Georgetown College. Georgetown University.

By Gabrielle Matthews

Discordant voices emanated from two large televisions suspended from the ceiling, mingling with the hum of theatergoers taking their seats.

On one screen there was Hilary Clinton, seated in a restaurant with Bill; on the other was John McCain, stridently opposing Barack Obama’s policies. As the screens gradually caught the attention of the audience —noticing first one political commercial, then the other—the discord seemed all too familiar, a reflection of the past six months: political commercial after political commercial. The noise of a country on the brink of a major decision.

The lights fell, and the cast members of “The Race” took the stage at Georgetown’s Gonda Theater, dark silhouettes against the red and white stripes of the background lighting, watching the commercials with the audience. This was a performance of civic participation—in many ways like the political process of the United States. 

“We’re doing something unique,” Michael Rohd, visiting professor of theater at Georgetown and director of “The Race,” said of this unique show performed from October 30th-November 8th. “We’re asking the audience to participate in an activity of civic engagement during the performance, supported by technology.” 

Rohd is the founder of Sojourn Theater, based in Portland, Oregon, which creates cutting edge, site-specific theater. This focus on location is why he, along with a few members of his team, decided to accept the offer to produce the show at Georgetown this year. 

“Derek Goldman (director of the theater and performance studies program at Georgetown) invited us to work, and we wanted to do so in DC,” said Rohd. “The intersection of site-specificity, content, and time is especially relevant.” 

For this project, Rohd and his associates could not have determined a better time to work in DC. Though the production was grounded in location—the nation’s capital during the election process—they drew in voices from various regions by engaging technology.

“People are using technology more and more in theater,” notes Shannon Scrofano, visiting professor of theater and the production’s scenic and media designer. “But what we did was essentially use the technology as part of the cast—it had an integrated relationship with the audience and the performers.”

Technology was certainly a vital part of the performance, and how the show functioned in terms of organization. The show was performed in three sections. In the first, the cast asked the audience to think about what they ask of their leaders, by pitting themselves in a contest of paradoxical tasks with an improvisational quality. “Show me your heart, but don’t give any of it away,” instructed one cast member with a microphone, while the others stood on the edge of the stage, staring intently at the audience, straining to connect. This exercise highlighted to the audience how difficult it must be for political leaders to show any authenticity. Microphones and video cameras in hand, the cast were often mirrored—the real person on the stage, the image projected on screen.

The second section of the show was a question and answer session, which included guests via video chat from all over the world. Each night of performance had different virtual participants, from Chicago to Seattle to Taiwan. Two computers were wheeled out on stage, and the cast managed the technology themselves, with the chat windows projected onto the large television screens for the audience to see. The cast asked the audience and the video-feed participants questions, some to the full group, asking for a show of hands, others to specific people. Remarkably, no one seemed unwilling to participate.

The third section was broken up into four sub-sections. The audience was asked to vacate their seats in the theater, and was moved to bleachers wheeled on stage. It began with the audience coaching the performers to deliver famous political speeches: one cast member to roughly twenty audience members. A startling reversal of attention—the audience was now in charge. The third subsection was “political speech karaoke.” Political speeches were projected on monitors, and the cast asked for volunteers to read a speech of their choice.  Hands instantly shot into the air when cast members asked for interest. The interactive performance finished with focus on both the audience and the performers—while the cast performed choreography reminiscent of the energy, stress, and cooperation of the electoral process, the audience passed a microphone around the room, responding to the prompts “I feel hopeful about…” and “I am fearful of…”

 “By changing the physical configuration in the third act, we meant to draw attention to the forms in which we have access to our leaders, like town hall meetings and the televised debates, and the absurdity and humanity of that connection,” Scrofano said. “We meant to give audience members a release by allowing them the space to stand up and be heard.” One instance of this participation had a particularly profound effect on her, as well as the audience for that performance. 

A young man of high school age volunteered during “political speech karaoke,” despite a speech impediment. By creating a supportive space in the performance, said Scrofano “whatever circumstances in his life, he wanted to say yes to the opportunity”—and the audience hung on his every word. “I was really moved,” she said, “by saying yes to whoever stands up, and really listening—that’s a rare civic experience.”

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