by INDIRA CHARUNDER-MACHARRUNDEIRA, Alternate Reality News Service Fine Arts Writer
Imagine you're sitting in your living room watching America's Dumbest Television Viewers when your Grammie Monroachkillah asks you to pass the pretzels. You find this odd because ever since your father's quadruple bypass off-ramp surgery, the family has had to swear off salted foods. Oh, and the fact that all of your grandparents are dead, and none of them was named Monroachkillah, heightens your unease.
You've just been theatred.
"It's the most exciting development in live performance since the discovery of gaffer's tape!" enthused RJ (or, possibly JR or some other combination of the two letters - I'm sure I wrote it down properly, but ever since I used it to look for iPads, my PDA has been randomly jumbling the letters of words in my files - I never thought the jealousy app was a good idea, but it came already installed on the unit, so -) -
"What does this have to do with my art?" interrupted RJ/JR/other Horne.
I'm explaining the journalistic process to the reader. Are you questioning my journalistic process? Do I ask you questions about theatre?
"Well -"
Let me ask you a question about theatre: what is it you do exactly?
Horne explained that "ubiquitous theatre" uses ubiquitous computing to project photo-realistic holographic images of actors into people's homes. Like Obi-Wan Kenobi appearing to Princess Leia at the beginning of Star Wars?
"Sort of like that," Horne, the Artistic Director and Glass Shoe Inspector of The Vesper Lynd Aerofoil Project, the world's first ubiquitous theatre company, agreed. "But, without the alligators."
"Oh, it's great fun," said actor Hitomi "Mishi-Me" Mishima. "You are thrust into the homes of complete strangers and have five minutes to improvise a dramatic scene. If Sophocles were alive today, I know that he...would probably be in rehab for a sex addiction. If he wasn't in jail. But, he would also love the dramatic challenge of ubiquitous theatre!"
In a typical cycle, two to four actors are projected into 10 homes over a period of two hours (with breaks to transition between characters and enjoy the occasional snort of an illegal but highly enjoyable and, let's be honest, ubiquitous so ultimately tolerated substance, and, anyway, who are you to judge the needs of artistic temparaments?). The homes are chosen at random, using an "Eeny Meeny Miney Moe" logarithm developed especially for The Vesper Lynd Aerofoil Project.
"Yes. Vell. Costumes. Humph," stated Antonia von Fidboch, chief costume designer for the ubiquitous theatre project. "I haff zwei minuten to look over ze feeds from ze victim's...I mean, patron's house, ja? Zen, I must choose costumes from ze templates I haff stored in our database."
Trying to maintain von Fidboch's accent was too tiring, so I switched to exposition instead. She explained that she tries to match the costumes of the actors, who are wearing green suits that allow them to appear in homes in any type of digitized clothing at the press of a button from one of her meaty fingers, but that sometimes what people are wearing in the pseudo-privacy of zeir - their! - own homes is...tacky, ya? - and so she vill - will! - VILL! sometimes chooze zuits for her own amyuzement.
"I remember this one time," Horne chuckled disapprovingly, "Antonia was so pissed off by the grubby t-shirts and bathrobes that one family was wearing that she sent the actors into the scene in deep sea diving equipment. While the family was freaking out, the actors tried to improvise a drawing room comedy. I...I'm not sure Sophocles would have approved of that!"
The fact that the homes are chosen randomly has led to some strange encounters. Because ubiquitous theatre is relatively new, some people don't respond when actors suddenly appear in their living rooms. "With ubiquitous theatre improv, you do your best with what you are given. If somebody at home does not see the dramatic potential of fighting with Aunt Irma over inheritance of the family's dog bone collection, there's not much you can do about it!"
Sometimes, there won't be anybody there. "We'll play out a scene in an empty room," Mishima stated. "There is a rhythm to ubiquitous theatre performing, and it's too easy to break concentration if we don't. At least, that's what RJR tells me."
"Ssssh," Horne responded with a smile.
The strangest performance he was ever part of? "One time, a man pulled a gun 30 seconds in and shot me," Mishima chuckled. "I had to spent the rest of the time miming dying. He kept shooting me because he couldn't understand why there was no blood. Of course, when the police raided his apartment, they found 27 guns, some home made explosives and several manifestos calling for the overthrow of the phone company. I...I testify at his trial next month..."
As with any emerging art form, ubiquitous theatre is not without its detractors. "The public should not be funding this...reverse voyeurism!" said Elton Alterman, who led a protest outside The Vesper Lynd Aerofoil Project's Los Angeles, Saskatchewan headquarters.
"It doesn't," Horne responded. "All of our funding comes from small donations from our patrons...and a grant from Twenty-first Century Micromoss."
"Oh," Alterman, a door to door door salesman, said. "Well...good, then. Let's...see that it stays that way."
"Wow. I cannot begin to catalogue the potential privacy violations of this practice," Ontario Privacy Commissioner Ann Cavoukian stated. "I...I think I better have a little lie down until the dizziness passes. Please excuse me."
"Oh, sure, invasion of privacy," Horne stated. "They said the same thing about the kinetafraxiscope! The important thing to remember with any new art form is that it gives people a new way to experience life other than, you know, actually experiencing life, and that's got to be a good thing!"