March Round-Up: Real, Virtual & Virtual Reality
Absolutely no "But is it theater?" analysis, I promise
Thoughts on a few shows I’ve seen this past month: in-person, online, and even some virtual reality, just for fun.
Passage Thru - Clubbed Thumb, In-Person
Clubbed Thumb’s Winterworks season took up the theme “New Beginnings,” as we begin (hopefully) to emerge from the worst of the pandemic. Its mostly virtual works took a variety of approaches—for instance, Arpita Mukherjee and Aya Aziz’s audio piece A Portal was closer to journalism, expanding on Arundhati Roy’s article "The Pandemic Is A Portal” through interviews with frontline workers.
Estefanía Fadul’s Passage Thru took a more literal approach, actually sending its audience through a portal and into a new world. Well, sort of. The “passage” was the back hallway of a Brooklyn bar, lit and decorated for atmosphere. Six audience members took turns moving through, with guidance from an audio track. Then we regrouped in the back garden for live songs. Drinks were provided, and we were encouraged to mingle afterwards.
A bit precious maybe, but outdoor works which create a warm feeling of communion with strangers get extra leeway these days. I kept the mingling brief but, in the “new world,” feel like I’ll be more open to communal pieces like this one. Maybe. Don’t hold me to that.
Duchess! Duchess! Duchess! - Steppenwolf NOW, Virtual
A Duchess meets with a Soon-To-Be-Duchess to discuss the rules of entering her world. Vivian J.O. Barnes’ sharp, well-timed play isn’t really about Kate Middleton and Meghan Markle—I don’t think Markle was known for eating plants, as the Duchess-To-Be does here. But Barnes’ work hits powerfully on something real Markle did discuss: the body physically revolting against a traumatic and stifling environment.
“Pretend you’re not there,” this Duchess advises, when the Soon-To-Be asks about large crowds now following her. “Leave your body.” The idea echoes Markle’s own recollections of keeping up appearances at official events while inwardly collapsing. Celeste M. Cooper and Sydney Charles bring precise physicality as we witness the two Duchesses’ bodies revolt against them. It starts funny, and ends truly disturbing.
Theatre: A Love Story - Know Theatre of Cincinnati, Virtual
A love/hate letter to the theater. Caridad Svich’s thoughtful, compassionate play got me thinking on if/how plays ahead should directly acknowledge the year behind. Theatre: A Love Story dives right into the raging debates of the past year, particularly on theater’s role in confronting inequality and climate change. Svich just has her characters talk it out.
Not every play need be so direct—but, it may feel silly to re-enter strictly fourth-walled-off worlds as though nothing happened. There’s something to Svich’s blunt approach.
Also, every transition here is a dance break, which I approve of. More dance breaks please.
Dream - Royal Shakespeare Company, Virtual Reality
A glimpse at the possibilities of virtual reality theater, if only a glimpse. Dream drops you into a VR version of A Midsummer Night’s Dream’s forest setting. We follow our guide, Puck, as they battle the elements and commune with fairies.
Some of it works. Each actor’s personality does come through, even through layers of VR effects (Puck is rocks in a vaguely human shape, Mustardseed looks like Treebeard, etc). The scenery is gorgeous. The climax, which fills the sky above you with fireflies, is a moving spectacle.
The interactive elements need a lot of work. I was directed a few times to “drag and drop” on a virtual map, apparently to help direct Puck through the space, but it wasn’t clear how that worked or if I was really affecting the action at all. So, not a brave new world just yet, but plenty of potential.
P.S. - Letters, Ars Nova
Since November I’ve been receiving both sides of a correspondence between Bea in Moody, Oregon, and Ona in Brooklyn, New York. The two haven’t seen each other in years but, in the lonely chaos of 2020, have reconnected by letter. And we get to follow along.
Reading the letters can feel almost intrusive, particularly when the author appears to be unraveling as they write (both characters have already had such moments, which, same). Authors Sam Chanse & Amina Henry have built up our insight into Bea and One patiently and with care. Now, seven letters in, I find myself wanting to scream advice at the pages as I see them making bad choices. But then a new insight will shift my perspective again. We still have a lot to learn about these two.
In a sweet touch, some of the letters have come with additional gifts: a cake recipe, confetti from a Nov. 7th celebration, a piece of Ona’s own artwork. One even came with a blank postcard, which seemed to say: “You also feeling lonely? Go write someone!”
I didn’t. Yet. Maybe soon.