At the end of my second year in theatre school, inspired by the ‘mature’ couple who began working in the field in their first year, I decided to go out on a limb. I started a weekly cabaret series. This was pretty rag tag. It was largely improvised. It was sloppy. Best of all? It was a lot of fun for those who created and those who showed up to watch.
It wasn’t however ‘real theatre’.
Real theatre took place on a raised stage with a proscenium arch.
Real theatre had a costume designer.
Real theatre had a lighting designer.
Real theatre had real actors.
Real actors belonged to the actors union.
They had credits.
I could go to the real theatre to see stories that didn’t relate to me, performed by actors who marginally cared about the story, while sitting in a room full of people who looked like my grandmother.
It’s funny that I dedicated so much of my time studying an art form where the standard, mainstream practices filled me with such contempt. Nonetheless, I persisted. Advertisements for …
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