Theatre’s magic is becoming a numbers game

Following Andrew Lloyd Webber’s socially distanced test event at the London Palladium last week, discussions have arisen around the importance of having a full auditorium. It seems theatre looses some of it’s magic, when a significant chunk of the audience is missing.

By definition, theatre requires people to play to but what’s the difference between 50 full seats and 1,000? And what magic are a bunch of people sitting quietly in the dark bringing to the equation?

Well, having experienced the thrill of a live show from both sides of the curtain, I think it comes down to three things: atmosphere, anonymity and teamwork.

Attending the theatre is a bit like going to a party — you don’t want to be the only person there. You want the hustle and bustle of the foyer, pre-ordering interval drinks at the bar and shuffling along packed rows to find your seat. On the surface these things are actually pretty inconvenient — anyone who has spent an entire interval waiting outside the toilets (ladies, I’m looking at you) could be forgiven for seeing fewer theatregoers as an improvement.

But I’d beg to differ.

A party would be easier to navigate if the room was half empty… but it would also be crap. That atmospheric contrast between the excited hubbub and silence as the lights go down, requires the room to be full. And that’s an important point — the actual number doesn’t matter, it’s about the percentage of occupied seats. Whether it’s an intimate 20 seat studio above a pub, or a huge West End venue, the space needs to feel full.

On the other side of the curtain a strange phenomenon occurs; as a performer, the more packed out an auditorium is, the fewer people you’re aware of. From the stage, a full auditorium becomes one homogenous mass; each anonymous face indistinguishable from the one next to it. Reduce the numbers and suddenly you can pick out every raised eyebrow, smile and grimace.

Like most people, when I’m on stage, I want the two-way audience dynamic. I want to know that they’re feeling whatever emotions I’m trying to elicit but I find it easier to focus when I feel that connection en mass, rather than noticing people’s individual reactions.

This brings us to the final ‘magic’ ingredient — teamwork. This is what underpins everything I love about theatre.

Every show, regardless of scale, truly is a team effort. Music, performance, direction, set dressing, props, costumes and technical effects all come together to form something greater than its parts. It’s all pretend — all smoke and mirrors — but when each person plays their role in the right way, at the right time and when they do it well, the effect completely transports an audience.

The same could be said of other art forms, such as film, but of course the difference with theatre, is that it’s live, making it risky… and exciting. When things are going well, the performer can feel the audience’s support, which makes them an integral part of the team.

The adrenaline rush I get both watching and performing in live shows is like nothing else and every time it goes well, I want to high-five everyone in the building — from the director, to the people in the back row of the auditorium. “Boom! We nailed it!”

So, to throw my two cents into the conversation, I think it’s great that efforts are being made to keep theatre going through these challenging times but I don’t think social distancing is a long term solution. I hope it helps to sustain the industry for now, but as long as half the audience is missing, half the magic will be too.