Rising above the general audience chatter came a voice. Only slightly louder than those around him, but unmistakably projected over the din. “I love this! This is great isn’t it?....” And so with a collective nervous giggle we knew the journey had begun. No lights went down. No lights came up. There wasn’t even a stage to look at. There were only us. The audience in The North Wall Arts Centre. The audience sitting comfortably on two banks of seating and looking at one another. The audience: The most underwritten character in a pioneering piece of theatre.
From amongst the audience and told entirely by description there unfolded the story of a different play, featuring two actors (Vic and Esther), written by ‘the author’ (Tim Crouch) and watched by an audience member (Chris). This play is shocking even in description, but the main focus is on the corrupting influence it had on those involved – audience included. I kept checking in my own head, “Is that ok? Is that alright?” as we drifted gradually into the extremes. Yet, I found myself seduced by the situation to take myself where the actors had gone: beyond the limits of taste and decency. “Is it ok if I continue?” – I don’t really know what would have happened had someone said no. I rather think they would have continued anyway, the audience doesn’t really have the power to stop it, only to leave.
This is a piece of theatre which raises many questions and many issues and I’m sure if I was to go again tonight I would be presented with many more. They keep surfacing from within the story, from audience reactions, from casual statement or turn of phrase “Society is defined by its edges – isn’t it? Not by its centre”. If an audience and the actors are really trying to convince themselves that what they are seeing or doing is real, is that really so different from immersing yourself in the violence itself? And we all know that violence corrupts, so if you force yourself to live in that environment, to live in that society, surely that corrupts too. In the end, I found myself wondering just how noble an act theatre-going is. How different is it really to sit in a theatre and watch someone get beaten up, than it is to stand on George Street on a Friday night and watch two lads fight it out – be honest, is there an element of entertainment there?
The Author is an excellent and really novel theatrical experience, although you have to be prepared to think and engage with it. Personally, I’m not convinced that engaging the audience intellectually by directly presenting the questions in a warm environment is better than trying to move them emotionally. For example Mercury Fur by Philip Ridley, raises similar issues in a visceral emotive context and that will always seem closer to the heart of theatre to me. However, The Author is groundbreaking in its own way and it is certainly worth seeing.
From amongst the audience and told entirely by description there unfolded the story of a different play, featuring two actors (Vic and Esther), written by ‘the author’ (Tim Crouch) and watched by an audience member (Chris). This play is shocking even in description, but the main focus is on the corrupting influence it had on those involved – audience included. I kept checking in my own head, “Is that ok? Is that alright?” as we drifted gradually into the extremes. Yet, I found myself seduced by the situation to take myself where the actors had gone: beyond the limits of taste and decency. “Is it ok if I continue?” – I don’t really know what would have happened had someone said no. I rather think they would have continued anyway, the audience doesn’t really have the power to stop it, only to leave.
This is a piece of theatre which raises many questions and many issues and I’m sure if I was to go again tonight I would be presented with many more. They keep surfacing from within the story, from audience reactions, from casual statement or turn of phrase “Society is defined by its edges – isn’t it? Not by its centre”. If an audience and the actors are really trying to convince themselves that what they are seeing or doing is real, is that really so different from immersing yourself in the violence itself? And we all know that violence corrupts, so if you force yourself to live in that environment, to live in that society, surely that corrupts too. In the end, I found myself wondering just how noble an act theatre-going is. How different is it really to sit in a theatre and watch someone get beaten up, than it is to stand on George Street on a Friday night and watch two lads fight it out – be honest, is there an element of entertainment there?
The Author is an excellent and really novel theatrical experience, although you have to be prepared to think and engage with it. Personally, I’m not convinced that engaging the audience intellectually by directly presenting the questions in a warm environment is better than trying to move them emotionally. For example Mercury Fur by Philip Ridley, raises similar issues in a visceral emotive context and that will always seem closer to the heart of theatre to me. However, The Author is groundbreaking in its own way and it is certainly worth seeing.