The playhouse

If all the world’s a stage, as Shakespeare said, then let’s do a rewind and try to imagine what a stage looked like in ancient Greece. Theatre spaces in the past were born out of religious rituals. The Greeks loved their gods, and to honour the god Dionysus, they would gather in a circular open air theatre carved out of hillsides, giving the audience a great view of the action on stage. This semi-circular shape of the theatre helped in projecting the voice of the actors to the audience. As we turn the pages from ancient Greece, we can see that theatre spaces weren’t just spaces to watch a show, but very much a part of the experience.

Nearer home, the story of performance spaces began in a similar way. Long ago, the belief is, the world was inhabited by gods and demons and people were battling pain and anger due to an insane sense of greed, jealousy and hate. Lord Brahma, the creator of the universe, pondered on ways to nullify this atmosphere and create a Veda that would be pleasing to both the eyes and the ears and assuage the feelings of people through an art form that would be harmonious and calming. It was through this desire that ‘Natyashastra’, the fifth Veda, was written by Bharat Muni.

The first performance was held in an open air space to celebrate the defeat of the asuras by the gods. Livid, the asuras gathered together like a bunch of rowdies called vighnas. They rushed on to the stage while the performance was going on, disrupted the play and screamed: “We shall not tolerate this insult!”

Bharat Muni went to Brahma for advice as the asuras were determined to stop the play from being staged. The celestial architect, Vishvakarman, was called to construct an indoor theatre space, where the actors would feel safe. Despite designing a stage where different gods guarded the entries and exits, Bharat Muni was not convinced of the safety measures. He believed that the only way forward was through negotiation. The asuras fumed with rage. They felt betrayed by the gods as they had been projected in a negative light. After some deliberations, Bharat Muni assured them that the ‘Natyashastra’ had been created to represent all three worlds. To show both the good and evil actions of the gods and the asuras. A non-partisan space.

From the formal to the informal, theatre spaces have been through interesting transitions. Any available space can be perceived as a space to communicate, express and connect. In the mid-1980s, many theatre companies started their creative work by experimenting outside conventional theatres. Theatre was performed on carts, trestles, trucks, under a tent, in a bar with the audiences standing and drinking or sitting around tables. The only point I want to emphasise is that the generic term ‘playhouse’ covers all this and can also take into its fold grand theatre spaces with velvet curtains, crystal chandeliers, baroque balconies and push-back seats.

In the realm of architecture, there is a consciousness about how buildings function effectively through a good articulated design. When a hospital is built, the architect does his drawings in consultation with doctors to ensure that the requirements of an operation theatre or the ICU are met. But when a theatre auditorium is being constructed, directors and scenographers are excluded from participating in the decision-making process. Because of that, each city has a plethora of useless and unused theatre spaces, more fit for marriage functions than for creative work.

In the 20th century, theatre spaces went through a shake-up with the introduction of an arena stage and a thrust stage — a space where the audience surrounded the performer from all sides. This created an intimate connection between the audience and the performer, dissolving the barrier created by the proscenium arch. This changed scenario created a revolution in viewing patterns.

Performing at the Tricycle Theatre in London in 1993 on the invitation of the London International Festival of Theatre was a revelation, making me recognise that theatre auditoriums were not just buildings to be hired, but an entire cultural ecosystem.

Having travelled extensively in India with my theatre group, I was used to carrying bottles of Dettol and loads of toilet paper as necessary arsenal. To find a space so squeaky clean was a surprise. The 220-seat auditorium, constructed in a brightly painted scaffolding with canvas gallery fronts facing a small end stage, gave Lorca’s ‘Yerma’ an edgy quality. The space was designed in a way that every tremor and every emotion of the actor was communicated as the audience literally sat at the foot of the stage.

 Many years later performing ‘Naga Mandala’ and ‘The Suit’ at Ranga Shankara, a 320-seater auditorium in Bengaluru, revived the memories of Tricycle Theatre. Arundhati Nag, the force behind this theatre, looks after the administrative details of the theatre and is also the artistic director, curating shows and welcoming each theatre company as her personal guests. She candidly acknowledges that her theatre is architecturally inspired by the Prithvi Theatre in Mumbai; larger in size but based on similar principles of what a theatre should be: intimate and personalised, where even a whisper can be heard without a mic.

What surprised me was how a theatre space which has world-class infrastructure could survive on a rental of Rs 2,500 per day, making theatre affordable for young theatre groups. The mystery for me was that despite its existence for 20 years and with the escalating cost of everything, the theatre rental has remained consistent!

“The history of its fundraising is a romantic tale of determination, support, will and vision. How communities come together to actualise a dream. In the city of Bengaluru, the government has a provision that every new locality planned must have a ‘city amenity site’, which includes a police station, hospital, school, college, prayer halls, playground and also a theatre space,” says Nag. When she floated the idea of a theatre house, the people of Bengaluru offered to help financially. Industrialists and the government pitched in to supply material required for building the theatre. Nag mentioned that whenever Ranga Shankara has a financial crisis, people of the city call up to inquire if they can help. This can only be considered a miracle in the days of distrust and cynicism.

Opposite the theatre is a bustling street with eateries and shops. No shutters or guards greet you at the entrance of the theatre. The energy of the street flows in and the energy from the theatre flows out. Greeted by a grand foyer and a spiral staircase without doors to restrict your movement makes for a special experience. I am surprised that despite this open space without keys and locks, nothing gets stolen or vandalised at Ranga Shankara.

The science of a theatre building has to be worked out not only through brick and mortar or its seating arrangements, but also through the abstract understanding of how energy flows between the audience and a performer. Resonance is a word that comes to mind as it creates a ripple that multiplies and radiates in different directions. It is an invisible energy that brings out the most vivid relationships between people.

If we fast forward to the present, we will find that technology has taken centre stage — from advanced lighting systems to digitised set designs. Imagine walking into a space that in a jiffy transforms and transports the audience to a magical forest or encases you in Vincent van Gogh’s ‘Starry Nights’. It’s not magic — it is what we call virtual reality. Making the audience take an immersive journey that stretches the idea of physical space.

The relationship and possibilities between theatrical spaces and performing and between the audience and performers gets defined through varied complex configurations and makes one recognise that space and creativity have an undeniable bond.