When I was thirteen, I saw a performance of Frankenstein at my hometown library. The grave-digging scene changed my entire perspective on what theater could be. The set of the show consisted of nothing more than an interesting square scaffolding piece and the entire cast wore simple black clothing, except the monster, who also wore a black cloak. We reached the part in the story where Victor Frankenstein pillages the graveyard for body parts to make his monster. He climbed atop the scaffolding while the rest of the ensemble lay motionless on the floor below. With each mimed plunge of his shovel into the non-existent earth and hard stomp of his foot, which made the scaffolding shake precariously, the ensemble would writhe and groan as if they were the disturbed deceased in their graves beneath him. As his digging became more frantic, the intensity of the ensemble grew. They surrounded the scaffolding and attempted to climb it, twisted arms reached out for him from below as he continued to excavate their tombs. The sight was absolutely haunting and delicious.

Ever since then, I have been fascinated by the different ways theater artists stage the macabre, and I find it especially captivating when they decide to take a more abstract approach to the portrayal of the horrific, as they did in that inspiring production of Frankenstein. There is something about the utilization of unrealistic elements to convey ‘realistic’ events of a gruesome or devastating nature that magnifies the intensity and articulates the details in a way that realism could not accomplish in live performance. 

There are no words in any language that can describe the pain of losing someone you love, many may come close, but none can truly give voice to the grief. So when such an event is an important part of a performance, it may be a wise decision to look to movement as a medium for expression instead of traditional monologue or dialogue. By the same token, it is a major challenge to depict destruction and disaster on stage. Unlike film and television, you do not get multiple takes when performing live, there is no editing in post to perfect the scene, and without stunt doubles, the safety of the actors and audience must be taken into account at all times. So if it is essential to the plot that we see a catastrophic car crash take place on stage, theater artists must get creative. An event like a car crash could call for a sound design-filled blackout or a movement piece performed in slow motion where the ensemble acts as the destructors of the car, which is perhaps represented by only two chairs and a detached steering wheel. 

The reason why so many different people are drawn to theater as an art form is because of how incredibly limitless it is; there are an infinite amount of ways to tell the same story and an infinite amount of stories to be told. For some reason, at least from what I’ve experienced, a great proportion of new theater artists are naturally drawn to the darker stories — they want to depict a car crash on stage, they want to generate strong emotional reactions from the audience, they want to capture the likeness of those terrible, tragic and unforgettable moments and reproduce them as a work of art. I think with the upcoming generation of theater creators, we can expect to see a lot of new modes of storytelling, movement/dance-heavy productions, and lots of inspired edginess.