Friends, acquaintances, extended family members, and even artists in other mediums ask me this question regularly. Most times, it’s accompanied by a puzzled smile and a furrowed brow, a friendly face that communicates the rest of their unfinished question: “Why theatre now?” Why pursue a career in theatre, a notoriously rocky industry, at a time when the country’s arts and culture sector is already in a precarious state of decline? In an urgent call to action released this March, the Professional Association of Canadian Theatres (PACT) painted an alarming picture of an industry in crisis. Since 2019, theatres’ operating costs have, on average, increased by roughly 35 to 41 per cent while their attendance rates have decreased by nearly half. Clearly, the theatre industry is not doing enough to entice audiences back to live theatre post-pandemic. Once a cheap, popular form of entertainment, theatre has become synonymous for much of the public with artistic elitism, an art form reserved for the few well-off retirees or wealthy business people who can afford it.
So why should the average person spend time and money to attend the theatre when streaming services offer a near-endless array of film and television options to watch from the comfort of their own home? The answer to this question lies in live theatre’s capacity to build community and engage its audience members with the political and social realities of our current moment. In a time when the scale of violence and suffering around the world can feel as all-consuming as it is daunting, theatre must not be reduced to detached escapism—rather, the art form must engage with the world around us.
Strong as I am in these convictions, my original “why” for getting involved with theatre was fairly straightforward and entirely apolitical: My parents believed I needed an outlet for my incessant chatter and big feelings. Perhaps they assumed (not incorrectly) that my boisterous personality and dizzyingly high energy levels made becoming a theatre kid a natural fit. Whatever the case, they signed my eight-year-old self up for a summer drama camp, which I attended for a week and fell in love with all things theatre.
Having found the activity that made me the happiest, I stuck with theatre throughout the rest of my schooling. I acted in plays, took musical theatre lessons, and got involved with improv, forming a close circle of like-minded theatre kid friends along the way. Ever the entertainer, I loved the feeling of making people laugh or smile with a silly voice or song. As I entered high school, I began to see the art form as more than a fun pastime for the artists and easy entertainment for the audience. By working on plays that used the imaginary to grapple with themes of political violence, mental illness, and sexual assault, I saw how audience members connected with and were moved by the stories happening onstage.
Katherine Zien, an associate professor dually appointed in the Department of English’s Drama & Theatre and Cultural Studies streams, spoke to why theatre’s live format might make it especially effective at engaging audiences with political and social issues. While reading a book, watching a movie, or looking at a painting whose content is political can certainly prompt reflection, it is far easier for the viewer to disengage with these forms of media if they have a dissenting opinion, feel discomfort, or even react with disinterest; all they have to do is put down the book, turn off the screen, or walk away from the artwork. By contrast, the tacit social contract of the theatre—the societal norm present in most traditional theatrical spaces that the audience sit quietly, watch the show, and only make noise when it’s finished—dissuades audience members from disengaging with a piece of theatre, even when it explores difficult subject matter.
“[As an audience member] I’m going to just try to follow along with whatever you've put out there for me, and [...] I’m going to generously give my time and money over to this thing,” Zien remarked in an interview with The Tribune.
Zien acknowledged that, while there is no way to know how an audience member will react to or engage with political content, the simple act of sharing space with the performers may make the audience more open to listening.
“When you think about going and sitting in a space with strangers and respecting people who are performing, [...] there’s a real act of care and generosity that I see there.”
While my understanding of theatre’s potential to engage with wider issues was still forming, these early experiences with more politically-minded theatre bolstered my dedication to the art form. By the time I was approaching graduation, I felt ready and excited to audition for post-secondary theatre programs. Then, the COVID-19 pandemic stopped me in my tracks. As the world ground to a halt in March 2020, theatres everywhere shuttered their doors. Now in university classes or acting conservatories, I watched as the upperclassmen friends I’d made during my early high school years spent their days trying to do voicework and movement in front of computer screens. Meanwhile, we watched, helpless, as hundreds of thousands of people died, many of whom belonged to vulnerable and underserved communities. We watched in horror as videos of the murder of George Floyd circulated online, forcing folks across the United States and Canada to contend with the brutal violence and discrimination embedded in our policing systems. All the while, tides of doubt crept into my mind, lapping away at my convictions about the importance of theatre, wearing them down until one thought remained: Why theatre? What was the point of trying to be a theatre artist at a time like this?
Shaken and unsure, I ultimately made the difficult decision to leave theatre behind and enroll in Cognitive Science at McGill. In my first year of university, I deliberately took a break from performing. I convinced myself it was for the best; trying to get involved with university theatre would have meant voluntarily spending even more hours in front of my computer screen on Zoom. While I still loved the art form, I felt too jaded to dedicate my time to it; what use was escaping into a play in the midst of the very real issues around me?
By the time lockdown restrictions began to ease up during my second year, I decided to return to acting, if only as an extracurricular. I missed the joy of working with others on a shared passion project. Eager to fill this missing piece of my social life, I joined Tuesday Night Cafe Theatre (TNC), a nonhierarchical student theatre company.
This desire to make friends and be a part of a larger community is a common motivator for joining theatre and was echoed by Molly Frost, U3 Arts, a student theatre artist and the current Executive Director of TNC. Having arrived at McGill in the fall of 2021, when most classes were still being delivered in a hybrid environment or in-person with strict masking restrictions, Frost joined McGill’s Savoy Society and later TNC with the hopes of branching out and meeting folks outside of her program.
“It was very fun [...] meeting the people on the exec team, and seeing the space. Not to sound corny or cliché, but I kind of fell in love with it. [...] It was a great sense of community,” Frost said. “I think [being in theatre] just sort of like fast tracks a path to friendship, [...] even if you’re not, like, best friends seeing each other all the time, it still [provides connections with] people that you know and that you care about and respect.”
Alongside my search for this sense of community, I was drawn to TNC because of their expressly political mandate, which dictates that the company produce plays that are experimental, subversive, and engage with intersectionality. This commitment to political engagement helped assuage my worries about theatre’s tendency towards navel-gazing.
While some may believe theatre should be apolitical, I believe art does not exist in a vacuum. Whether it’s embedded in the text itself, the casting, or apparent by omission, theatre will speak to its sociopolitical context. Catherine Hernandez, an acclaimed author, screenwriter, and playwright, expressed her belief that artists have a responsibility to engage with their real-life context.
“To me, activism and artmaking is dreaming of possibilities. When you are part of a movement, you contribute your talents, whatever they may be,” Hernandez wrote in an email to The Tribune. “I’ve chosen the role of an artist by dreaming new worlds into being, where all people have a place; have an equal right to live and love with equal access to resources.”
Historically, theatre’s ephemeral format has proven useful to artists looking to explore and disseminate more radical political messaging while minimizing the threat of financial or political repercussions.
“Theatre has often benefited from being overlooked. [For instance,] Latin American theatre artists [living under] dictatorship have really benefited from not always being recorded,” Zien explained. “They could do and say things that were subversive because it was live.”
This upside to being overlooked resonates with student theatre companies like TNC, whose budget is comprised of funding from the Department of English, ticket sales, donations. The group is not beholden to the desires of Students’ Society of McGill (SSMU), the potential censorship of governmental arts organizations, or the whims of the theatre-going public. As such, it may be easier for them to weather the potential financial risks that come with taking a controversial political stance.
By contrast, artists like Rahul Varma, co-founder and current Artistic Director of Teesri Duniya Theatre, are all too familiar with the threat of censorship and financial ruin to political theatre. Founded in 1981, Teesri Duniya is a prominent professional theatre company whose works centre on a diverse range of BIPOC voices. While many other companies stayed silent on their positions or released vague statements in response to the horrific events of Oct. 7 and Israel’s ensuing siege on Gaza, Varma insisted that Teesri dive in headfirst.
“I think that it surprises me that in the theatre community, the response has been pretty mute, and many of the theatre artists are privately talking about it, but not publicly,” Varma expressed. “We as theatre artists, what we have is a voice and our craft. If we suppress our [voices] and talk privately but not publicly, we are basically breaking our connection with the public. We are an instrument of communication, and we do communicate with artistic beauty [....] If we do not do this, we are just betraying our own sector, our own craft, our own discipline. So I think that silence is not an option. By default, silence goes to support the dominant force.”
To ensure Teesri’s actions were going beyond lip service, Varma shelved previously planned productions and instead spent late 2023 and early 2024 preparing an entirely new season entitled “Staging Freedom.” Described as “a theatrical response to war, occupation, and genocide,” this new theme tied together various plays, workshops, and events focused on championing Palestinian rights.
Despite facing budget cuts to his operational funding from various governmental organizations that he maintains are a direct result of his company’s outspoken stance on Palestine, Varma believes that the community’s response has made the high-stress changes worth it. Audiences received the company’s first show of the season, Two Birds One Stone by Natasha Greenblatt and Rimah Jabr, with open arms. A touching auto-fictional account of its two playwrights’ friendship and their respective connections to the occupied Palestinian territories, the piece’s series of moderated post-show talkbacks offered an avenue for productive, engaging community discussions.
Hernandez has been similarly vocal about her pro-Palestinian perspective, both through her words and her actions. Earlier this year, she removed her novel Behind You from consideration for the 2024 Scotiabank Giller Prize in protest of the relationship between the award’s primary sponsor and Elbit Systems, an Israeli weapons manufacturer that serves as a primary supplier to the IDF.
“I want people to understand that the ability to speak up for what is right is not some magical talent you're born with. It's a skill. And like any skill it takes practice and bravery. This last year has been a personal exercise in learning to be brave despite being among the hundreds of authors who have experienced censorship and repression due to our activism. I have lost opportunities and employment. The future of my career is uncertain.,” Hernandez expressed. “But what I fear most is the continued violence worldwide due to predatory capitalism. As an artist, I know my work—be it my paintings or writing—is to encourage others to be brave with me.”
Theatre, like all artforms, is inextricably intertwined with the social and the political. The choice of what scripts to platform, how to run a company, and the emphasis placed on community-building are all reflective of one’s values. As audiences, we must continue to support local theatre and engage with politically conscious productions. As theatre makers, it is crucial that we use our voices and our platforms to speak truth to power and explicitly oppose violence and injustice through our works. Theatre is at its best when it is community-oriented and politically-minded, and we must do all we can to keep it that way.