There are few similarities between David Greig’s theatrical adaptation of the Philip K Dick short story, and Steven Spielberg’s 2002 punt at translating the book to the silver screen (with the help of Tom Cruise), but this play is all the better for it.
While the film was, undoubtedly, ahead of its time in its use of special effects, a simple regurgitation of the past wouldn’t be in keeping with the spirit of Minority Report’s plot of premonitions, nor the science fiction genre as a whole. It’s far more exciting and erudite to look to the future, and so the noughties’ fascination with augmented reality gives way to the age of artificial intelligence and Elon Musk’s Neuralink. Grieg and director Max Webster’s (Life of Pi) supercharge the dystopia and tech totalitarianism contained in Dick’s original which is, arguably, glossed over amid Cruise flinging himself around and trying out new gadgets.
With Grieg given plenty of free reign by Dick’s estate, gone is the still reassuringly out of reach concept of supernatural triplets (or ‘precogs’) stopping crime before it happens, and in its place is a threat which feels far plausible because it’s kind of already here: chips, monitoring MRI scans of the mind’s fear and anger-producing amygdala for signs of criminal intent. Brains are hardly ever not weird to look at, and so when Jodie McNee’s Julia Anderton holds up one of the glistening meatballs in the palm of her hand at the very beginning of this play, like some futuristic Hamlet (as she herself jokes), then our natural dislike for the object’s sticky appearance is coupled with our discomfort at having our minds probed with tiny computer chips. It feels invasive, and Webster taps into the unease brilliantly.
It makes it easy for us to relate to Anderton, too, as she soon feels her own sense of alarm when the analysis of pre-murderers’ brain scans during a talk to a science conference pull up the head of pre-crime’s name (that’s Alderton) as a future culprit. Initially confident and smug enough to crack jokes with her audience, such assertiveness doesn’t last long as she begins to question the integrity of the technology she has long championed.
The year is 2050 (although it would have been good for Grieg to stick to a setting of 2054 to align it with the film, and give a date exactly thirty years into the future), and the creative team do an impressive job of bringing a futuristic vision to life. McNee (Cuckoo) sports leather outfits and a ginger quiff in a slick cyberpunk look, Tal Rosner oversees some meticulous and highly advanced video designs of user interfaces, and Nicola T. Chang’s droning composition creates an eerie and grungy atmosphere. As production designer, Jon Bausor makes use of the entire expanse of the stage to world-build, with dingy alleyways, swirling pod-like vehicles and metal bars all creating an industrial feel for Anderton to navigate.
Although, this navigation soon starts to get repetitive. For a show with a tight 90-minute runtime, every minute is all the more important, yet a good number of scenes are taken up by Anderton running through choreographed crowds, and as much as Chang’s score ramps up the adrenaline and the pace here, the movement direction here provides a kind of clunky, heightened theatricality which doesn’t quite match the aforementioned, gloomier tone. Similarly, Tanvi Varmani (The Crown Jewels) does well to try and offer a fresh take on a human-like AI assistant, displaying amusing and unexpected wit, but her character comes across as fodder for self-aware comedy and ‘AI ex machina’ in terms of the plot, with her sudden appearances out of thin air (credit to illusions designer Richard Piller here) turning her into some digital version of a fairy godmother.
David’s also the one to first introduce us to Anderton, before Anderton herself gives her name at the start of her conference speech. The pre-crime boss also points out she’s holding a brain, in case that wasn’t obvious, and in two sharp and separate exchanges with David, threatens to rewire her into a Siri or Alexa. It’s sloppy, but still funny imagining the retrospective ‘back in my day’ comments of the future. A comment about Apple Watches making a retro comeback akin to vinyl records is just as surreal to think about.
As for other cast members, Xenoa Campbell-Ledgister is criminally underused as an intrusive American official eyeing up British pre-crime to see if it can be exported across the pond. Perhaps her character is nothing more than a red herring for the central whodunnit, but even so, she doesn’t really have a character arc which justifies her presence or her general animosity to her UK counterparts. The main one is Home Secretary Ralph (Albion’s Nicholas Rowe), who’s one of those government types plagued by infuriating double standards. Good to know nothing’s changed there in this fictional future!
And this brings us to the philosophical elements of Minority Report, of which there are plenty to tuck into here. Much like the 2002 film, there’s the same curious confirmation bias around such the visceral repulsion to being accused of a crime you didn’t (or are yet to) commit playing into the idea that it suggests you are capable, simply for displaying negative emotions such as anger and stress (which the tech, in this instance, monitors). In later scenes, this allows for a brief attempt at providing a reason for gender-swapping Dick’s protagonist, as Anderton’s awkward husband George (Nick Fletcher) is asked to get his wife to calm down, and we also see her spouse resorting to gaslighting (branding her “obsessed”) instead of conceding that the technology he played a part in building is flawed. It adds another layer to the mind games involved in the story’s premise, even if it is brief and heavy-handed in how it’s communicated as opposed to being a little more subtle or insidious.
The play also has the same criticism of pre-crime as a concept in that it assumes mens rea – the guilty mind – based on a hypothetical snapshot of one specific moment in time, unaware that advance knowledge of this can allow for malleability and changing our mind outside the still very much binary confines of technology. The play uses this point to circle back to the already well-established argument in the AI debate that there is a significant degree of humanity, complexity and unpredictability which can still evade most advanced technology.
We already know of this particular point in the discourse, but it’s very much its application in the world of fighting crime and the journey Anderton is put through which supercharges Dick’s discussions around free will, technology and state influence. Sci-fi can be particularly difficult to pull off on stage in a way which isn’t hyperbolic, comedic or just a bit shoddy (I am still reminded of Dark Sublime as an example of where this proved troublesome), but much like how Webster’s Life of Pi was this gorgeous all-round celebration of theatre, this production – with its impressive projections – does provide somewhat of a glimpse into its future potential, and it’s promising.
★★★★
Minority Report is now playing at the Lyric Theatre Hammersmith until 18 May.
It will be captioned, British Sign Language (BSL) interpreted and audio described on 2, 9 and 14 May respectively, with a chilled performance taking place on 8 May.
Production Images: Marc Brenner.
Disclaimer: I was invited to watch ‘Minority Report’ for free in exchange for a review of the performance as a member of the press. I did not receive payment for this article and all opinions stated above are honest and my own.
Liam O'Dell
Think Outside the Box…