I purposefully attended a piece of theatre that I knew would make me angry. I’m not sure why. “Anger-for-sport” theatre-going is not for me, but I had been on a roll, seeing show after show that I found evocative and exciting on one level or another. It had to end. I think I wanted to cure myself of the illusion that every theatrical encounter would result in righteous intellectual ecstasy. It was agony I wanted.

The show we attended was not so much a play as it was performance art; a series of sketches between a man and woman outlining for the audience the futility of human relationships in a society cluttered by violence and commercialism. Television sets flickered with porn, nonsense scenes played out to their inevitable and depressing ends. Actors talked to each other, then at the wall, then to the ominous void behind the spectators. They screeched and masturbated with kitchen appliances. It had it all.

When the 90 minutes concluded there was a flurry of awkward applause. The male actor (and writer, it is worth noting) looked like he was Lord of the Dance: sweaty, spent, but willing to give one more gracious bow. The female, an oddly cast Ivory Girl, also bowed, but with a hint of resignation. She was a beautiful bunny who knew the Ford would not swerve for her.

By this description alone, agony should have been in fair supply that night, but I cannot completely write this piece off.

During the clogged hour and a half we were in that black box, I found myself riveted at times, laughing at others and for the most part truly engaged. Despite the enormous hurdles the two performers gave themselves, somehow they managed not to lose the audience entirely throughout the evening. They labored to communicate something important to them, and by the looks on some audience members’ faces, they were somewhat successful. Make no mistake, the show was so awful as to be astonishing, but there were definitely moments in which an idea, an opinion, a feeling was conveyed with clarity and passion. And for that alone, I have to applaud the risk.

This is not to say that all theatre (including ill-conceived chest thumping performance art) is good or worthwhile. That is impossible to say—and a little easy, at that. We can justify the existence of a lot of things under a broad enough set of parameters, and the categories for judging any artistic endeavor are innumerable and subject to change.

In any case, I bring up this little theatrical debacle because it actually possessed one quality I find compelling in all pieces of good theatre that I have seen or participated in: it never took the audience (its presence or response) for granted. As a result, the relationship between the actors heightened, intentions became crystal clear and when the audience focus shifted or fell to the wayside, the performers would try different tactics on each other, and on the audience when it was necessary. This was brought into sharp focus, primarily because the material was so bonzo that both performers and audience had every reason to be circumspect.

Was it successful? Based on the reactions I heard and saw from the attendees hovering outside the theatre steps, yes it was. Discussions were had as to the meaning of the show. “That was garbage, wasn’t it?” one woman asked as she and her friend made their exit. Those in my party had quite a long discussion as to its validity and why we were engaged. We then agitated others with our findings.

This does not happen at every theatrical event, this intense relationship between audience and artist. But the potential is there for it to occur at any level of performance—from a small black box to a Shubert size theatre. When it is absent, one can let the mind wander: Did I leave the iron on? Ooh, I shouldn’t have had the garlic mashed potatoes. If the spark exists, however, there is nothing that can pull the mind away, nothing that can remove the eyes from the stage or the ears from the words. Even if you’re looking to “get your angry on” at some performance art, you could turn up something else entirely.

Jen Ellison is the artistic director of WNEP Theater. 

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