I have been reading far too much Post-Apocalyptic literature recently. Coupling that with a book about the life of a Samurai and it really gets one thinking about death. In the midst of tech for Of Mice and Men I had the thought “if I died tomorrow, would I be pleased with my life?” And suddenly my focus on the play shifted. I began thinking if this was the last show I ever lit, what would I think of it as my final creation.
Yes, rather morbid indeed.
The interesting thing about all that was my focus became so clear on the work before me it was amazing. It was a wholly unique experience. The finesse and craft and care that went into polishing those light cues surpassed anything I have done to date. I have no idea if, objectively, it is my best work. But from a subjective place it certainly is.
Would I be happy with this play if it were my last? Yes. Yes I would.
Watching my last preview here before I leave town, I was struck with something amazing. Here I am looking at what I consider some of my best work to date and suddenly I realize the work is not mine. Not mine in a teleological way. It is not for me. It is for the audience. I have created something for people who I most likely will never meet. Yes, this is obvious, and a regular part of my job. But what struck me was the profundity of that thought while watching the audience watch the play.
I was hit with what a gift this work is. Here we are making these little pieces of temporal art and we ask hardworking people to spend a not insignificant amount of their money to watch them. A captive audience to our little whims. But the work is not about us. The work is about giving a gift to these people, total strangers. The work is about creating a space wherein people can leave the daily struggle of their lives and get back in touch with their core humanity.
And unlike all other art, save music, the relationship between the work and the viewer is a communal one. There is talk of a “theatre community” but the real community is the temporary one created and uncreated every night between the time when the houselights dim and the final bow. This community shares a world of joy and sorrow and laughter. It is transported far away and returns. The same, yet changed.
Watching the audience laugh at Lenny’s antics was amazing. Watching that laughter grow increasingly uncomfortable as the end became more and more inevitable. Watching, as they filed out of the house in stunned silence, like mourners leaving a wake.
All I could think was, “What a gift!” What a wonderful gift we had given these people. A temporary moment of truly and deeply connecting with their humanity. Putting, if even for a moment, all their petty annoyances into a larger perspective. Bringing them face to face with their own mortality.
Perhaps tonight was an anomaly. Perhaps that intensity will never be recreated. But that is the true magic of the theatre. Those moments of intense human connection that by their very nature can not be recreated because they are a pact between the show and the audience. They are a pact of honesty. One party says, “I will be honest with you if you can honestly and openly receive what I have here to give.” The other party agrees.
That is the true magic of the theater. That is what makes it like no other experience. Because it is not about the ego of the performer or the literacy of the audience. It is about the willingness to suspend all those trappings of the ego and have a truly human experience. It is a reminder that we are spiritual beings having a human experience.
It is a reminder of what a truly wonderful gift that is.
Tags: barter, design, practical theory, theater
Thank you for this.
There is so much misery and so many people complaining about everything and how effed up everything is and I was really kind of having an indigestion of “the world is effed”.
So thank you for that.
Life…. death… it’s all a gift in the end.
really beautiful
loved reading this.
Glad you liked it.