Echoing into Nothing

 

Photo by Marcelo Jaboo

One of the damndest things about theater happens to be its greatest strength: it lives and breathes in the moment. If you weren't there, you missed it. When I think about how many original works have faded back into the shadows, never to be heard of again, it makes my heart hurt. I recall so many nights, sipping cheap wine in storefront lobbies, looking at dusty framed posters of such shows. I have some such posters on my own walls at home (which reminds me, I need to do some dusting.)

To quote the poet, "This isn't meant to last/This is for right now." It's just the nature of the beast, and like I said at the top, it gives live theater its particular strength. Our audiences are present witnesses to the creation of our art. Sure, we meet and rehearse and build sets and hang lights and all of that. But the whole thing doesn't mean anything until at least one warm body watches as it all comes to fruition.

And when it's all over? It's all over. Unless some forward-thinking person took pictures at a rehearsal, or some packrat happened to hold on to a program, there is precious little evidence that anything magical actually happened. We have our memories.

Oh yeah... and we have reviews.

Let's say you see one of those dusty posters. Maybe you recognize an actor's name. Maybe you just like the art. You whip out your mobile device and see what else you can find out about that show. You might find some archive on the theater company's website. But maybe that company went through a nasty divorce with some past members, and petulantly deleted all reference to them. Maybe you find a resume line on an actor's website. Maybe, just maybe you find a review.

I'm somewhat inclined to rev Mad Theatrics back up, if only to keep a running record of productions that won't live past their original run. If only there were more hours in a day.