Theatre is intrinsically impermanent.
There is something so sad about that, but also marvelous. Shows close, sets are struck, costumes reintegrated back into stocks across town, the creative team moves on to other projects. There will be a time not that long from closing that all of you don't even quite remember things that seemed second nature only weeks before.
Photos don't capture the humor or pathos of the live moment, and video guts the performances so that it is barely worth watching a recording of the production. Once it's closed, it's gone. Forever. That play will never ever happen again in the same way with the same people in that same climate.
I know that this is all obvious, but I think it is a relevant discussion for the Founding Fathers, because I think we live in a time obsessed with permanence. Tattoos, video tapes of births and weddings, a million million blogs existing in perpetuity on the Internet of people's intimate thoughts... We live in a time when we believe that if it's not recorded, it may not have actually happened. Is this a response to our caffeinated fast-paced American lifestyles?
Where does the theatre fit into this obsession? How does transience become a valued part of the landscape? Or does it?
1 comment:
Because life is fleeting, impermanent, transient. Theatre is the medium that reflects this exactly. It doesn't last. You can't hold on to the ephemera that makes a great performance in the same way you can't hold onto the ephemera that makes a great life. You can leave a legacy (please, god, let me have legacy) but you can't stick around and see the show after the set's torn down. Likewise, you can't hang on to your things once your ashes are in an urn. I think our penchant for "stuff" as Americans-- for DVDs and blogs and new cars -- is a feeble attempt at avoiding death or at least the feeling of life's impermanence.
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