a night at the theatre

The National Theatre in Accra

It felt so right. In a month of getting-used-to's and sorry-I-didn't-know's and please-can-you-repeat-that-just-one-more-time's, I needed a dose of normalcy. So, we went to the theatre. Why this was the antidote, I'm not sure. I should know by now that the theatre is not a place one should go expecting the habitual. But I was desperate.

Still, it began with the beautifully familiar sequence. Getting dressed up. Buying an over-priced ticket. Peeing before the show. Hiding a snack in your purse. Finding your seats. Reading the program (minus the part where we excitedly hunt for NU grads). Sitting back with anticipation and longing.

The curtain rose to reveal a set barely big enough for my American Girl dolls on a stage the size of Willow's. The actors came out and I gave them a much longer than normal grace period. I gave them almost the entire show. Even the writing, I tried not to judge too quickly. I figured there was surely a cultural gap in the way we use language and maybe it will just take my ears some time to adjust to the cliche, repetitive and preachy dialogue.

Terms of Divorce is the story of a husband and wife trying to settle their divorce with their respective lawyers (who were once married to each other). They are all forced to meet with a marriage counselor who is happily married to an insane woman; thereby demonstrating the power of love to overcome all obstacles.

It wasn't long before I had a hunch that both couples would somehow reconcile their differences.

It was long (about an hour into the show) before it decided to become a musical. Complete with angels breaking onto the stage in costumes and hoods a little too evocative of the KKK for me to pay attention to their big number, "My Redeemer Lives".

Then came the commercials. During the "scene changes" (the chair moved), we diverted our attention to two side projectors. At each interlude, the same phone commercial played. Took me out of it a little- I'm not gonna lie.

But then I was jerked back into the compelling two-hours-too-long saga which finally concluded in an epic monologue where the protagonist explained to us, Bible in hand, why no one should ever "bury love alive". Then a painting fell off the wall on the set. In a flash of improvisational genius, the actor walked over to the painting, looked at it, shook his head, and threw it offstage.

I was so ready to love this show. I wanted to come home and write all about Ghanaian theatre and how much they understand that we don't. And of course, this one playsical is not representative of all theatre here. Not even close. But by all yardsticks I have ever been taught to measure with, this show was not just not good. It was the stereotypical bad production you see in movies that are trying to be funny. I really don't like to write things off as bad, but 'twas. Bad. 

BUT, the people loved it! It was truly the most engaged audience I have ever been a part of.  They rattled off popular sayings along with the actors, cheered and booed as the action progressed and sang along with all the songs. The woman next to me was weeping when the angels came out! The girl who shared a cab back with me went on and on about what a wonderful playwright and director that man is and how much she enjoys his work.

This unanimous response really made me second-guess myself. Have I become so critical that I am left out of such an experience? And what does it matter what I think about this show if the people it was meant for share such a singular and profound response? Who do we do theatre for anyway?

I took a class at school last spring that dealt with these kinds of artistic exchanges between cultures. As we studied various examples, I became frustrated that people expressed difficulty entering into artistic traditions so different from their own. I wanted art to be a kind of universal language. Yet, my experience at the National Theatre puts me in the shoes of those I was so quick to condemn last spring. I wonder, had there been a higher level of professionalism, could I have at least appreciated that which didn't resonate strongly in me? But I have seen a lot of low-budget shows in my life, and the good ones still possess a level of earnestness and truth that was absent in "Divorce". Plus, we found out in an uncomfortable talk-back with the writer/director, that this show cost $78,000! That goes a long way here. It was with sunken-in and saddened eyes that Mr. White pleaded with the upper class audience, "In other places, I hear that shows can run for three years without being broken. Please, help us to go for a few weeks at least." The ticket cost 25 Ghana cedis. My friend pointed out that if you make minimum wage here, (GHC 2 a day), it would be two weeks before you could afford a ticket assuming you hadn't spent money on food or other necessities. In the U.S., a Broadway rush ticket costs $25. If you work minimum wage for a day, you can go see a show. It's still a luxury, but not at the same level. So, Mr. James Ebo White begged "corporate Ghana", as he referred to them, to continue supporting his shows. And to help their messages and themes to infiltrate society down to those who couldn't afford a ticket. 

And so, theatre fills a distinctly different role here. And I wonder if my idea of good and bad in art even applies outside of the U.S. Because I know that show would have been laughed at in Chicago, but I don't think The Clean House would have done so well in Accra. Yet, if we throw up our hands and chalk it up to "cultural differences", won't our art just grow farther and farther apart?

I have often said that I hope to bring my faith into the secular world of theatre someday without any idea what that might look like. This show presented one method. It was well-received in a culture that is not only predominantly Christian, but shares an outward expression of their faith unlike any I have seen at home.  So, is the American alternative just to tone it down? I'm not sure. 

What has always fascinated me about collaboration in theatre is that people with different world views come together to create one world on stage, that can be experienced by people with their own unique perspectives. That unpredictable and delicate process allowed for my bizarre experience at the National Theatre. And it also made way for the experience of the girl next to me in the cab. Who was so touched by the story that she was heading home to remind her loved one how much he meant to her.