Nobody Can Live In The Theatre

Ever since I was a kid, I've been fascinated by the theatre. I think it has something to do with the fact that everything is, by necessity, so much bigger when it's on stage. Everything is larger than life because, let's face it, nobody wants to see a husband and wife fight. But throw it on stage, blow it up so it's larger than life, and suddenly it's interesting and artistic. When we expand things to larger-than-lifesize like that, they start incorporating literary elements, they start showing us things about ourselves. We cling to the cliches and archetypes and caricatures because they're convenient and easily recognisable, and because they are organic representations of the things we see in each other and ourselves. They're relatable.

I've always wanted to live in a theatre. I've always wanted everything to be larger than life, always wanted things to mean nothing or everything. There would never be a dull moment, right?

The problem with living in a theatre is that the people don't scale. The people around you are people, not cliches or archetypes or caricatures. And endless monologues are lonely things to give.

I wish I could give more presentations. I love to present; I generally don't get a full grasp on what I'm doing until I'm standing in front of my audience, giving the presentation. I tend to get feelings, or inklings, or ideas, and just put them together and hope for the best. For example, in a few short minutes, I'm giving a presentation on Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. All I have so far is alliteration and this scene from V for Vendetta. No idea what I'm going to do with all that, but I'll be doing something. And I'll figure it out when I get up there.

Presentations, though, are butchered 99% of the time. The group presenting right now (yes, I'm being a bad audience member and blogging while people present) is literally reading their bits off a piece of paper, standing in a line across the front of the room, one at a time. No character, no personality.

In a few weeks, I'll be teaching a class. I know it will be about grammar and essay construction, I know the students will only be allowed to call me Captain (or "Oh Captain my Captain" if they're ambitious), I know I'll be handing them eye-patches as they enter the classroom and informing them that they will be graded on their ability to wear the eye-patch for the entire period, but that's really all I know about that lesson. And it's all I'm likely to know.

Why must people butcher such an art form? A person's attention is valuable. Don't waste it, when they're required to give it to you.