If nothing else, you have to give Michael Radford credit for ambition. With nothing more than one minor feature film and a Van Morrison tour documentary to his credit, he somehow finagled his way into tackling one of the most colossally important novels of the 20th century. He wrote the screenplay himself, rejecting all offers of assistance from any number of literary lions; he was determined to film in in London, regardless of the expense; and he decided to release it in the year 1984, cementing it for good in the public consciousness as the definitive version of the classic novel of a totalitarian future. Determined or not, though, Radford encountered endless difficulties in making the film, and it very nearly didn't happen. George Orwell's widow very nearly didn't give him the rights to the property (she'd previously blocked David Bowie from crafting a rock opera -- the record that ultimately became Diamond Dogs -- out of the story), and billionaire Richard Branson, who bankrolled the project, tacked all sorts of demands on Radford under which he bristled until he publicly denounced Branson's meddling at the BAFTA awards that year. But the fact that he attended the BAFTA awards should give you an idea of whether or not the director -- then a 'young buck' at 37 -- managed to realize his titanic ambition.
For all its formidable reputation, though, Nineteen Eighty-Four is, among the 'great books', one of the most filmable. It has a memorable set of characters, a linear plot, a comprehensible storyline that took place both internally and externally, and, for all the feuding that later took place between liberals and conservatives about which of them, exactly, Orwell was complaining, an overall point that was hard to miss. It also contained enough science fiction elements to keep fanboys entertained (though one of Sonia Brownell's conditions for granting Radford the rights to film her husband's novel was that it not contain hi-tech special effects), a juicy sexual subplot, and a richly detailed, yet highly believable, fictional world to be relaized on screen. Despite his onerous conditions, Branson ponied up a lot of money for Radford to play with, ensuring that he could pursue the look he wanted, the feel he needed, and the cast he depended on to make a successful adaptation. If he did it right, Nineteen Eighty-Four could be a huge success. So did he?
WHAT IT HAD: In many ways, the restrictions under which Michael Radford had to work became the elements that made his film succeed. Brownell's demand that the movie not become a showcase for glitzy special effects led him to pursue a low-tech, rattle-trap look for the world of Oceania; everything was dysfunctional, broken down, cobbled together out of pre-war parts. (This same approach would be used a year later to great effect in Brazil.) Branson's demand that his pop stars du jour, the Eurythmics, be included in the soundtrack, infuriated Radford, but their ice-cool techno-pop sounds were actually oddly evocative of the friendly fascism peddled by Ingsoc. And his emphasis on psychology and character over plot resulted in some dynamite casting, including John Hurt as Winston Smith and a cruelly dignified Richard Burton as O'Brien. 
WHAT IT LACKED: Suzanna Hamilton, fresh off of having to put up with a smirking Sting in Brimstone & Treacle, sometimes seemed outclassed as Julia in Nineteen Eighty-Four, but that's understandable -- and forgivable -- given that she was surrounded by some major-league heavy hitters of British cinema. Radford's script put a lot of emphasis on tone and emotion, which works quite well and gives it a resonance, especially in the early scenes, that's as timeless as Orwell's novel, but it does wander a bit and gets lost in the forest of plot. And while no one is going to see this movie for an uplifting cinematic experience, Radford does pull off the frankly amazing trick of making the movie even more depressing, dirty and hopeless-seeming than the source material.
DID IT SUCCEED?: It's certainly the movie that launched Michael Radford's career, which, on the balance, is a good thing. It's Richard Burton's final screen appearance, and he couldn't have asked for a better epitaph. And it certainly succeeded in becoming the definitive big-screen version of Orwell's antifascist masterpiece, positively eradicating all memory of the abortive 1956 Edmond O'Brien version from the collective pop-cultural unconscious. But how does it hold up just on its own? It was hugely celebrated at the time of its initial release, but then -- again, partly because of the nasty in-fighting behind the scenes that spilled its way into the press -- it faded a bit, so that when the BAFTAs finally announced their 1984 selections, it barely made a dent. It did fairly good business in the U.S., and was well-received by stateside critics, but it was never considered a masterwork. And while it isn't the pure triumph of imagination and intent that the novel is, it shouldn't suffer by comparison; it did what it set out to do spectacularly well, and with no glaring missteps, it should be reevaluated as one of the more successful literary adaptations of its time.