Have you ever attended a play? Felt the thrill when the lights dim and the curtain rises? Noticed the hushed whispers as filled with anticipation, everyone leans in to sit a tad bit forward on the velvet draped chairs? How different is that, I ask you, to the modern day experience of a Netflix binge or a clutch of YouTube videos? Ah, there’s a disparity for you! The thrill is gone these days, my friends, it’s been removed by a hundred distractions that pull our attention in every direction but on the artistry unfolding right in front of us.
You may call it a rant, and I, as Brian McCarthy – a sturdy patron of the arts, a well-known grump, and let’s not forget, a lifelong resident of Schenectady, New York, am inclined to agree with you – but when age affords one the perspective of time, these rants begin to grow in importance.
In the good old days, when to get dressed in extravagant attire and march with stomachs full of butterfly-y anticipation to the resplendent Proctor’s Theater was the driving ambition of a Saturday night, the experience was a whole different ball game. Actors strutted under the warm glow of the stage lights, each rehearsed gesture, every perfectly delivered line met with excited whispers, rapturous applause, or deafening silence.
There was something deeply personal about those instances, an indescribably beautiful bond that the audience built with the characters on stage. We laughed with them, cried with them, and empathized with their dilemmas. They were our companions, our guides through different eras and locales, and in return, we breathed life into their tales with our gasps, our applause, and the way we leaned in closer to the edge of our seats during the emotional climaxes.
Compare that, if you will, to the way we watch television shows or movies now – in our pajamas, half-slouched on the couch, with one eye on the screen and the other tracking social media updates on our phones. Is it even a competition?
TV shows, movies, they are all marvelous in their capacity of delivery, but the experience, the sensation is not the same. There is a cold anonymity between the characters and audience. A distance, a void that the glowing LED screens fail to resonate with human energy, capturing only the flickering shadow of true performance art.
It’s no wonder then that our youth, with their dwindling attention spans and a dangerously growing dependency on technology for entertainment, are missing out on the profound experience that only a live performance can provide.
I remember many moons ago; my father had taken me to watch a production of ‘Fiddler on the roof’ right here in our beloved Proctor’s Theater in Schenectady. Tevye, the lead character, was a man so bursting with vitality and charm, it was impossible not to become enamored by his journey. When Tevye sang ‘If I Were A Rich Man,’ I remember the entire orchestra lending gravity to his words, the audience soaking in the melody, the rhythm of the music pulsating through the grand old walls of Proctor’s. It was not an actor playing Tevye onstage but Tevye himself, losing his fortune, gaining wisdom and ultimately learning to balance his beliefs with existential truths.
Each detail, each note, each tear that glistened on Tevye’s cheek was raw, real. It stirred within me a range of emotions, a cognitive empathy that the blue light from my laptop screen has never managed to invoke.
I argue that it’s time we return to the roots. It is up to us, the adults, the parents, and the teachers, to open the doors for our children to the magical world of theater. There are an aura and an intimacy when people gather under a single roof, collectively holding their breath as a story unfolds on stage.
In the age of technology, in the whirl of never-ending information, let us not allow the archaic art of storytelling to get buried under the cybernetic noises. Let’s prioritize and treasure the sense of community, the exhilarating adventure that only a darkened theater, a lit stage, and a compelling story can offer. After all, where else can you get such a bang for your buck?
Driven by nostalgia and a perhaps misdirected grumpiness, I say to you that the success of a society can be gauged by its pursuit of arts. If we lose that race, we lose a fundamental human quality.
So, next time you grab your remote, think about this. Could there be a more enriching choice? Could the smell of old books, the feel of aged velvet, and the thrill of the stage lights turn your routine evening into something unforgettable?
Ah, the experience of live theater is truly unmatched. No ifs or buts. Will you argue against it? Or will you, like me, take a stand for it
