It was lit like an altar, hugged by a looming backdrop that felt less like scenery and more like memory. Before the first line, before the hush dropped, that box told me what I was in for.

What if I told you the scariest part of Orwell’s 1984… is how familiar it feels? I went in to see a play. I left with a mirror. Surveillance. Silence. Love as betrayal. Truth rewritten in real time. This isn’t fiction anymore—it’s recognition. Read the latest blog from Silver Moth Studio: “1984: A Mirror in Concrete and Light.” Where art isn’t just performance—it’s prophecy.