Compassion
Last year, the National Theatre embarked on a new project, live relays of its plays to certain cinemas. This is not a wholly new idea, the English National Opera have for a few years now been broadcasting live on big screens around the country productions from the Royal Opera House, meaning that innocent shoppers have occasionally wandered past a public square showing such an event and been shouted at in German or Italian by a lady who looks like her favourite venue is Greggs.
The NT idea is altogether more intimate, show the live broadcasts in cinemas. This is good for a couple of reasons, the first is that one can go to the cinema to see a play rather than have to go to the National, which means you don’t have to go to the South Bank, which means you don’t have to wander past people who are trying to make a living from being painted silver and pretending to be robots. The second benefit is that one is rarely if ever allowed to turn up at your theatre seat with a huge fizzy drink, a bucket of popcorn and a plate of natchos, the downside of this is of course that one is allowed, indeed expected, to drink gin and tonic by the bucketload in the theatre, as this is the only sure way of enjoying any performance. If it’s crap, it’ll dull the pain, if it’s good, it’ll enhance the experience.
The other benefit for the National is that once something has been recorded, it can be broadcast again. This means that anyone who missed the initial run of a play can go and see the broadcast, and anyone who was actually there can go and see the broadcast of the play they attended, with the declared intent of feeling smug they were at the original and the secret intent of wanting to spot themselves in the audience.
Seeing the broadcast of a play at a cinema is an interesting experience. When I went to see recording of the National’s production of ‘Frankenstein’ the other night at the local cinema, it was all very theatrical. The cinema was full, just like a theatre, and the tickets were eye-wateringly expensive, just like the theatre. At the conclusion of the play, the people to the right of me applauded and while one might be tempted with the uncharitable thought ‘the actors can’t hear you’, it certainly added to the theatre experience of the thing, and I rather like to think maybe one of the actors was sat in the back row, muffled up against recognition, to see how the broadcast played out to a captive audience.
As to the production and the play, it was nothing short of astonishing. British theatre has a history of pushing the boundaries and the trouble with being avant guard and seeking to do something wholly original and challenging is that there is grave danger of setting up camp in that territory occupied by so much art and so so much theatre known as ‘pretentious bollocks’. However, if you can get your creativity just the right side of the bollocks line, you have a hit, a very palpable hit, on your hands, and so it was the case here.
The play was stunning and remains with one long after the last natcho has been digested. Frankly, it was both profound and profoundly moving and the message, one of the many messages, was that we have to be kindler towards one another. We have to make a gentler world, and be more tolerant.
For me, this is a particular challenge. Leaving aside the paradox that being tolerant can mean being intolerant of intolerance, I sometimes feel that the default setting of the modern world is intolerance. Obviously prejudice is vile, but there are more subtle, accepted forms of intolerance, that manifest in teevee talent shows and tabloid demonisation.
Becoming more tolerant is like going on a diet, when one feels the need to binge winge about someone or something, one needs to take a beat and wonder if the result will be a better world, or just one with a bit more bile in it.
The NT idea is altogether more intimate, show the live broadcasts in cinemas. This is good for a couple of reasons, the first is that one can go to the cinema to see a play rather than have to go to the National, which means you don’t have to go to the South Bank, which means you don’t have to wander past people who are trying to make a living from being painted silver and pretending to be robots. The second benefit is that one is rarely if ever allowed to turn up at your theatre seat with a huge fizzy drink, a bucket of popcorn and a plate of natchos, the downside of this is of course that one is allowed, indeed expected, to drink gin and tonic by the bucketload in the theatre, as this is the only sure way of enjoying any performance. If it’s crap, it’ll dull the pain, if it’s good, it’ll enhance the experience.
The other benefit for the National is that once something has been recorded, it can be broadcast again. This means that anyone who missed the initial run of a play can go and see the broadcast, and anyone who was actually there can go and see the broadcast of the play they attended, with the declared intent of feeling smug they were at the original and the secret intent of wanting to spot themselves in the audience.
Seeing the broadcast of a play at a cinema is an interesting experience. When I went to see recording of the National’s production of ‘Frankenstein’ the other night at the local cinema, it was all very theatrical. The cinema was full, just like a theatre, and the tickets were eye-wateringly expensive, just like the theatre. At the conclusion of the play, the people to the right of me applauded and while one might be tempted with the uncharitable thought ‘the actors can’t hear you’, it certainly added to the theatre experience of the thing, and I rather like to think maybe one of the actors was sat in the back row, muffled up against recognition, to see how the broadcast played out to a captive audience.
As to the production and the play, it was nothing short of astonishing. British theatre has a history of pushing the boundaries and the trouble with being avant guard and seeking to do something wholly original and challenging is that there is grave danger of setting up camp in that territory occupied by so much art and so so much theatre known as ‘pretentious bollocks’. However, if you can get your creativity just the right side of the bollocks line, you have a hit, a very palpable hit, on your hands, and so it was the case here.
The play was stunning and remains with one long after the last natcho has been digested. Frankly, it was both profound and profoundly moving and the message, one of the many messages, was that we have to be kindler towards one another. We have to make a gentler world, and be more tolerant.
For me, this is a particular challenge. Leaving aside the paradox that being tolerant can mean being intolerant of intolerance, I sometimes feel that the default setting of the modern world is intolerance. Obviously prejudice is vile, but there are more subtle, accepted forms of intolerance, that manifest in teevee talent shows and tabloid demonisation.
Becoming more tolerant is like going on a diet, when one feels the need to binge winge about someone or something, one needs to take a beat and wonder if the result will be a better world, or just one with a bit more bile in it.
Labels: Cinema, Frankenstein, Mary Shelly, National Theatre, Theatre
1 Comments:
It's a good message, but understandably difficult. Sort of like those people who say that the things you can't tolerate in other people are actually things that you see reflected by and don't like about yourself...I totally disagree with this, of course, because I, for example, can't stand screaming kids at restaurants and in no way do I have any kids....and, if I did, I wouldn't allow them to scream in restaurants as they'd be locked up in the closet as kids should be.
But, in the end, I do think most people, including myself, must look inward a little more at the things that make us less than who we want to be before immediately pointing the finger...because, most of us are more alike than we are willing to admit.
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