I remember reading
Treasure Island when I was younger,
shivering in excitement as Long John Silver swept the crew of the Hispaniola into his murky plans. I remember Captain Flint
(Silver’s parrot), Jim Hawkins the cabin-boy, the blind man tap-tapping his
cane in the darkness, the dreaded black spot, finding the wild man Ben Gunn on
the island… But strangely enough, I don’t really remember the story at all.
More recently, I read Andrew Motion’s Silver,
the 'return to Treasure Island', but that felt more like seeing something
familiar refracted through an endless mirror and trying to piece it all back
together. But here, in this production by London ’s
National Theatre, Treasure Island
springs into full-blooded thrilling life, and is much darker and far more
mercurial than I ever remember it.