PODCAST: That’s Theatre Darling

Dear Theatre,

If you were a person you wouldn’t be all cigarette holders and smoking jackets, you’d be the one in the hand me downs welcoming all into your home. The decor might not be the most up to date, but the company and conversation you’d remember, the impression of being welcome deeply felt. At a time where discrimination and haves and have nots are clearer than ever, you are a unifier. All are welcome, all can feel at home in your fold.

You’d likely clip me round the ear for my curses at Cummings, but I’d see the twinkle of pride in your eye when you did. You’re a fighter and you’ve inspired me and many others to fight for, prize and demonstrate truth over hundreds of years. I worry about value; money and winning seem to have eclipsed inclusivity and patience. You’d tell me you’ve lived through worse: wars, revolution, censorship - you’ve got the cracks and shrapnel marks to prove it. You’d reassure me that this will pass, that the need for stories, for connection and a shared experience are eternal. I’d probably shrug off your optimism with a cynical huff, but your words would stay with me.

I don’t know whether you remember me, possibly not, I was eight when we met - agonisingly shy and uncomfortable in my skin. You welcomed me in, introduced me to people from all ages, backgrounds and beliefs, gave me a platform to be heard and space to express. In the time we have been acquainted you have changed my life beyond just a career. You gave me confidence, goals, friendships, a work ethic, different perspectives and a safe environment to practice being brave in. You don’t just entertain, you enable.

This is not a letter of grief nor is it a letter of anger. Instead, I feel perhaps more optimistic than most - you are not just a raised platform, not just one voice, one space or one story. You are life, our lives and those of others. It is in every utterance we make. When I tell a story to my son you are there, when he copies my claps, you are there. At a time when connection is made even more challenging, you are there pointing at the world stage reminding us there are urgent stories needing a platform. Maybe that isn’t around your gaff right now, but you can still host us - in gardens, car parks and online. You allow us a handshake to reach one another, to see and understand other lives and ways. The lights may be dimmed, the dressing rooms empty, but to define you by one space is to do you a disservice. You don’t conform - in fact you are a shape shifter, not just four walls and an overpriced bar, but rather a voice for those often silenced, a platform to challenge and reflect.

The shell sits vacant, the collective sighs, oohs and laughs now hollow echoes in the stalls. To sit next to a stranger and go on a journey together is a precious thing. It unites. During the weeks of silence, you brought forth a company of thousands who lobbied for you. This chance for pause and reflection is perhaps an opportunity for you and us to catch a breath and future proof; to dig deep and insure we evolve to integrate, reach out and represent better. You are by no means perfect and neither are we. To make work we need to step off the proscenium and forwards of the footlights to really see and experience the world around us. It is only by doing that, that you and we can serve one another well.

I was meant to be coming back to your place this Christmas to do a show - it’s been a while and the thought of that was like coming home. I was excited and nervous, keen to show you the person I’ve grown in to since we last spent meaningful time together. Maybe I will have to wait a little longer… You’d give me a squeeze on the shoulder: “Waiting is a painful component of our industry - we wait for work, we wait for answers, wait for our cue, we wait for the phone to ring, wait…. just a little bit more.” Patience is what keeps us there, but persistence is what brings results. We need to keep clamouring.

So we shall wait a while more; but in the meantime we must persist and when we do get back together, let’s make it good. Let’s tell stories both tall and true, learn from lives other than ours, let’s have a sing song and kick high our legs.

I can’t wait.

Yours hopefully,

Sarah-Jayne