Imagine an empty theater, the largest theater you can think of, complete with filagree, a large stage, and heavy red curtains. How does it feel to be in this space? How does this feeling change when the theater is full, and a production is happening upon the stage?
This past spring, I was an extra in a professional ballet production of Dracula where we performed on a stage in a grand theater, like the one described above. I distinctly remember the energy shift between rehearsals and show time. It seems obvious right? Of course, the atmosphere of the theater would change. However, is there not some magic in that transformation? One minute, the theater is empty and to dance in it feels hollow, like shouting into a cave. Then, there’s a crowd, they fill the void, and become part of the production. Thus, the production can be realized and have life breathed into it.
Theater is meant to bring the audience into the story. As an audience we are there to feel all the pain and all the joy of the characters, if of course the show is a good one. We are suspended in time as we become part of the ritual on stage. This phenomenon makes theaters liminal spaces. A liminal space is defined as the threshold between the transition of where we were and where we are going. It can be fleeting, or it can feel vast and void-like. Theaters being liminal is not a new concept, and I know that I am not the first to talk about it, nevertheless, it is truly so fascinating to discuss!
Suspiria is one of my absolute favorite movies, specifically the newest one (controversial, I know). However, what I like about the 2018 version is the emphasis on how Damien Jalet’s choreography is intertwined with the witchcraft being done by the head ladies of the company. When the dance company performs Volk, the audience is not aware of the ritual taking place. However, despite their ignorance, the ritual creates a trance-like veil over the audience that is only broken when Suzy (Dakota Johnson) changes the choreography, making Sara (Mia Goth) fall out in pain from her broken leg. The trance that the audience is under is not unique to Suspiria’s Volk, however.
In the liminal space that is the theater, there is no separation between self, other, and performer. We all converge into one point which is the stage.
I went to a dance performance recently put on by one of the local companies in my area. This isn’t a review of the performance so I’ll keep it vague; it was a production aimed to highlight how queer joy can endure even after tragedy. By the end of the show, my face was crusty with tears and my heart ached in my chest; it was the most beautifully heartbreaking show I’ve seen in a while. Moreover, I saw this during pride month, and being a queer myself, feeling the limitless joy of the people in the production stuck me deeply. I knew I needed to write about it, but I wasn’t sure which angle I wanted to write about it from. It wasn’t until later that night, while journalling about the performance, that I knew how I wanted to approach this piece.
When the dance performance ended, I felt like I couldn’t click myself back into the reality that existed before the show started. The liminal space had drawn me in so far that when I got my car afterwards, I could still feel the pressure in my chest from seeing the events unfold on stage. Even when I got to my partner’s house after mustering up the courage to drive, I still felt like I was trying to dig myself out of the void and disconnect from the ritual. These rituals in liminal spaces are why theater and art matter! It allows us not only to feel a sense of connection with others, most of which are strangers, but it transforms us in ways that few things can. Theater takes us through time, beyond space, and breaks barriers.
What is the last show you saw, live or digitally, that transformed you? Let me know!
See you soon!
-W&W