I think most theatre practitioners would agree that the energy an audience gives the performers on stage can make or break a production. For those of us fortunate to be with a show from day one of rehearsal through weeks, months, or years of performances, it is amazing to see how the mood of the audience will instantly shape the perceived success of a show on an individual evening. We've all seen the comedy on a Saturday afternoon where the audience is too hungover from the night before to give credit to the events on stage, or the after-dinner Friday night crowd who struggles to stay awake while the steak and bottle of red wine digest in their stomach. Generally, the actors on stage can recognize this and do their best to keep the energy of the show high, even if the patrons fight them the entire way. At a certain point, however, there is a decidedly unhappy moment when the company loses faith in an audience and just tries to get through the show so they can go home. I bring this "Intro to Theatre Performance" topic up to reflect on an experience I had this afternoon while seeing The Gospel at Colonus produced by the Opera Theatre of Pittsburgh at the August Wilson Center for African American Culture.
Briefly, The Gospel at Colonus is a performance piece that explores the connections between Greek and modern cultures while outlining the basic story of Oedipus after he has blinded himself through his death (using significant chunks of Sophocles' original work). Its creators believed that gospel performance was the closest thing we have in contemporary society to a Greek chorus and this theatrical vehicle could be used to create the intended catharsis, or emotional release, at the end of the tragedy. Hence, the production is performed fully by a large gospel choir with soloists who portray individual characters as necessary. There is a fascinating duality that the actors encounter as they step in and out of roles, often smartly blurring the boundary between the story and the performance. Not surprisingly, the play has had it's share of critics concerned with the cultural appropriation of gospel music and larger African American culture in order to achieve a desired effect. There are also numerous inherent moments where the principles of Christianity and pagan practices are queered. Although these heavy dramaturgical topics are met with much enthusiasm and interest to me, I wrote many a paper on this play in undergrad, so wish to use my time with you, the reader, to talk about shared experience in performance.
I went with my friend Devorah to the closing matinee performance this afternoon and it was the first time either of us had been in the gorgeous new August Wilson Center. I have had the immense honor of working with Kenny Leon and the "Wilsonian Soldiers" in an epic rep at the Kennedy Center where we produced all 10 plays of the August Wilson cycle in the August Wilson 20th Century rep. My life was forever touched by that company of actors, artistic staff, production team, and August's family that being in a theatre dedicated to him already made me feel reverential. Devorah has also worked with some of the Soldiers, which has been a shared experience we both cherish. I had seen a small production of The Gospel at Colonus once before, but what makes it such a powerful performance opportunity for me is the size of the cast it desperately needs. When we opened our programs and saw there was a cast of over 150 my jaw dropped. This was it. The Gospel I had hoped for.
The set was brilliant, with suspended column capitals that had streamers flowing down to bases on the floor, creating stunning abstract columns. Each column had a different mask on top, which one later finds out corresponds to a different principle cast member. They smartly used lighting to emphasize columns based on what characters were present in the scene and their motivations. The only other real scenic element, besides a system of platforming, were these annoying green vertical light tubes that got moved around during scenes that I never understood the purpose of. The rest of the stage was populated by risers for the choir and musicians. For you audiophiles, the sound design was excellent and they did an impressive job of mixing such a large group of people with live music on stage. I must also give a nod to the masks, which were a smart fusion of traditional African and Greek styles.
As the show was about to begin, the large chorus began to file in seemingly randomly, greeting each other as they entered. Whether this was an artistic choice or not, it felt very much like the beginning of a church service where community members slowly gathered and caught up on the recent news from each other, all the while awaiting the entrance of the preacher. The chorus also filled two rows of seats set up on the orchestra pit that was lowered to house level, so the front rows of the audience were filled with performers. The added charm of this show is the use of local performers. While there is generally a strong core of principles, local gospel choirs are almost always recruited to be a part of the ensemble. In this case, we were treated by the Mt. Ararat Majestic Choir and the CAPA Opera Chorus. Although some of the principle acting wasn't as strong as one might like, they made up for it in the music. Now I must say, seeing 150 people on stage simultaneously singing, acting, and dancing is breathtaking. Rarely in professional theatre do we get to work with numbers even above 50 due to the sheer cost and logistics of having such a large company. This experience alone was well worth the price of admission.
The only thing I can say I was actually disappointed in with this production was our audience. The music and power of the performers demands you rise to your feet and allow yourself to be taken with the 'spirit'. "Lift Him Up", the biggest production number of the show, occurs near the end and is intended to be the moment of sheer catharsis after witnessing Antigone's tragic grief over the death of her father, Oedipus. The Greeks would have us purge all our sad and negative feelings at this moment in true Linda Blair fashion. Our audience, rather, just sat there and took it. The front rows of choir members were on their feet with the house lights on and yet nobody in the house stood. This was a prime example of how our beloved theatrical conventions can also be our undoing. Audiences are trained to clap at the end of songs and also at the end of shows (standing ovations also seem to be obligatory these days), but we rarely are afforded the opportunity to physically embrace a production without an usher quickly escorting us away. One might be inclined to label this a failure of the piece; it was unable to release the intended audience from their seats, much less release their emotions. I, however, saw it as a memorable moment where 150 people were unified with a single goal of delivering the audience from its sorrow, and they did not for a moment let the lack of energy given back to them detract from their performance. Mad props.
I did not experience the profound emotional release over Oedipus' death I sought going into the theatre. I did, however, feel something uncomfortably spiritual about the choir's communal effort. Now let the weeping cease.
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