Looking Back to Playback
In this moment, I feel the crisis, the panic, the confusion pulsing in the air around me within my communities: my neighborhood, my institution, my art form. There’s talk of the end of theatre. But our craft has survived countless generations; it has survived the black plague, puritanism, colonial forces purposefully pursuing its erasure. If theatre survived all of that, then our art form will also persevere in the face of COVID 19. Individual companies may collapse, but our community of artists will come together, and we’ll endure.
I know we will, because of Playback.
I’m a founding member of CU Boulder’s Playback Ensemble, and we’ve been together for over two years. This January, we spent two weeks in Paonia, CO, an eight hour drive from my home and hours, mountains, and fields away from the nearest city. This is a town split into two factions; they call themselves—I kid you not—”old timers” and “newcomers.”
The oldtimers, though often young, are those who’ve lived in this area for generations. Their families have settled Paonia, building homesteads on what they saw as empty, unclaimed land, and have since seen Paonia turn from peach farming paradise to coal country, and then take an economic downturn.
The newcomers, many of whom have personal memories of tuning in and dropping out, are viewed as “hippies,” liberal idealists who are perceived as having come to Paonia to take it away from the oldtimers; their shared gardens, bespoke jewelry and soap shops, and bed&breakfasts with names like “The Nomad” have turned Paonia into a lovely four-block summer respite that oldtimers call a tourist trap.
The two groups aren’t friendly.
In fact, they’ll openly flip each other off or cross the road to avoid one another in this tiny, four-block town.
But they came together for theatre.
The oldtimers told stories of the Paonia that was, the newcomers narrated what drew them there, and everyone shared their dreams of what Paonia could become in the future.
As we played back the thoughts they offered in pairs, lanes, fluid sculptures, and stories, the citizens of Paonia began to connect. Some cried. Many remained after our performances, discussing what they had learned by watching us move in space. They invited us and one another to their homes, to continue the conversation.
This is what theatre does, and this is what we need right now.
Theatre won’t be killed by a virus; however, if we refuse to open our hearts and share our stories, we may starve the art form for a while. But when we overcome our politics and our egos, we will once again nourish and enjoy this craft.
