Filmed work was crucial in lockdown but theatre’s essence is lost on screens

At Sadler’s Wells, some of the works that worked vividly on screen failed to register on the wide-open stage without cinematic point-of-view, focus and close-up. But two more than made the transition.

Hugely distinctive on its own terms, Stina Quagebeur’s airy opener Take Five Blues reminded me of the joyousness of Esplanade, a masterpiece by the American choreographer Paul Taylor. As with Taylor, Quagebeur choreographed to Bach – and also Dave Brubeck – with deliciously sunny grace and uplifting wit. But it was the final piece, the dazzlingly demanding, idiosyncratic and wildly exuberant Jolly Folly by the then 24-year-old Arielle Smith that took my breath away.

An homage to silent-film comedy, Smith’s screen version used projections and cinematic lighting to wondrously atmospheric effect. But her innate ability to harness and charge-up music, light and stage space meant that her dancers’ thrillingly shaped energy flooded not just the space but the entire auditorium. Laughing and cheering, the audience was swept away by her gloriously detailed vision bursting forth from her dynamic dancers.

It made me not just understand but feel what I’d been missing. Covid forced theatremakers into second-best. Making online work for freelancers and staff, creating an income stream and holding on to audiences was absolutely vital but, secretly, I found almost every theatre online dispiriting. Writing here in May 2020, I quoted an unnamed director: “Watching theatre online is like looking at photographs of food.”

Theatre on your TV is actually nothing like the real thing. Theatre works live

I agree: theatre on your TV is actually nothing like the real thing. Theatre works live. Crucially, as Richard Eyre once said, it’s art on a human scale, and on a screen at home, that’s exactly what’s missing. We’re entirely removed from the experience. We no longer participate in the act of it, the held silence of engagement. It’s literally happening somewhere else. Online screenings were necessary, widened audiences and allowed work to be seen as best as could be hoped, but the lack of connection, let alone concentration, profoundly missed theatre’s essence.

So why will I watch Romeo and Juliet twice? Because, despite using theatre as a visual framework, it was a real film. It was made for and played to the camera. There’s nothing second-best about it. Its understanding of the difference between the two forms makes it a winning, and moving, experience.