A couple of weeks ago at Rose and The Rime I found myself utterly distracted on stage in the second scene of the play. Try as I might to be professional and listen to my scene partner Chris Mathews, I could not help but notice four cell phones in the front rows in constant motion. Non-stop picture taking followed by what appeared to be texting…I thought “wow, are these people tweeting, or on facebook right now, reporting the happenings of this production?” In the flurry of camera phones moving up and down with artful intention to capture the beauty of Collette Pollard’s set design, I barely remembered to ask Uncle Roger why no one had gone after the witch to retrieve the magic coin.
We forgot to remind people that evening to turn off their cell phones in the curtain speech. The live curtain speech before the show every night is a House theatre trademark– a time when we hype up the audience, tell ‘em to buy stuff and to be careful not to put their beer bottles in knocking distance of snowstorms guaranteed to erupt inches before them. And of course, this is usually the time that we remind people not to receive phone calls or send text messages. But…that night we forgot. And there are no signs posted anywhere in the theatre forbidding people to take pictures, so we’re partially responsible for the leading role technology played that evening.
But here’s what’s peaking my interest. Normally I would be pissed at the audience member for engaging in cell phone activity during a live performance. I would not be brave enough to stop the show and shout it out, but my east-coast judgmental upbringing allows for an inner monologue that rages: “You are distracting me! You are distracting your fellow audience members! You are at a live event. Experience it full body, not through a tiny lens. Let the electronic beast be silenced and live it yourselves, people!”
But…then I think…The House is straddling different forms of entertainment. On the one hand we’ve always been inspired by the aesthetics of the rock show –wanting our audience to feel the cosmic blend of casual cool alongside the thrill of virtuoso and entertainment. But rock shows these days, like sports games, are filled with cell phone photographers capturing the awesome in order to broadcast it to their global friend networks. Should this culture exist in our theatre space too? Afterall our mission as a company is “to unite Chicago in the Spirit of Community through Amazing feats of Storytelling.” Maybe the phone-tographers are helping us to do just that. They’re reaching out and sharing the experience, locally, nationally, maybe even internationally.
Is this the way?
We’re trying to stay cool and hip to the live events that most people attend (more so than the theatre.) We’re trying to keep the theatre alive and young and as a place where lots of responses are encouraged. We hope our audiences will cheer audibly for our heroes, we hope they will clap and sing along to the all-out song and dance numbers. But on the other hand, we also want to maintain intimate relationships and quiet moments that we’ve built between characters. Does the flash and text destroy these moments… destroy the potential for building community among our audience members who are present in the space that evening?
What’s a hip theatre to do with all the hip technology? How do we guide our audience through the experience they need and want with our shows? Does the simultaneous “tweet and watch” give our audience members another opportunity to engage, or does this kind of activity actually encourage disengagement? Is it rude, or is it the way we’re headed? Can we go back? Can and should we give up the technology addiction in favor of the old fashioned but potent method of storytelling campfire style?
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