#2 The Virtual Stage
Traditionally, every August I make the six hour train journey up to Edinburgh for ‘The single greatest celebration of arts and culture on the planet’. I set off with my suitcase jam-packed with a plethora of wardrobe options so I’m covered for each and every climate possibility (you really can experience all four seasons in a day), anticipating a month of surviving on a diet of beer and grilled cheese sandwiches and knowing that I will most probably head home a fully-fledged insomniac. I’ve been an active participant of the festival for several years and even when I’m having a fallow year and not performing, I’m there as a spectator to drink up all the wondrous creativity on offer. Three weeks, 55,000 performances, 4000 shows, 300 different venues and a diverse platter of comedy, theatre, cabaret, dance, spoken word - the list goes on and on.
This year however due to the COVID-19 pandemic, like so many other arts, music and cultural festivals, it was announced that the 71st Edinburgh Fringe Festival would be cancelled. For me, the idea of Edinburgh in August without the Fringe is completely unimaginable. So when the inconceivable news was dropped on April 1st, I (like thousands of other artists, writers, producers, reviewers and backstage crew) was forced to pause, recalibrate and formulise a new plan now that we were faced with the gloomy prospect of a Non-Edinburgh-August.
The reimagined version of my show Lobster was all set to hit the Fringe again this year, before going on a national tour. This meant for the first time ever in my life, I had career clarity. Performance dates were mapped out in the calendar and venues were booked, offering me the rare opportunity to know exactly what the year ahead looked like and some guarantee that I’d be able to pay my rent every month (as a freelancer this was a privilege I’d never experienced before). But then of course the whole world went into lockdown and the rug was pulled out from under my feet. I was catapulted into an eerie discombobulated state of self-reflective mourning, my creative timeline completely cock-blocked by Covid. I was forced to ask myself, ‘what does a theatre-maker do when they no longer have a stage to perform on?’.
I was completely bewildered and struggled to understand how I would ever see light at the end of the tunnel. Trying to come to terms with my new reality, I sat in my pyjamas and took advantage of the huge back catalogue of shows offered through the Soho Theatres On Demand platform, hoping that by watching video recordings of past theatre productions and comedy shows, it might inspire me and inject me with the positivity the IRL shows once did. I was blown away by the strength and tenacity of my peers within the theatre community, their ability to think outside the box, to transform and evolve show formats to be live streamed on to a virtual stage, because well, all I wanted to do was sit in my bedroom and cry. I took my time and allowed myself to grieve for what could have been, created a ‘mind map’ with colourful post-it’s in the hope it would create clarity for the new version of my year ahead. I did my bit to support fellow artists when they live streamed events, I even went to watch a socially distanced show programmed in the Alan Bennett season at The Bridge Theatre. As someone who usually fills every minute of every day, there have obviously been some positives to this expansive amount of time. I finally managed to partake in a ten week writing course - something I’ve been intending to do for years! And in an attempt to keep my show alive and have a go at evolving theatre-making in the time of COVID, I wrote and produced a mini-series: ‘Lockdown Lobster’.
That said, for me, staging live performance on a virtual platform will never be the real deal. And when I finally allowed myself to accept that, it released a bit of the pressure. As anyone like myself who’s tried to recreate the experience of a sweaty rave in their living room during lockdown I’m sure will concur, it’s just not the same. “It’s like trying to have a long-distance relationship over Zoom!”, my clever friend’s analogy perfectly explains, and she’s so right. The stage experience is beautifully unique and constructs a living, breathing world right in front of your eyes. The characters organically engage and respond with each other in the moment. Lights and sounds transport captivated audiences to an alternate reality – it’s pure escapism. I miss the thrill of live theatre. The exhilaration of performing in front of an audience, reactive electric energy, pulsating at high speed around my body. Engaging with other humans, telling stories and taking audiences on a rollercoaster journey from beginning to end. It’s being alive.
So whilst the Fringe was not able to provide me with a stage in the same way this year, I’m grateful for the space that has allowed me to think deeper and develop my own creative process. Lockdown afforded me the time and opportunity to experience solo writing as a practice, which has been an invaluable exercise. It has also reaffirmed that to bring out my best work I need people and to collaborate with other artists and creative practitioners. I cannot wait to reconnect with my people. I have no idea when the time will come to be on stage again but when it arrives, I will be jumping in feet first. And while this new way of engaging with audiences virtually is a welcomed substitute, it’s not forever because radio waves and pixels will never be a replacement for theatre's original form – real life.