A collected gasp echoed through the jam-packed hall. But neither the actors nor the audience were upset. After an extraordinary show of one and a half hours, the audiences seemed easy on a small technical glitch and even in the dark they were glued to their seats. [break]
It was my first time inside the Mandala Theatre hall. They were earlier this week showing “Sunkeshari,” a play about a girl with hair as strikingly beautiful as the rays of the sun, directed by Rajan Khatiwada.
Though I had been there for the first time, the design and the sitting arrangements of the hall was not an unfamiliar one to me. I did recognize some of the actors too. But what was brand new, was, of course, the extravaganza of performances. It was a breath of fresh air; it was that emotion for me when you feel like falling in love once again with the one you have been committed to for years!
It was when I watched Henrik Ibsen’s Nepali adaptation of “Doll’s House” at the now demolished “Sama Natak Ghar” at Gurukul, I fell in love with the theatre for the very first time. The flamboyant performances of the actors had sparked some magic, but the “intimate space” of the theatre was an additional advantage for the artists and the audience alike. I was surprised by the way actors were walking across the hall, through the sitting arrangements, during the performances with such grace and ease. I felt that they were inviting the audiences into their world and to participate.
GRAPHICS: Sworup Nhasiju
Then, I was bewildered, as were many in the audiences inside that hall. The audience had no idea how they could participate, many were even thinking whether they would fall low on theatre etiquettes if they involved themselves into the play.
Since then, I have watched many plays from many theatre troupes. There were many plays that left me awed even after days since I watched them and some others were not so memorable. As I work on my memory to remember some of the extraordinary plays, I realize that theatres are not just an audio-visual treat; it can work up more than these two senses.
Theatre is a feast for the lovers of imagination and yet it is the portrayal of reality in every way. I love theatre because I could juggle between the stories that are outlandish and yet so true. In the close proximity to the performers, it is beautiful to experience the sounds of colorful clothes waving in the air all over the stage symbolizing the harsh waves and currents of a river, when a person sitting beside you screams in the middle of the play only later to realize that she is also a part of the performing troupe, when water splashes on your direction when actors jump carelessly in the small pool fixed on the stage.
I often think, would these scenes from Sunil Pokharel’s “Jeevandekhi jeevansamma,” Deborah Merola’s “Oleanna,” and Sabine Lehmann’s and Ludmilla Hungerhuber’s “Metamorphoses” have been equally beautiful to me if I hadn’t watched them in the premises of intimate space? Well, honestly, I don’t know.
But I can never forget the last scene from “Doll’s House” when Nora, the main protagonist, walks out of her husband’s house. The audience echoes the hall with their loud applause after that climax concludes before making their way out of the same theatre chamber from where Nora had just exited. And on a bench near the door sits Nora, with her big suitcase by her side, with an expression which seemed as a mixture of sadness and contemplation. And there, I was left thinking: did the show really end where we thought it did?
Before they put on a show, the theatre crew goes through rigorous rehearsals. From the actors’ dialogues, stage setup to the lights, showcasing a play needs a lot of attention to milute details that can clearly communicate and amuse the audience. But it is the spontaneous effects of the actors that steal the show for me.
When the lights went off during “Sunkeshari,” the actors echoed with the audience’s gasps but without losing their characters’ selves. They created an atmosphere, in the dark, where it seemed that they were continuing the play and the glitch was the part of it.
The narrator of the play, above all, came up with a very witty response, “It’s already dusk and then this power cut when everybody must hurry home to their loved ones.”
The dark chamber had lit up with the audience’s laughter before the lights came back. I, on the other hand, could not ask for a perfect ending to yet another love affair!
The writer can be reached at mail2asmita@gmail.com.
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