When Laura Collins-Hughes's article, "Digital Theater Isn't Theater. It's a Way to Mourn Its Absence," appeared in the New York Times in July 2020, I was relieved to hear someone finally admit that the recent frenzy
of streaming content was not, in fact, theatre – that true theatre requires an interaction
between a live audience and performers. I dreaded the idea that I would eventually
have to watch a playwright's carefully crafted words performed in the two-dimensional
square of my computer screen. I also identified with Collins-Hughes's notion that
we are mourning the loss of the theatre and that our artists are now simply engaged
in some form of vigil.
In fall 2020, I was set to begin working on an M.F.A. in arts administration at Texas Tech University (TTU) in the School of Theatre & Dance. I fully expected to walk (figuratively, of course) into a depressing virtual environment where I would meet despondent students and instructors who were utterly defeated and moving through the days with half-hearted or feigned enthusiasm.
I could not have been more wrong.
The students and instructors I met were lively, animated, and eager to get to work. I was puzzled (and somewhat suspicious), but the energy in the Zoom rooms was contagious. Before long, I felt my spirit being uplifted - though I remained seated in front of my computer.
Of course, it was not all sunshine and roses. We discussed the pandemic often. At times, the conversations would get heavy – fear of infection, lost loved ones. The daily check-ins at the beginning of classes often felt like cathartic rituals of purgation. But then we would get to work.
I was intrigued to learn that M.F.A. candidate Hillary Boyd had scrapped her plan to direct Jeanine Tesori and Brian Crawley's musical, Violet. Instead, she planned to lead the creation of a fully devised work titled 20/20 Visions: The Violet Response Project to better engage with the context of the pandemic. The resulting production was to become an ambitious experiment in virtual theatre.
As I watched the performance of 20/20 Visions, my doubts slowly faded. I was completely engrossed. I saw actors pouring their hearts into their roles. I noticed the costumes, the scenery, and the lighting. I could see all the elements of a traditional theatrical production interacting with one another. The show had an experimental feel and was more than a little disjointed, and yet it sort of resembled theatre. The experience lacked all the characteristics of live theatre I anticipated, but there was something else going on – something fascinating.
Having crossed the Rubicon into the world of virtual theatre, I felt obliged to seek out other productions. In addition to watching the subsequent TTU productions, I also subscribed to the Steppenwolf Theatre Company's virtual season. Later, I stumbled upon Bill Irwin's On Beckett / On Screen staged and streamed for #IrishRepOnline. These experiences began to transform my attitudes about the new world of COVID theatre. I found myself approaching each performance with greater anticipation and higher expectations.
Recently, when I sat down to enjoy a virtual benefit reading of Alan Bowne's Beriut for The MCC Theater Space in Manhattan something special happened. The highly anticipated reading featuring Marissa Tomei and Oscar Isaac failed to launch. The screen froze awkwardly in the middle of the curtain speech and then went into standby mode. Those of us watching at home were left staring at a title screen for upwards of 45 minutes waiting for technical issues to be resolved.
Meanwhile, the chat function was left operational for the audience to banter among themselves. There were, of course, some rumblings of dissatisfaction, but for the most part everyone retained their good humor. This interchange eventually took on a life of its own.
People chimed in with comments such as, "Could you please move your elbow? This is my armrest," and "Is the theatre bar open this evening?" I asked if anyone had a mint. Many commented on how the delay made the experience feel more like live theatre, and others suggested that the chat had become its own incarnation of COVID theatre. Eventually, the issues were resolved, the audience rejoiced, and we were treated to a fantastic show.
Somehow this experience triggered a revelation: I no longer cared if COVID theatre is "real theatre." And I suddenly resented Collins-Hughes's suggestion that theatre artists are piddling around in a state of mourning. The question about the authenticity of digital theatre now seemed trivial. I had become overwhelmed by the compassion theatre artists show for their work and the lengths that audiences will go to connect with the art and each another.
Perhaps the students and instructors in the TTU School of Theatre & Dance derived their optimism from an innate awareness of the audience's hunger for their work. Or perhaps it only took a handful of believers to inspire the rest of us. Either way, I now like to think the positive spirit I encountered in the Beriut chatroom and my Zoom classrooms is far more contagious than any virus. If these virtual theatre productions are evidence of anything, it is that the forces that bring us together are far more powerful than those that pull us apart.
Cover photo by Brett Sayles from Pexels.