One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest
adapted by Dale Wasserman
The Barbican, London
27 July - 5 August 2000

Munira Mirza

With its savagely dark humour and tragic quality, Ken Kesey's One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest has enjoyed pride of place in popular American fiction since it was first published in the 1960s.

Set in a US mental hospital, Kesey's examination of repressive state control in modern America has been revisited in various mediums over the years, most notably Milos Forman's formidable film adaptation of 1975, which featured a crazed Jack Nicholson tearing down the sedated calm of the state-owned asylum. The stage adaptation by Dale Wasserman, currently being performed by the Steppenwolfe company at the Barbican, is a testament to the enduring popularity of the story.

Kicking off with a short shot of rock and roll music, the production positions the audience right in the heart of mid-60s America. The stage is the brighter-than-white day room of a mental hospital, where an assortment of eccentric characters meet each day to live out their banal routines. Keeping watch over them through the wide glass window of her office is Nurse Ratched, who condescends to her wards as though they were children.

In comes Randall McMurphy, a fiery tempered prison convict who has accepted a diagnosis of psychosis in order to escape the county jail. Brash, humorous and imbued with a sense of common dignity, MacMurphy is angered by Ratched's nannying and the coercive nature of the institution's group therapy meetings. His defiance of its rules sparks respect and admiration from his fellow inmates, but the most notable impact he makes is through his touching friendship with the silent Chief, who is assumed to be deaf and dumb by the rest of the ward.

The play is hardly subtle in its indictment of state oppression. The mental hospital is a microcosm of modern America and bluntly illustrates how state authorities pacify citizens to voluntarily accept their own imprisonment. Nevertheless, there are moments of intelligent theatre. The brilliant white of the hospital room is contrasted with the darkness that falls over the stage as the Chief communes in a stream of consciousness to his father's spirit. The sudden move between the external world and internal mind unsettles the audience and communicates the sense of isolation that is felt in both.

Gary Sinise is excellent as a funny but frustrated MacMurphy, and the rest of the cast give fine performances. But the standing ovation that was given at the end of the performance seemed a little too enthusiastic. The tragedy and frustration, if performed well, should leave the audience feeling shocked and silent. But there was too much talking for that. The silent gaps that lead to the climax of MacMurphy's struggle are filled with unnecessary dialogue, and one gets the feeling that the audience cannot be trusted to understand the gravity of the situation by themselves. This is an enjoyable play, and does some justice to the sentiment of the original novel, but heart-stopping theatre it ain't.