The overextended stage

Cris mentioned, as many people have, that Carapace’s minimal stage is a good thing which makes the storyteller feel more safe and allows greater connection with the audience.

there’s no real separation from it, [separation between teller and audience]

so it kind of feels like

telling stories in a living room.

When I was reading literature in preparation for this study, I noticed some interesting things about the stage. One is this idea of division. McAuley (1999) sees theater space as both physically divided and divided in purpose: “it is a place of employment for some, a place of entertainment and cultural enrichment for others. The two groups have their designated areas within the space that is, in traditional theatres, quite rigidly demarcated” (p. 25). Those on the stage are working. Those off the stage are being entertained.

The association with theater also causes audience members to expect what occurs on stage to be a performance. “The behavior of actors onstage is marked; spectators know that it is to be interpreted differently from apparently identical behaviors occurring in other places” (McAuley, 1999, p. 39). It may seem obvious that storytelling is a performance, but front porch storytelling can have a non-performative feel. Stories flow casually through conversation. The fact that a stage signifies “performance” does create a distance between teller and listeners.

The other thing I noticed was that medium theory implies the stage could make performers subservient to the audience. Building on the McLuhans’ (1988) understanding of media as extensions of the human body, we can also extrapolate that the stage gives the storyteller added height and visibility. Perhaps it even sets the storyteller “above” the audience, as if he or she is more important than they are. Certainly, the storyteller is the most visible and audible person in the room and is given an extended turn to speak. The McLuhans’ Laws of Media state, however, that each medium also contains the seeds of its own reversal. Overheated, then, the stage turns the performer from a king on a throne, to the jester; the least important person in the room, performing in service to a royal audience.

I’d like to look at these ideas through comments I’ve received so far in interviews. First, stage signifies performance, and performance causes distance, and distance is undesirable.

Lance talked about wanting to avoid “performance”:

We felt like

putting him [a storyteller] on stage,

even a small one

and putting a spotlight on ‘em.

Now we cross that line from,

telling the story to a group of people to

an actual performance.

Lance also mentioned avoiding the physical distance of a raised stage:

We also wanted to keep

the tellers close to the audience.

physically close.

Again, not

put them on the stage,

not have this huge gaping distance between

where they're talking, and where the

folks are seated.

We wanted to emphasize that

connection,

again,

that you're here among friends,

that you're in a safe environment,

that you can tell us stuff without

judgment.

Stage lighting, which extend the effects of the stage, can also be separating. Cris said later in the interview that the audience felt more like strangers when he couldn’t see them:

when I did the Moth,

even though I know there’s

people in there I know.

And it’s in a theater I perform in.

But it’s a theater so I can’t,

with the lights on you,

I can only really see the front

row of people,

everybody else is just a silhouette.

So then it’s,

it’s a little different where I’m like

“Uh, I don’t know who I’m talking to!” [laugh]

Tom affirmed that the closeness of the stage helps the storyteller make a connection with the audience:

but particularly in this room

you are a lot closer,

and you’re not on a stage

and the contact is--

maybe I’ve evolved but I think maybe the room helps to

stay in touch with people.

Second, the overextended stage, the overly stag-y stage, flips the storyteller into a subservient role.

Randy acknowledged that being on a raised stage can feel good, like being on a pedestal:

I wanna be on a pedestal

be looked at.

I don't wanna be just down here

talking to you in a bar.

So I'm not really sure it's a healthy reaction.

David appreciated that at Carapace the storyteller isn’t “above” anyone else:

Well, here it’s kinda interesting,

there really isn’t a stage,

it’s just a stage area,

you’re not risen above the crowd at all,

so you’re kinda,

you really feel like you’re with everybody

because you’re not,

you’re not above them whatsoever

you just have the louder mic

than they do.

Randy also noticed that being on an actual stage at Venkman’s made people feel like they had to “perform”:

A lot of our people didn't like it very much at all.

And I'm convinced that part of it is

they were on an elevated stage

under lights.

And it

it raises the bar

all of the sudden it raises the bar like,

I've gotta be Ellen Degeneres

or Louis CK or something.

There're lights on me

and I gotta mic.

I gotta be funny.

I gotta be entertaining people

who want more of what I'm offering them.

I wasn’t sure I would find much on the overheated stage since I am only researching one show and therefore can’t make much of a comparison. However, those who have been attending Carapace for awhile are able to make a comparison because of their experiences at both Venkman’s and Manual’s. The stage space at Manuel’s is meant to feel as little like a stage as possible. The storyteller has the privilege of speaking and having the audience listen. The raised stage at Venkman’s made storytellers feel that they had to give the audience more.

The practice of Carapace of having a minimal stage, goes along with creating a safe space for the storyteller. It is intentionally enough of a stage to highlight the storyteller, but not so much of a stage that the storyteller feels that he or she owes the audience something.

McAuley, G. (1999). Space in performance: Making meaning in the theatre. Ann Arbor, Michigan: University of Michigan Press.

McLuhan, M., & McLuhan, E. (1988). Laws of media: The new science. Toronto: University of Toronto Press.