As we walked up familiar paths to the theatre arts complex, I imagined and then outlined a far weirder experiment. You would walk up and through the loading dock’s mirage of recycled setpieces, and through the backstage door to the wings in which a stage manager enwraps you in a full cloak of wardrobe and holds one page of dialogue and direction in front of you and points to the mark on stage. The audience would be full of actors, and it would have a feeling, silent of rushed excitement between scenes.
What you did on stage in that minute was entirely up to you, and the seated actors only direction was unconditional applause.
