Lyn Gardner: Theatre is about people, not places

Last week I was invited to speak on a panel about space and place at the International Theatre Engineering and Architecture Conference in London. I protested when the invitation was first extended that I was probably the least likely person to speak at a conference where those who build theatres – rather than those who make theatre – predominate.

People regularly invite me to put on a hard hat and wander around half-built theatres. It’s very kind of them to ask, but the truth is I am far more interested in the art than the architecture: I want to see what is staged in that building, not admire the atrium’s glass ceiling.

Of course, I understand there is a connection between the two. A great theatre, whether it was built thousands of years ago, last century or last week, should facilitate great art. Too often they end up being rather cramped – even the ones built just a few years ago, and which have been showered with awards.

Maybe the problem is that theatre architects don’t just have to design a building that will last; they also have to be capable of imagining what the theatre of the future will look like. It’s a tough ask.

Those who built the great Victorian and Edwardian playhouses did so with a firm conviction in the un-smashable nature of the fourth wall, and ideas about what a play should be that bear little resemblance to theatre today. It shouldn’t surprise us that transfers into these spaces often disappoint. Who knows: in 100 years’ time, theatremakers could well say the same about the Bridge. It’s almost as if theatre buildings are doomed to fail – out of date the moment they open.

It often turns out that the most unlikely or provisional spaces hold the most magic

It often turns out that the most unlikely, least obviously fit-for-purpose spaces – and those that are most provisional – hold the most magic. I’m thinking of the tiny, cramped Gate in Notting Hill, a space where the constraints become a bonus: the clever application of design means that every time you step through the auditorium door you feel a tingle of surprise. Battersea Arts Centre was never designed as a theatre and so is capable of providing many different kinds of spaces to many different kinds of artists.

The provisional spaces come with possibilities too. When the Shed was outside the National, its temporary nature seemed to make it easier to programme riskier shows than most of the work in the main programme – they were not bound by the weight of history and significance that comes with bricks and mortar. Particularly if those bricks and mortar have a sign saying “National Theatre” over the front.

Interestingly, it was also possible to access the Shed without having to go into the rest of the building. That’s important, because, while architects think of doors as ways to welcome people in, some people can see them as barriers to keep them out. The Bush has been transformed by creating a public-facing frontage that allows passers-by to see into the bar area. Kiln Theatre, the new name for the refurbished Tricycle, is attempting something similar.

Nevertheless, I do sometimes wonder whether future generations will look back, aghast, on all the capital projects of the past 20 years. There are very good reasons for many of the refurbishments that have taken place, and some of them have been genuinely transforming. But in the end, it’s the theatre that goes on in theatre buildings, not the building itself, that matters.

Surely the reason that Arts Council England has the word ‘arts’ in its title is because its role is to fund art. But what happens to the art and the artists when the balance shifts to funding building projects and back-room administration? Their slice of the cake becomes crumbs.

So, it was with some trepidation that I opened Amber Massie-Blomfield’s book Twenty Theatres to See Before You Die, which is described as “a love letter to Britain’s theatres”. Really, I shouldn’t have worried.

Amber Massie-Blomfield: Hidden gems open up theatre to a wider range of audiences

Just as at the ITEAC conference, it became apparent that the way we use place and space isn’t really about buildings but about people. So Massie-Blomfield’s gorgeously written, heart-felt book is about the artists and the audiences and what they bring to each space and what they leave behind.

As John Berger once observed, even the emptiest theatre feels full. Twenty Theatres is less about architecture and more about the architecture of the heart and mind, what theatre means and the purpose it serves at this very particular moment in history.

In the end that is probably the same for those sitting in Epidaurus in the 4th century BC as it is for those of us gathering nightly in darkened spaces all over the country. As Massie-Blomfield says: “Theatre is a symbol and an expression of an idea: that being with other people is better than being alone.”