There’s a particular magic that happens when you sit down in a theatre real, velveteen-seated, actual air-in-the-room theatre - and the lights go down. It’s not just anticipation, although that's part of it. It’s the feeling that something is about to happen that could only happen here. Only now.
And if you get this right in a matinee you really are doing something special.
I went to see My Neighbour Totoro, with my lovely niece, this weekend. It really was the best thing she has ever seen, and I know because she told me. And I know because I was there as she whispered exciting things in my ear (I have a horrible ear infection, so I couldn't tell you what those things were).
Now, I am well aware that this show is an animated film, and that is wonderful too… but this was a collective experience and that’s what theatre has over screens.
In a world where you can stream anything you like at the tap of a button, it would be easy to think that theatre is something of a nostalgic indulgence. (Bit like handwriting a letter or listening to vinyl - lovely, but not strictly necessary.) But that misses the point entirely.
Theatre reminds us that being together matters. It reminds us that storytelling is ancient, collaborative, and alive. No film, no video, no TikTok perfectly replicates the gasp that goes around an auditorium when something unexpected happens on stage - when my niece points out the firelight effect on the trees, when the puppets waddle stage right, when the cat bus turns around and you see the wonderful cat bum!
Watching My Neighbour Totoro, I saw my niece's imagination visibly expand. She left the theatre believing in magic a little more fiercely than she had three hours before - and honestly, so did I. It was the care for the storytelling that did it.
There’s a need for this, more than ever. For young people (and for those of us pretending not to be young people anymore), to see what humans can build, can move, can dream. To be astonished by other human beings doing remarkable, creative, beautiful things. And it doesn't have to be a massive production with mechanical wonders and Studio Ghibli’s blessing. A tiny local theatre with creaky chairs and a curtain that gets stuck halfway can be magic too... just without the roar of Totoro.
