I’ve been to a theatre play today that a friend of mine organized. Her daughter had a birthday a few weeks ago, and this play was a present to her. It appeared as a very simple story in the beginning. A toy giraffe with several toy giraffe children, living in a home with her partner — a toy husky, which also has a pup of its own. The whole story consisted of various conflicts that these two went through. The husky couldn’t talk — it only made sounds usual for a dog. But giraffe was fairly anthropomorphic, at least in her behavior. My friend portrayed her as a very demanding and patronizing character. It was a play for children, but I still had to make everything complicated in my head. The story had a happy ending — those giraffe and husky were dancing to some romantic music and occasionally kissing each other.
Together with my friend who was doing the show, we took the same way home after the play, and my friend explained me a bit more about the story. It turned out that giraffe was a refugee from Kenya, and she didn’t choose that husky as her partner. Somehow they got together. My friend has probably brought a lot of her inner world to the story behind the play.
I often think if very simple entertaiment is better than the advanced one. On one hand, your feelings can’t lie — watching best actors on a big stage brings an incredible feeling of awe. On the other hand, doing a show for a tiny audience of people you know has this halo of trust, honesty and diy-iness. It’s like comparing a dinner of some sophisticated professional cousine to my grandma’s pies. I tend to think I appreciate the latter more because it’s… well, it’s a part of the relationship.