Our Reuels now are ended: These our actors,
(As I foretold you) were all Spirits, and
Are melted into Ayre, into thin Ayre,
And like the baselesse fabricke of this vision
The Clowd-capt Towres, the gorgeous Pallaces,
The solemne Temples, the great Globe it selfe,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolue,
And like this insubstantiall Pageant faded
Leaue not a racke behinde:

-The Tempest IV i, 1819-1827

Shakespeare’s theatre was called “The Globe”. To punctual the smack of depth which this title meant to instill, above the entrance to the theatre were inscribed the words “Totus Mundus Agit Histrionem”; a quote from Shakespeare’s As You Like it translated to Latin from English. In the Queen’s tongue it means “All the World’s a Stage”.

This is not an insubstantial thing. To an actor, a playwright, a director, or really a theatre person of any flavor, the theatre itself is the whole world. You live there, breathe there, eat there, cry there, bleed there… and if you are a true theatre person more than these things the theatre is where you come alive. The deep emotion; the pain, the suffering, the immense vitality that you experience in a theatre is unparalleled by any other sensation. And if you’re a good actor, you’re able to take the audience with you.

A theatre is a place of raw, roiling humanity. It’s a place of communal experience, and every theatre holds its own brand of magic.

I love theatres. I am a connoisseur of theatres. Theatrical spaces, to me, are the most exciting things in the world. They are spaces of absolute zero and infinite potential; spaces built to come alive with the vibrancy of creativity.

Every theatre has its own energy. Try this little experiment. The next time you enter a theatre, take a look around. Take a moment to breathe in the space, really experience what it’s like to be sitting there. How does it make you feel? What sorts of thoughts run through your head? What are your expectations for what you are about to see? Lather, rinse, repeat every time you walk into a theatrical space. Get a feel for where you are – what about this theatre makes you feel the way you do? Exposed set pieces, proscenium arches, the relative distance between the stage and the audience? Just begin to notice how the theatrical space impacts the theatrical process.

Players' Ring exterior

I have fallen absolutely in love with some theatres through the years, and my most recent affair is with the Portsmouth Players’ Ring. Nestled right on the harbor in the adorable town of Portsmouth, New Hampshire, the Ring has a deep and (dare I say) sordid past.

It’s a 75-seat blackbox on the ground floor of a historic building. This works to its advantage in several ways; the first is that (since it is a historic building) grant money is slightly easier to come by during these rough-on-the-arts economic times. In addition, the building itself as a tourist spot in and of its own right draws a certain crowd.

Though the very kind (and extremely informed!) woman who runs the space has yet to find information to substantiate this rumor, word on the street is that the building used to house a brothel. It is, after all, right on the water… it serviced the sailors and then it serviced the sailors. Somehow, this just seems right for a theatre.

These days, a brick exterior houses three stories; theatre, shop, and storage respectively.

Now, I don’t know about you, but to me “blackbox” theatre means that a well-meaning organization owns a building with a spare room which was second-thoughtedly converted into a “bastion of cultural well-being”. Usually they are sparse spaces painted in all black with crammed removable seating. The fancier ones have a real light grid. “Blackbox” means creativity, not necessarily quality.

Exposed wooden beams, reminiscent of Elizabethan Styling

The Ring supersedes these expectations. Internal masonry (which, by the way, is indicative that, brothel or otherwise, the building was a commercial one during the eighteen hundreds) is preserved and decorated with costume sketches in the lobby. Exposed wooden beams inside the theatre itself lend a homey grounded and antique feeling which only wooden theatres have (seriously, you haven’t been in a theatre until you’ve been in a wooden theatre). The lighting situation is perhaps the most impressively creative aspect of the space; glorified track lighting is plugged into sundry power ports across the ceiling and controlled from a small booth at the back of the theatre. Everything is on a dimmer so theatrical lighting effects, while sparse, are still manageable. House lighting includes decorative strings of Christmas lights, which add charm to the space.

The stage itself is a three-quarter round with a raked house. This puts audience members right into the action as the first row is, literally, sitting on the stage. It also provides some interesting staging predicaments as angles must be played to three sides rather than one, but that is nothing that cannot be overcome by a good director. Since the Players’ Ring does have a resident company, presumably their usual fare is accustomed to working in the space and thereby well acquainted with such predicaments. It also works extraordinarily well for the productions which I’ve been attending, Tuesday night improvisational comedy by New Hampshire’s Stranger than Fiction. The intimacy of the house encourages a certain degree of audience interaction, which is perfect for this breed of performance which hinges upon audience participation. By the way, if you’re in the area, you should really check these guys out. They only have a few more weeks of regular performances, and it is well worth the $12 ticket price ($10 with a student ID).

I was enthralled. To make matters even more enticing, during intermission

Adorable Lobby!

audiences are welcomed into the lobby where a vast collection of theatre mugs are offered up for use along with free coffee and tea as well as an assortment of cookies.

Ocean air, adorable port town, AND wonderful community theatre? I may never leave this place. A word of advice to the Portsmouth Players: if you begin to hear some strange noises in your scene shop during the night, or find that your tea is consumed at an above-average rate, it isn’t your requisite theatre ghost. It’s a Shakespearean scholar who has decided to (literally) take residence in your wonderful testament to the arts.

They’re doing Timon of Athens in June. I may die of happiness.