We’ve all been there before: our hero on stage is tearing up a letter, but then an errant piece drops to the floor. This was not rehearsed. This was not a part of the plan. He exits, the scene ends, but the scrap of paper remains. Scene after scene: it remains. You can’t help it. You’re looking at one thing. We no longer have a play about revenge, we have a play about a scrap of paper, journeying through time and space.
Sure, it’s acting 101 to take care of things that go wrong on stage, from dropped props to flubbed lines. But when the moment’s not rehearsed, actors can get anxious and think ignoring it may be better than addressing it. They’re not authorized to change blocking or add text, so ignoring it is their default option. In fact, ignoring things is part of the fundamental contract of traditional theatre. Actors need to ignore a lot of things, the audience most of all, to believe in their imaginary circumstances. We ask the audience to join us: ignore your seat, ignore the artificiality of the fourth wall, ignore the lights, ignore all ambient noises, ignore the velcro on the costumes—we need you to imagine with us (see Henry V: Prologue.) And above all else, please ignore the strange fact that these people in front of you can’t seem to see you or hear you when you laugh, cry, or cough.
What happens when we remove that contract and burst that weird bubble in front of us where some things are happening and some are not?
Immersive theatre doesn’t make ignoring things a cornerstone of the art. Even in a dreamscape immersive that isn’t aiming to deliver realism—and where people seem to be of a dancing species—the audience does not have to make as many imaginative leaps. We’re there. So are the performers. Whatever you see, hear, touch, taste, or smell IS happening in the world of the show, too.
Okay, granted, you should still ignore the lights. And some immersives will still ignore the audience (a cowardly choice, in my opinion, as actor-audience eye contact is the most powerful tool of this trade). But just your physical presence alone in the space gives immersive theatre a super-power. It feels realer, truer, more in your bones when you experience it. And when the performer is free to live the scene with you? It’s a game-changer. Not only will immersive performers pick up every fallen prop, they have an open invitation from the genre to acknowledge anything that’s happening, whether that’s an audience member’s response or an unplanned noise.
Thing is, human beings respond to things. One of my acting coaches, Philip Lehl, has a favorite phrase when correcting actors: “That is not a thing a human would do.” To which I say, let’s pursue that more thoroughly. How can we make this art form more recognizably human? To not respond to everything that’s happening, as players on stages do, diminishes the character’s humanity and ultimately fails to build a reciprocal relationship with the audience. The vast majority of plays require performers to ignore responses from their audience (Shakespeare and his marvelous asides being the exception here). And love isn’t much fun when it’s not requited.
Immersive theatre requites. This genre offers actors the chance to be more human than stage plays ever dreamed possible. It’s up to creators to decide what we want to do with that power.
GEEZ, lady, What DID traditional theatrE EVER DO TO YOU?
It’s possible value language is creeping in here. I should perhaps state my bias before it’s too late, that I have a psychological fear of not being seen, and I love immersive theatre because it loves me back. Lately, when a close-up actor in a traditional play studiously ignores me, I’ve felt compelled to trip him on his way out, as negative attention would be better than none. And at least THAT would be REAL. I should probably stop seeing theatre.
So while I may find it personally frustrating, I don’t want to say categorically that the “bubble” is “bad.” But it is quite clear that immersives burst it, and some new powers come from that. And, well, I’m excited by that. I didn’t start a traditional theatre company.
More to come on this “superpower,” with comparative thoughts on improv and anecdotes from The Man From Beyond.