Staff Writer Theo Grange reflects on the Royal Shakespeare Company’s ‘Kyoto’, considering whether engaging audiences in a play actually enhances their theatre experience.
What is it that makes us immersed, actually present in what we’re watching? Nowadays, virtual reality seems to be the closest to creating such a feeling, with second place going to the dark cave of the silver screen. What, however, does it mean to be ‘part of the action’ in theatre? With the separation between actors and audience at its clearest, what can disguise this distance and make spectators feel involved? The Royal Shakespeare Company (RSC)’s ‘Kyoto’ at the Soho Place Theatre brings all of these ideas into question.
The Play
Perhaps the only bit of art that JustStopOil protestors wouldn’t invade, the RSC’s ‘Kyoto’ follows oil lobbyist and lawyer Don Pearlman through the 1990s when the United Nations (UN) started the Conference of the Parties (better known as the COP), and his attempts to slow down climate change legislation. Yes, that does sound awfully drab and the term ‘emissions trading’ does come up roughly every 30 seconds. The content of the play, however, is not what makes it interesting, unless you’re someone who fancies a debate over the anthropocene. Instead, it is the form it takes within the theatre space that grabs the attention.
The UN are rather infamous for sitting around a big circle, something that set designer Miriam Buether cleverly took note of, as the performance takes place at a grand round table. While actors mostly move around on its central green carpet and waltz to its wooden edges at times, they also descend from the stage to take their seats around it. Not all of these, however are used as expected.
Whether intended by writers Joe Murphy and Joe Robertson, cleverly thought up by directors Stephen Daldry and Justin Martin, or part of the brilliant work of Ms Buether herself, most of these conference seats aren’t occupied by actors but the audience. Between each diplomat sit two theatregoers, taking active part in the play.
Not only do the performers carry on, pretending like the people next to them don’t exist – those ‘outsiders’ have the opportunity to become actors themselves. For example, if you’re an audience member, the US ambassador may shake your hand, ask what you thought of the last agreement, look to you for a reaction of disagreement, shake your hand again, pack up their things and leave. If you’re lucky enough, the diplomat from Argentina might even ask you to hold up his sign (highest peak of my acting career). To add to the immersion, you recieve a lanyard upon entering, assigning you a country to represent or a newspaper to act as a foreign correspondent of – something the actors will certainly ask you about in the intermission.
The Viewing Experience
On the one hand, all of this is certainly very fun and makes for a totally unique and alternative theatre experience unparalleled by most West End productions (yes, an opinion bolstered by the ticket price of only £10 – cheers, TikTok!). On the other, isn’t it all somewhat superficial and actually a hindrance to the enjoyment of the show itself?
At a pragmatic level, the director cannot stage and block the play with a complete vision of the utilised seats. Actors frequently stand dead in front of you, with their shins so close to your forehead that attempting to see around them would require you to headbutt whatever poor friend you’ve dragged to a play about climate change. The aforementioned Don Pearlman, played brilliantly by Stephen Kunken, performs his monologues not to you, but to the galleries and amphitheater seats whose beady eyes make you acutely conscious of your every motion. In this case then, you’ve forked out money for your acting services, instead of having been paid.
Yair Haklai, CC BY-SA 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0, via Wikimedia Commons
Does the audience sacrifice their viewing pleasure then, by trying to be a part of the very thing that they’re viewing? In mind of a little history, the seating arrangement of Shakespeare’s Globe makes for an intriguing overlap with ‘Kyoto’s’ setup within the Soho Place theatre, a fact unlikely to be coincidental in a play produced by the RSC. Back in the 17th century, the top-dollar ticket was not the front row seat at all – the best seats in the house, costing between 1 to 5 pennies, were in the galleries, lifted up and away from the pit and its groundings. An obvious indicator of social class, contrasting with those who didn’t mind an outdoor shower, this reveals a lot about the viewing experiences valued in the theatre space.
A substantial distance between the performer and the spectator allows the audience to see the entire stage, compromising no piece of acting, blocking or movement. In contrast, those closest to the stage find their view obstructed, with facial expressions out of sight and dialogue projected in other directions. In the world of live music, fans consider being up close to acts as the ideal position, which is reflected in the astronomical price-tags of standing tickets. For plays, however, where the royal box sits slap bang in the central gallery, that is certainly not the case.
The Consequences
All of this doesn’t necessarily mean that being in the front row is a less valuable theatre experience: for instance, sitting close to the stage at the RSC’s production of ‘My Neighbor Totoro’ greatly amplified the scale and spectacularity of its sets and puppets for me. The opposite is true in opera, where the highest seats guarantee clearer sound. So, coming back round to ‘Kyoto’, it would be a lie to say that being in the conference seats was not an enjoyable, individual and engaging evening. Some aspects of it, however, did feel quite gimmicky.
It’s obvious that seeing a play in this way is distinct and unlike any conventional theatre trip. However, it does feel truly estranged from custom spectatorship. Something about engaging in ‘Kyoto’ ironically takes you out of the entertainment you’ve come to enjoy and actually limits the immersion you expect to feel. Rather than being able to forget about your own existence and take in this newly created world, the play drops you dead in the middle of it, making you well aware of where you are. Certainly interesting, certainly a laugh and certainly something never experienced before. At the same time, being ‘part of the action’ is a far cry from simply watching a play live.
In short: if you want to watch ‘Kyoto’ for what it is, do not go for the conference seats. As for all theatre, don’t expect experimental seating options to be the best way to experience a play. Where you sit really does matter.
Maybe my main issue is that I felt like I should’ve been paid.
Check out the play for yourself here.
