In most theatrical settings the
audience is cast simply as a viewer to the story that is unfolding on the stage
and regardless of if the forth wall is ever broken they still remain nothing
more than a spectator to the event. What transformation then occurs when the
audience becomes an integral part of the world being created for both the
performers and the viewers? The level to which the audience participates and
the manner in which they are incorporated, can have a profound effect on both
the running of the show itself, as well as the way in which the show is viewed
by both participants and non-participants. From the use of the home as a
staging arena in What The Folk? (Siamsa
Tire, the National Folk Theatre of Ireland) to the physical involvement of the
audience at the end of a traditional work in Rian (Fabulous Beast/Liam Ó Maonlai/Michael Keegan-Dolan), the contrasting
approach to each form of audience
involvement lends itself to varying reactions, where the rate of success was
measured by what features were kept, what were compromised, and ultimately what
was sacrificed.
What The Folk? seeks
to define folk as being a communal storytelling, a means of passing one’s life
experiences on to another in hopes that the traditions, dislikes, and intimate
details will be kept and shared in future generations. In this way, the four
actors, who simply play themselves, don’t seek to set an form of a stage, but
rather, welcome the audience into their home, taking them from room to room,
offering them tea and cake, and allowing them to glean a little bit about their
lives while sitting in various locations of their bathroom. This unexpected
experience, one which most audience members are not anticipating, helps to blur
the lines not only between pre-show and show, but between audience and
listener. Speaking to the first half of this experience, the inability to tell
that the “show” had actually started was curious enough, for by the time we
made our way to the sitting room with our tea and cake, most of the 15 people
“watching” the show, had already begun polite conversation with the four
actors, who were explaining how fortunate it was that the festival was able to
get them this charming home for their two week stay here. The small, intimate,
and fairly forced interaction between actor and audience provided the arena
needed for their stories to be told. As the performance progressed the four
dancers continually looked to each of the viewers, to make direct eye contact
with them in order to make clear that, “This story is for you,” which allowed
the audience to transform from spectator to listener. Had these dancers been on
a stage, separated by an invisible delineation between performer and viewer,
the performance would have lost the welcoming and friendly connection made with
each viewer that was the definition of folk itself. However, in a performance
so centered around forming a dialogue, a free space to contribute your singular
and shared experiences on the subject of Irish Dance, the lack of conversational
and physical involvement of the audience during the more scripted “scenes” was
perhaps what lead to the differing responses to the work. While many of the
audience members were moved so much that to physically participate may have
been overwhelming, others were not moved enough by simply viewing. This brings
into play the idea of compromise in a production such as this; do you open the
conversation to viewers and risk the performance going astray, do you perform
in a larger space so as to teach the steps you are performing while then losing
the intimacy of a smaller space, do you choose to share more of your songs
rather than teaching just one? The choices made in What the Folk? were strong, committed, and well thought out, but
missed out on the opportunity to take their story telling to the final level,
and impart upon their viewers a song, or a step that would not only unify the
group as a whole, but allow the audience something concrete to then re-share,
and re-teach in the spirit of folk.
Perhaps in an even more perplexing manner than What The Folk?, Rian choose to take a very different approach in the way of
audience participation. At first glance, this production seems to embody the
form of many traditionally performed dance works; the dancers are onstage and
the audience simply observes from their seats. Why then does the audience get
this certain feeling of inclusion throughout the work? First, the set itself
was designed in order to mimic a type of round, a way of allowing the audience to
make up the second half of the semi-circular platform that ran around the
stage. The massive green cyclorama which ran the entire upstage, helped to
enclose the stage itself, to act as a mirror for the audience, to see
themselves reflected in the backdrop, alongside the shadows of the dancers
being created along it. This attempt to re-create a place of storytelling in an
artificial proscenium stage, was one which helped to unconsciously help bring
the audience closer into the world of the dance. Second, the facing of the
musicians out towards the audience in plain view and in full inclusion with the
dance, as opposed to being separated from both the audience and the dancers,
allowed the music to transform and transfix almost every member of the
audience. The power of music is one which should never be overlooked in a
performance, and one which Rian
utilized to its full advantage. Music, traditional music, is ancient, it is
something that everyone can connect to because it is primal in nature, a core
part of every tradition across the globe, and for that reason it has the power
to influence listeners' in ways that are often indescribable. As Liam O Maonlai
pointed out, even during times of famine in Ireland, or times of great disease
in Africa, people would always sit down and make music and dance, and that is
exactly what Rian was attempting to
do; to sit down and make music and dance, to share these between musician and
dancer, and to share both with their ever changing audience. It is perhaps the last difference between Rian’s approach to audience
participation that yield its extreme praises; that of physical participation.
It was not enough to establish an
inclusion of the set and cause people to dance in their seats, but at
the end of the performance, the dancers crossed their threshold, inviting
audience members to join in the sacred place they had been passive members of
during the performance. For those whose blood ran thick with the need join in
the song and dance, this opportunity provided itself, and for those who
preferred to watch, seeing their friends, family, and fellow viewers
effortlessly glide into this world that had been created, reaffirmed in their
own bodies everything they too had experienced.
If What The Folk? succeed in creating an intimate
setting that allowed for more personal looks into each of the dancers’ lives
through its colloquial manner and unconventional setting, Rian pushed the boundaries
of trying to create the same environment in a traditional space. Through their
set, stage set-up, involvement of the musicians and music, and the unique
compilement of dances , it was Rian’s final step, to open themselves to the vulnerability of allowing audience members to
storm the stage, the leap of faith that allowed the dancers and musicians to
fully open their home to the world, that ultimately set it apart, and made Rian
the pinnacle of audience participation.
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