touch with her; arrange a meeting somewhere. But I don't know her name or where she lives. I can't follow her home; that would mean loitering outside the Ministry; bound to be noticed. There's - there's one place. The canteen -- at a table by herself -- not too near the telescreen -- with the chatter of conversation all around. For only thirty seconds. For only a few words.
MUSIC:
HOPEFUL BRIDGE
NARRATOR:
A week goes by. But at last it happens. You both sit eating the watery stew. You continue eating; you don't look up.
SOUND:
DINERS MURMUR, USE UTENSILS, ET CETERA ... IN BG
WINSTON:
At what time do you leave work?
JULIA:
Eighteen thirty.
WINSTON:
Where can we meet?
JULIA:
Victory Square. Near the monument.
WINSTON:
Full of telescreens.
JULIA:
Doesn't matter if there's a crowd.
WINSTON:
Any signal?
JULIA:
No. Don't come up until you see me among a lot of people. And don't look at me. Just keep somewhere near me.
WINSTON:
What time?
JULIA:
Nineteen hours.
WINSTON:
All right.
SOUND:
TRANSITIONAL PAUSE ... FADE IN LARGE CHEERING CROWD ... THEN IN BG
MUSIC:
BAND PLAYS A PATRIOTIC MARCH ... THEN IN BG, FADES OUT BY [X]
FREDDIE:
(YELLS) Lift me higher, father! I can't see! I want to see the Eurasian prisoners!
SOUND:
CROWD SUBSIDES A LITTLE BUT CONTINUES IN BG
JULIA:
[X] Can you hear me?
WINSTON:
Yes.
JULIA:
Can you get Sunday afternoon off?
WINSTON:
Yes.
JULIA:
Then listen carefully. Go to Paddington Station. Take train fourteen to Penn Church. Turn left outside the station and you'll come to a gate with the top bar missing. Go across that field to a track between bushes. Stay on that until you come to a dead tree with moss on it. Can you remember that?
WINSTON:
Yes.
JULIA:
You turn left, then right, then left again. And the gate's got no top bar.
WINSTON:
Yes. What time?
JULIA:
About fifteen. You may have to wait. I'll get there by another way. Are you sure you remember everything?
WINSTON:
Yes.
.
JULIA: Then get away from me as quick as you can.
SOUND:
CROWD UP BRIEFLY ... FOR PUNCTUATION, THEN OUT BEHIND--
MUSIC:
BREATHLESS BRIDGE
SOUND:
PASTORAL AMBIENCE ... BIRDS HEARD IN BG
JULIA:
Here we are. I didn't want to say anything in the lane -- in case there was a mike hidden there. We're all right here, though.
WINSTON:
I didn't meet any patrols; I watched for them all the way from the station.
JULIA:
Oh, we're safe here. (LIGHTLY) What are you grinning at?
WINSTON:
(GENTLE LAUGH) Would you believe that till this moment I didn't know the color of your eyes? Now that you've seen what I'm really like, can you still bear to look at me?
JULIA:
Mm. Yes, easily.
WINSTON:
I'm thirty-nine years old. I've got a wife I can't get rid of. I've got varicose veins and I've got five false teeth.
JULIA:
I couldn't care less.
WINSTON:
(WHISPERS, IN AN EMBRACE) Darling.
JULIA:
(WHISPERS) Oh, darling, precious. Oh my dearest, dearest love. Oh, we've got the whole afternoon. Isn't this a splendid hideout?
WINSTON:
What's your name?
JULIA:
Julia. I know yours. It's Winston. Winston Smith.
WINSTON:
How did you find that out?
JULIA:
(CHUCKLES) I expect I'm better at finding out things than you are, dear. Tell me, what did you think of me before that day I gave you the note?
WINSTON:
I hated the sight of you. I wanted to hurt you. Murder you. If you really want to know, I imagined that you had something to do with the Thought Police.
JULIA:
(LAUGHS, MOCKING) No! Not the Thought Police!
WINSTON:
Well, perhaps not exactly that, but from your general appearance-- Merely because you're young and fresh and healthy I thought that probably--
JULIA:
(LIGHTLY) You thought I was a good Party member. And you also thought that if I had a quarter of a chance, I'd denounce you as a thought criminal and get you killed off.
WINSTON:
Yes. Something of that kind. Well, a great many young girls are like that you know.
JULIA:
It's this bloody sash that does it. Wait! I'll rip the thing off. (BEAT) There! (WARM) Have a piece of chocolate.
WINSTON:
Where did you get this?
JULIA:
Black market.
WINSTON:
You're very young. Ten years younger than I am. What could attract you in a man like me?
JULIA:
As soon as I saw you, I knew you were against them. Against the Party. Against the bloody rotten swine in the Inner Party.
WINSTON:
Julia, listen. I'm against the purity the Party preaches, and the goodness. I don't want any virtue to exist anywhere. I want everyone to be corrupt to the bones!
JULIA:
Well then, I ought to suit you, dear. I'm corrupt -- to the very bones!
SOUND:
TRANSITIONAL PAUSE
NARRATOR:
You never go back to the clearing in the wood. You and Julia can meet only in the streets -- in a different place every evening -- and never for more than a half hour at a time. You don't even discuss the possibility of getting married. No committee would sanction it -- even if Katharine could somehow be gotten rid of. It's hopeless, even as a daydream.
JULIA:
What was she like, your wife?
WINSTON:
She was, uh-- You know the Newspeak word 'Goodthinkful' -- meaning naturally orthodox, incapable of thinking of bad thoughts?
JULIA:
I know the kind of person, right enough. Everything is always, (MIMICS WITH DISTASTE) 'Our duty to the Party.'
WINSTON:
How do you know that?
JULIA:
I've been in school, too, dear. Why didn't you shove her off a cliff? I would have.
WINSTON:
Perhaps if I'd been the same person I am now.
JULIA:
Are you sorry you didn't?
WINSTON:
Yes. On the whole, I'm sorry I didn't. But it doesn't really matter. In this game we're playing, we can't win. We are the dead.
JULIA:
We're not dead yet!
WINSTON:
Not physically. Six months, a year -- five years, conceivably. I'm afraid of death. You're young so you're more afraid of it. We put it off as long as we can, but it makes very little difference.
JULIA:
Oh, rubbish. Don't you enjoy being alive? (EMBRACES HIM) Look, darling, I'm real. I'm solid, alive! Don't you like that?
WINSTON:
Yes. I like that.
JULIA:
(CHUCKLES) Stop talking about dying then. Where shall we meet next time?
WINSTON:
Julia -- I've rented the room from Mr. Charrington.
JULIA:
Sooner or later we'll be caught.
WINSTON:
I know. It's madness.
JULIA:
Yes. (BEAT) Wait for me there, day after tomorrow.
SOUND:
TRANSITIONAL PAUSE ... LOUD TICKING OF ANTIQUE CLOCK, IN BG
JULIA:
Wait! Just let me show you what I've brought. Look here. Go on. Go on, open it!
SOUND:
PACKAGE UNWRAPPED
WINSTON:
Sugar!
JULIA:
Real! Not saccharin! And here -- a loaf of white bread! But look. This is the one I'm really proud of!
WINSTON:
(SNIFFS) Coffee! Real coffee!
JULIA:
(LAUGHS) There's a whole kilo here.
WINSTON:
How'd you manage to get hold of all these things?
JULIA:
Oh, it's all Inner Party stuff. And look. I've got a little packet of tea, too!
SOUND:
RATTLE OF TEA PACKET
WINSTON:
Real tea! Not blackberry leaves.
JULIA:
There's been lot of tea about lately. They've captured India or something. But listen, dear, I want you to turn your back on me for a bit. And don't turn around till I tell you.
SOUND:
CLOCK TICKS ... FOR TRANSITION
JULIA:
You can turn around now. (BEAT) Well?
WINSTON:
(MOVED) Beautiful. I've never seen a woman of the Party with cosmetics on her face. And scent, too!
JULIA:
Yes, dear, and scent, too! And do you know what I'm going to do next? I'm going to get hold of a real woman's frock, and silk stockings and high heels! Oh, darling, in this room, I'm going to be a woman -- not a Party comrade, a woman.
SOUND:
CLOCK TICKS ... FOR TRANSITION
JULIA:
(TIRED BUT HAPPY) I'll make some coffee in another moment. We've still got an hour. What time do they cut the lights off at your flats?
WINSTON:
(YAWNS) Twenty-three thirty.
JULIA:
It's twenty-three at the hostel. (ABRUPTLY YELLS) Hey! Get out of there, ya filthy brute!
SOUND:
CLUNK! JULIA THROWS SHOE ACROSS ROOM
WINSTON:
(SURPRISED) What was it?
JULIA:
A rat! I saw its beastly nose. Oh. There's a hole down there.
WINSTON:
(ON EDGE) Rats! In this room?!
JULIA:
Ah, they're all over. Some parts of London are just swarming with them. A woman daren't leave a baby alone for two minutes. It's the great, huge brown ones that do it and the brutes always--
WINSTON:
(HORRIFIED) Don't go on!
JULIA:
Darling? What's the matter?
WINSTON:
Oh, of all the horrors in the world -- a rat!
JULIA:
(SOOTHING) Oh, no, darling, no. Now don't worry, we're not going to have the filthy brutes in here. I'll stuff the hole before we go. Aw, come on. Help me make the coffee. Darling, I've been meaning to ask you. That picture over there on the wall? Would that be about a hundred years old?
WINSTON:
More. Two hundred, I dare say. One can't tell. It's impossible to discover the age of anything nowadays.
JULIA:
What is that place? I've seen it before somewhere.
WINSTON:
It's a church, or at least it used to be. St Clement Danes its name was. (HALF SINGS) 'Oranges and lemons / Say the bells of St Clement's.'
JULIA:
(LAUGHS IN DELIGHT AND SINGS) 'You owe me three farthings / Say the bells of St Martin's--' (BEAT, SPEAKS) Oh. I can't remember how it goes after that. But anyway I remember it ends up, (SINGS) 'Here comes a candle to light you to bed / Here comes a chopper to chop off your head.' (GIGGLES)
WINSTON:
(AMUSED) Who taught you that?
JULIA:
My grandfather. He was vaporized when I was eight. I wonder what a lemon was?
WINSTON:
Oh, I can remember lemons. They were quite common in the fifties. They were so sour it set your teeth on edge even to smell them.
JULIA:
(LAUGHS, THEN SADLY) Ah, dear. I suppose it's almost time we were leaving. I should start washing this paint off. (LOW, SEXY) I'll get the lipstick off your face afterwards.
SOUND:
TRANSITIONAL PAUSE
NARRATOR:
It happens at last. The expected message comes. You're walking down the long corridor of the Ministry.
O'BRIEN:
(CLEARS THROAT)
NARRATOR:
When you turn around, it's O'Brien.
O'BRIEN:
(FRIENDLY) I was reading one of your Newspeak articles the other day. You take a scholarly interest in Newspeak, I believe.
WINSTON:
Oh, hardly scholarly. I'm only an amateur. I never had anything to do with the construction of the language.
O'BRIEN:
But you write it very elegantly. Have you seen the tenth edition of the Newspeak Dictionary?
WINSTON:
No, I didn't think it had been issued yet.
O'BRIEN:
(LOW VOICE) A few advanced copies have been circulated. I have one myself. It might interest you to, uh, look at it, perhaps?
WINSTON:
Yes. Very much so.
O'BRIEN:
Some of the new developments are most ingenious. Let me see. Uh, perhaps you could pick it up, uh, at my flat, some time that suited you. Wait. Let me give you my address.
MUSIC:
OMINOUS BRIDGE
WINSTON:
Julia! Darling, it was like a message. As if O'Brien was saying, 'If you ever want to see me, this is where I can be found.'
JULIA:
(SUSPICIOUS) But he's an important member of the Inner Party, dear. If it's a trap--
WINSTON:
Darling, this is part of something that happened years ago. First, it was a secret involuntary thought. Then, I started a diary. I've moved from thoughts to words, and now - from words to action.
JULIA:
(UNHAPPY) Where will it end?
WINSTON:
In the Ministry of Love. I've accepted that. The end was contained in the beginning. Has it ever occurred to you that the best thing for us to do would be simply to walk out of here before it's too late and never see each other again?
JULIA:
Yes, dear. It's occurred to me several times. But I'm not going to do it, all the same.
WINSTON:
We've been lucky. But it can't last much longer.
JULIA:
What you do, I'm going to do.
WINSTON:
We may be together for another six months -- a year -- there's no knowing. At the end, we're certain to be apart. Do you realize how utterly alone we shall be? When once they get hold of us, there's nothing -- nothing -- either of us can do for the other. If I confess, they'll shoot you. If I don't, they'll shoot you just the same. Neither of us will even know whether the other is alive or dead. The one thing that matters is that we shouldn't betray one another. Although even that can't make the slightest difference.
JULIA:
Everybody always confesses. You can't help it. They torture you.
WINSTON:
I don't mean confessing. Confession is not betrayal. What you say or do doesn't matter. Only feelings matter. If they could make me stop loving you -- that would be the real betrayal.
JULIA:
They can't do that. They can make you say anything -- anything -- but they can't make you believe it. They can't get inside of you.
WINSTON:
No, that's quite true. They can't get inside you. If you can feel that staying human is worthwhile, even when it can't have any result whatever, then you've beaten them!
JULIA:
Darling, whenever it is you go to O'Brien, I'm going with you.
SOUND:
CLOCK TICKS ... FOR PUNCTUATION
MUSIC:
BRIDGE ... CONTINUES UNTIL CLICK OF KNOB--
O'BRIEN:
Just a moment.
SOUND:
LOUD CLICK OF KNOB, SIMULTANEOUS WITH--
MUSIC:
ABRUPTLY OUT
JULIA:
(SURPRISED GASP)
WINSTON:
(BEAT, ASTONISHED) You can turn it off!
O'BRIEN:
(IMPRESSIVE) Yes, Winston. We have that privilege. (LIGHTLY) Well, ah, shall I say it or will you?
WINSTON:
I'll say it. That thing is really turned off?
O'BRIEN:
Yes. Everything is turned off. We're alone.
WINSTON:
All right. We have come here because we believe that there is some kind of secret conspiracy, some kind of secret organization working against the Party and that you are involved in it. We want to join it and work for it. We are enemies of the Party. We disbelieve in the principles of Ingsoc. We are thought-criminals. We are also adulterers. I tell you this because we want to put ourselves at your mercy.
O'BRIEN:
Yes. First, let us all take a drink. I think it's fitting that we should begin by drinking a health. To our leader. To Emmanuel Goldstein.
SOUND:
GLASSES CLINK ... THEY DRINK ... SET GLASSES DOWN BEHIND--
WINSTON:
Then there is such a person as Goldstein?
O'BRIEN:
Yes, and he's alive. Where, I don't know.
WINSTON:
And the conspiracy -- the organization? It is real? It's not simply an invention of the Thought Police?
O'BRIEN:
No. It's real. The Brotherhood, we call it. You'll never know much more about it than that it exists and that you belong to it. I'll come back to that presently. Now to the matter. What are you prepared to do?
WINSTON:
Anything we're capable of.
O'BRIEN:
You are prepared to give your lives?
WINSTON:
Yes!
O'BRIEN:
To commit murder?
WINSTON:
Yes!
O'BRIEN:
To commit acts of sabotage which may cause the death of hundreds of innocent people?
WINSTON:
Yes!
O'BRIEN:
To cheat, to forge, to blackmail, to corrupt the minds of children, to distribute habit-forming drugs -- to do anything which is likely to weaken the power of the Party?
WINSTON:
Yes!
O'BRIEN:
You are prepared to commit suicide, if and when we order it?
WINSTON:
Yes!
O'BRIEN:
You are prepared, the two of you, to separate and never see one another again?
JULIA:
No!
WINSTON:
(QUIETLY) No.
O'BRIEN:
You did well to tell me. You understand that you'll be fighting in the dark. Later I shall send you a book from which you will learn the true nature of the society we live in, and the strategy by which we shall destroy it. The Brotherhood exists but I cannot tell you who our leaders are. You'll get used to living without results, without hope. We are the dead. Our only true life is in the future. Do you carry a briefcase to work?
WINSTON:
As a rule, yes.
O'BRIEN:
What is it like?
WINSTON:
Oh, black, very shabby. Two straps.
O'BRIEN:
Good. One day soon in the street a man will touch you on the arm and say, 'I think you've dropped your briefcase.' The one he gives you will contain a copy of Goldstein's book. You will return it within fourteen days. Mm, you must leave in a couple of minutes. We shall meet again. If we do meet again.
WINSTON:
(HESITANT) In the place where there is no darkness?
O'BRIEN:
(GRAVELY) In the place where there is no darkness. (BEAT) In the meantime, is there anything you wish to say before you leave? Any question?
WINSTON:
Yes. Did you ever hear an old rhyme that begins, (HALF SINGS) 'Oranges and lemons / Say the bells of St Clement's.'?
O'BRIEN:
Yes, Winston. (RECITES WITH A SORT OF GRAVE COURTESY) 'Oranges and lemons / Say the bells of St Clement's. / You owe me three farthings / Say the bells of St Martin's. / When will you pay me? / Say the bells of Old Bailey. / When I get rich / Say the bells of Shoreditch.'
WINSTON:
You knew the last line!
O'BRIEN:
Yes. I knew the last line. And now I'm afraid it's time for you to go.
SOUND:
LOUD TICKING OF ANTIQUE CLOCK, FOR A TRANSITION
WINSTON:
(APPROACHES, ENTHUSIASTIC) Julia! I've got the book. We must read it. You, too. All members of the Brotherhood have to read it.
JULIA:
You read it -- aloud. That's the best way. Then you can explain it to me as you go.
SOUND:
CLOCK TICKS, FOR A TRANSITION
WINSTON:
(READS) 'The new movements which appeared in the middle years of the century -- Ingsoc in Oceania, Neo-Bolshevism in Eurasia, Death Worship in East Asia -- had the conscious aim of perpetuating unfreedom and inequality. The new movements grew out of the old ones--' (FADES OUT)
SOUND:
CLOCK TICKS, FOR A TRANSITION
WINSTON:
(FADES IN, READS) '... sentiment of family loyalty. Even the names of the four Ministries exhibit an impudence in their deliberate reversal of the facts. The Ministry of Peace concerns itself with war, the Ministry of Truth with lies, the Ministry of Love with torture, the Ministry of Plenty with starvation. These contradictions are not accidental. They are deliberate exercises in doublethink. For it is only by reconciling contradictions that power--' (FADES OUT)
SOUND:
CLOCK TICKS, FOR A TRANSITION
JULIA:
(STRETCHES, TIRED) Mmmm. Oh, I'm hungry. Aw, darling, the stove's gone out. And there's no oil.
WINSTON:
We can get some from old Charrington, I expect.
JULIA:
Mm! Gosh, but it's cold in here.
WINSTON:
Do you remember the thrush that sang to us that first day at the edge of the wood?
JULIA:
He wasn't singing to us. He was just singing.
WINSTON:
No, not to us. We are the dead.
JULIA:
We are the dead.
CHARRINGTON:
(FILTER, SAVAGE) You are the dead!
JULIA:
(STARTLED CRY)
CHARRINGTON:
(FILTER) You are the dead!
JULIA:
(WHISPERS) It - it was behind the picture.
CHARRINGTON:
(FILTER) 'It was behind the picture!' Remain exactly where you are! Make no movement until you are ordered!
SOUND:
CRASH! OF BROKEN GLASS AS PICTURE FALLS OFF TELESCREEN
JULIA:
(LOW, DESPAIR) Now they can see us.
CHARRINGTON:
(FILTER) Now we can see you! Stand out in the middle of the room! Stand back to back! Clasp your hands behind your heads! Do not touch one another! The house is surrounded!
JULIA:
(WEAKLY) I suppose that we may as well say good-bye.
CHARRINGTON:
(FILTER) You may as well say good-bye! And by the way! (LOW AND CREEPY) While we are on the subject-- (HALF SINGS) 'Here comes a candle to light you to bed / Here comes a chopper to chop off your head!'
SOUND:
CRASH! OF BROKEN WINDOW PANE ... STAMPEDE OF POLICE INTO ROOM ... FADE TO A TRANSITIONAL PAUSE ... FADE IN STEADY DRONE, LIKE A BUZZSAW, THEN IN BG, FADES OUT BY [X]
NARRATOR:
You don't know where you are. The windowless cell with white porcelain walls might be in the Ministry of Love. Concealed lamps flood it with a cold light. There's a low, steady humming sound. It is the place where there is no darkness.
GUARD:
(SHOUTS) Smith! Six-oh-seven-nine! Smith, W.! [X] Hands out of the pockets in the cells!
NARRATOR:
There is a telescreen on each wall. You started to reach into your overalls for stray bread crumbs. You haven't eaten since you were arrested.
SOUND:
FOOTSTEPS APPROACH ... CELL DOOR OPENS ... FOOTSTEPS IN ... DOOR CLOSES
WINSTON:
Ampleforth!
AMPLEFORTH:
Smith! You, too?
WINSTON:
What are you in for?
AMPLEFORTH:
There is only one offense, is there not? Crime thought.
WINSTON:
And you have committed it?
AMPLEFORTH:
Apparently. We were producing a definitive edition of Kipling. I allowed the word 'God' to remain at the end of a line. I couldn't help it. The rhyme was 'rod'. There are only twelve rhymes to 'rod' in the language. There was no other rhyme.
WINSTON:
Do you know what time it is?
AMPLEFORTH:
No, I don't. There's no difference between night and day in this place.
GUARD:
(SHOUTS) No talking in the cells!
SOUND:
OFFICER'S FOOTSTEPS APPROACH ... CELL DOOR OPENS
OFFICER:
Ampleforth? Room One-hundred-and-one!
SOUND:
TRANSITIONAL PAUSE ... FADE IN STEADY DRONE, THEN IN BG, FADES OUT AT [X]
NARRATOR:
Time passes. Your hunger grows. Prisoners -- men and women -- are brought into your cell and then taken out -- to Room One-hundred-and-one. They go in terror; they go screaming -- to Room One-hundred-and-one.
SOUND:
CELL DOOR OPENS [X]
NARRATOR:
Then the cell door opens once again. O'Brien and a guard come in. You start to your feet. You forget the telescreen.
WINSTON:
They got you, too!
O'BRIEN:
They got me a long time ago. You knew this, Winston. You've always known it. (SHARPLY) Guard?!
SOUND:
HARD SLAP IN THE FACE
WINSTON:
(IN PAIN) Ooohhh!
MUSIC:
BRIDGE
SOUND:
FADE IN STEADY ELECTRONIC DRONE ... THEN IN BG
NARRATOR:
With that blow, the nightmare starts and you confess -- to anything - and everything. The confessions are a formality; the torture is real. And it goes on, and on, and on, and on! Now you're lying strapped to a table. You can't move; there's a strong light falling in your face; O'Brien is standing at your side. On the other side, a man in a white coat holding a hypodermic syringe.
O'BRIEN:
I told you that if we met again, it would be here.
WINSTON:
Yes.
SOUND:
DRONE BRIEFLY INCREASES
WINSTON:
(IN PAIN) Ohhh!
O'BRIEN:
That's only a sample of what I can do by turning this dial. Remember that. If you lie to me, you will cry out with pain instantly. Do you understand that?
WINSTON:
Yes.
O'BRIEN:
I'm taking trouble with you, Winston, because you are worth trouble. You suffer from a defective memory. Fortunately, it is curable. There's a Party slogan dealing with the control of the past. Repeat it, if you please.
WINSTON:
'Who controls the past controls the future; who controls the present controls the past.'
O'BRIEN:
Good! Is it your opinion, Winston, that the past has any real existence?
WINSTON:
No.
O'BRIEN:
Then where does the past exist -- if at all?
WINSTON:
In records; it's written down. In the mind; in human memories.
O'BRIEN:
But we, the Party, control all records, and we control all memories. Then we control the past, do we not?
WINSTON:
(DEFIANT) But how can you stop people remembering things? How can you control memory? You've not controlled mine!
O'BRIEN:
On the contrary. You have not controlled it. That is what has brought you here. Do you remember writing in your diary, 'Freedom is the freedom to say that two plus two make four'?
WINSTON:
Yes.
O'BRIEN:
How many fingers am I holding up, Winston?
WINSTON:
Four.
O'BRIEN:
And if the Party says that it's not four, but five -- then how many?
WINSTON:
Four.
SOUND:
DRONE BRIEFLY INCREASES
WINSTON:
(IN PAIN) Aaahhhhh!
O'BRIEN:
How many fingers, Winston?
WINSTON:
Four!
SOUND:
DRONE BRIEFLY INCREASES
O'BRIEN:
How many fingers, Winston?
WINSTON:
(SHRIEKS) Four! Four! What else can I say? Four!
SOUND:
DRONE BRIEFLY INCREASES
O'BRIEN:
(MORE SLOWLY) How many fingers, Winston?
WINSTON:
(FURIOUS) Four! Stop it! Stop it! Four! Four!
O'BRIEN:
(VERY SLOW) How many fingers, Winston?
WINSTON:
(WEAKLY WHIMPERING) Five. Five. Five.
O'BRIEN:
You're lying! You still think there are four. (SLOW) How many, please?
SOUND:
DRONE BRIEFLY INCREASES
WINSTON:
(WILDLY) Four! Five! Four! Anything you like! Stop it! Stop the pain! Stop--!
SOUND:
DRONE ABRUPTLY OUT
WINSTON:
(GASPS, WHIMPERS)
O'BRIEN:
You're a slow learner, Winston.
WINSTON:
How can I help it? How can I help seeing what's in front of my eyes? Two and two are four.
O'BRIEN:
Sometimes, Winston. Sometimes they are five. Or three. Or all of them at once. You must try harder. It's not easy to become sane. It's not easy.
SOUND:
FADE IN STEADY DRONE ... THEN FADE OUT BEHIND--
NARRATOR:
It goes on endlessly -- the questions; the drugs; the questions; the torture machines. Endlessly.
O'BRIEN:
Do you know where you are, Winston?
WINSTON:
(WEARY, RESIGNED) I don't know. I can guess. In the Ministry of Love?
O'BRIEN:
Do you know how long you've been here?
WINSTON:
I don't know; I think it's months.
O'BRIEN:
And why do you imagine we bring people to this place?
WINSTON:
To make them confess?
O'BRIEN:
No. That's not the reason. Try again.
WINSTON:
To - to punish them?
O'BRIEN:
No! To cure you. To make you sane. The Party is not interested in the overt act. The thought is all we care about. We do not merely destroy our enemies, we change them. What happens to you here - is forever. Even if we choose to let you live out the natural term of your life, you can never escape from us. (TO TECHNICIAN) Houghton! Set the machine for two thousand!
TECHNICIAN:
Yes, comrade!
SOUND:
FADE IN STEADY ELECTRONIC DRONE ... THEN IN BG
O'BRIEN:
This time it won't hurt you, Winston. Keep your eyes fixed on mine. Now -- how many fingers am I holding?
WINSTON:
Five.
O'BRIEN:
Do you see five?
WINSTON:
Yes.
O'BRIEN:
You see now that it's, at any rate, possible.
WINSTON:
Yes.
SOUND:
DRONE FADES OUT
O'BRIEN:
Before bringing the session to an end, you can ask me a few questions if you choose. The machine is switched off. What is your first question?
WINSTON:
What have you done with Julia?
O'BRIEN:
She betrayed you, Winston. All her rebelliousness, her deceit, her folly, her dirty-mindedness -- everything has been burnt out of her. It was a perfect conversion.
WINSTON:
You tortured her?
O'BRIEN:
Next question.
.
WINSTON: Does Big Brother exist?
O'BRIEN:
Of course he exists. The Party exists. Big Brother is the embodiment of the Party.
WINSTON:
Will Big Brother ever - die?
O'BRIEN:
Of course not. How could he die? Next question.
WINSTON:
What is in Room One-hundred-and-one?
O'BRIEN:
You know that, Winston. Everyone knows what's in Room One-hundred-and-one. (TO TECHNICIAN) Houghton? The hypodermic!
SOUND:
FADE IN STEADY ELECTRONIC DRONE ... THEN OUT BEHIND--
O'BRIEN:
We have beaten you, Winston. We have broken you. Can you think of any single degradation that has not happened to you?
WINSTON:
(SLOW, PAINFUL) I have not betrayed Julia?
O'BRIEN:
No. That is perfectly true. You have not betrayed Julia.
WINSTON:
Tell me. How soon will they shoot me?
O'BRIEN:
It might be a long time. You're a difficult case. But don't give up hope. Everyone is cured sooner or later. In the end, we shall shoot you.
SOUND:
FADE IN STEADY ELECTRONIC DRONE ... FOR A TRANSITION, THEN OUT BEHIND--
NARRATOR:
You're much better now. Weeks or months have passed, but you have no way of knowing. And one day O'Brien is in your cell, and with him are the guards.
O'BRIEN:
Get up, Winston. Come here. You've had thoughts of deceiving me. Stand up straighter! Look me in the face! Tell me, Winston -- and, remember, no lies. Tell me, what are your true feelings toward Big Brother?
WINSTON:
(FIRM) I hate him.
O'BRIEN:
You hate him. Good. Then the time has come for you to take the last step. You must love Big Brother. It is not enough to obey him; you must love him. (AN ORDER) Guard! Take him! Room One-hundred-and-one!
SOUND:
FADE IN STEADY DRONE ... FOR A TRANSITION, THEN OUT BEHIND--
NARRATOR:
You're strapped upright in a chair -- so tightly that you can move nothing, not even your head. There are two small tables in front of you -- and, for a moment, you're alone.
SOUND:
DOOR OPENS AND CLOSES ... FOOTSTEPS IN
NARRATOR:
Then O'Brien comes in.
O'BRIEN:
Winston, you asked me once what was in Room One-hundred-and-one. Everyone knows the answer. The thing that is in Room One-hundred-and-one is the worst thing in the world. The worst thing in the world varies from individual to individual. It may be death by fire, by drowning, by impalement, or fifty other deaths. In your case, it happens to be -- rats! Here. I've placed the cage on the table so you can see them.
WINSTON:
(UNNERVED, PLEADS) You - you can't do that! You couldn't! It's impossible! O'Brien! You know this isn't necessary! What do you want me to do?!
O'BRIEN:
For everyone there is something unendurable. Courage and cowardice are not involved. For you, the unendurable is rats. They're a form of pressure you cannot withstand. You will do what is required of you.
WINSTON:
(PANICS) But what is it? What is it? How can I do it if I don't know what it is? No, don't bring them any closer!
SOUND:
LOUD SQUEAL AND MOVEMENTS OF RATS ... CONTINUES IN BG
O'BRIEN:
You understand the construction of this cage. This mask will fit over your head, leaving no other exit. When I press this lever, these starving brutes will leap at your face. Sometimes they attack the eyes--
SOUND:
SQUEAL AND MOVEMENTS OF RATS INCREASES WITH WINSTON'S HYSTERIA
WINSTON:
(HYSTERICAL) Oh! No! Don't bring them any closer! No! No! Don't!
Do it to Julia! Do it to Julia! Not to me! I don't care what you do to her. Tear her face off, strip her to the bones. Not me! Julia! Not me!
SOUND:
FADE TO TRANSITIONAL PAUSE
MUSIC:
BRIDGE ... THEN IN BG, OUT AT [X]
NARRATOR:
It's the lonely hour of fifteen. Café's almost empty. You sit at your usual place, drinking Victory Gin and studying the chess problems in the Times. Nobody pays any attention to you. You've even seen Julia again. There was no danger in it. On a cold, biting March day you had come across her in the park. [X]
SOUND:
WIND BLOWS, THEN IN BG
JULIA:
(UNHAPPY) I betrayed you.
WINSTON:
I betrayed you.
JULIA:
Sometimes they threaten you with something -- something you can't even think about. Then you don't care. You want it to happen to the other person. And that's what you keep shouting. All you care about is yourself.
WINSTON:
All you care about is yourself.
JULIA:
You don't feel the same toward the other person any longer.
WINSTON:
No, you don't feel the same. What happens to you there is forever. Something is burned out. (POLITELY) We must meet again.
JULIA:
(SLOW, SAD) Yes. We must meet again.
MUSIC:
BRIDGE ... THEN IN BG
NARRATOR:
Now, in the dust on the café table, your finger traces unconsciously 'two plus two equal five.' And, on the wall, Big Brother gazes down at you from a poster. You gaze up at the enormous face. Forty years it has taken you to learn what kind of smile is hidden beneath the dark moustache. Oh, cruel, needless misunderstanding. Oh, stubborn, self-willed exile - from the loving breast.
WINSTON:
(WEEPS, CONTINUES IN BG)
NARRATOR:
Two gin-soaked tears trickle down the sides of your nose. It's all right. Everything is all right. The struggle is finished. You have won the victory over yourself.
WINSTON:
(SOBS) I - I - love you, Big Brother.
MUSIC:
UP, FOR A FINISH ... THEN OUT
ANNOUNCER:
You have been listening to "Nineteen Eighty-Four," an NBC UNIVERSITY THEATER production of the novel by George Orwell starring David Niven.
If you wish to expand your knowledge and appreciation of literature, we suggest that you might enjoy the college-supervised courses now being offered in connection with THE NBC UNIVERSITY THEATER. These courses are offered by the University of Tulsa in Oklahoma, Kansas State Teachers College, and the University of Louisville. For full information as to how you may enhance your knowledge through these home study courses, write to THE NBC UNIVERSITY THEATER, in care of the University of Louisville, Louisville, Kentucky; the University of Tulsa, Tulsa, Oklahoma; or Kansas State Teachers College, Pittsburg, Kansas.
Next week, be with us again at THE NBC UNIVERSITY THEATER for a dramatization of one of the great romantic novels of this century, Mary Webb's "Precious Bane," dramatization by Mary Stuart Garden.
MUSIC:
THEME ... THEN IN BG
ANNOUNCER:
"Nineteen Eighty-Four" was prepared for radio by Milton Wayne; starred, as Winston Smith, David Niven, who can soon be seen as the star of the Powell-Pressburger production, "The Elusive Pimpernel." Our cast included
Donald Morrison; Ramsay Hill, narrator; Raymond Lawrence; Ben Wright; George Pembroke; Tom Dillon; Queenie Leonard; John Ramsay Hill; Dan O'Herlihy; Alec Harford; Constance Cavendish; Eric Snowden. Your announcer, Don Stanley. Our intermission commentator was James Hilton. The original music score was composed and conducted by Dr. Albert Harris. The director of THE NBC UNIVERSITY THEATER is Andrew C. Love.
MUSIC:
THEME UP ... FOR A GRAND CONCLUSION ... THEN OUT
ANNOUNCER:
This program came to you from Hollywood.
TRUTH OR CONSEQUENCES returns tonight -- on NBC.
MUSIC:
NBC CHIMES