Five short films in search of theatre.
An actor without an audience. A misanthropic box office attendant with no tickets to sell. A politician unable or unwilling to understand any value to theatre. A cleaner dreaming of the magic she’s missed.
Goat Songs explores theatre in pandemic lockdown through five characters in search of a stage, facing down a dubious political understanding of why the arts matter. A politician visiting a local theatre questions the value of the arts. She receives three responses: from an actor, a cleaner and a ticket officer.
All they need to survive is the greatest of dramatic tricks, a coup de theatre, a literal Deus ex Machina! Luckily, they get one, when the God of Theatre pops in for a drop of bubbly and a chat.
The Politician understands that theatre has value. She believes the arts should be put to work, that its value lies in how many tourists it can attract and how many beers it can sell. A successful artist is a good one – an artist you’ve never heard of is pointless.
Theatre is valuable if it represents heritage, it presents unthreatening, popular shows, and pays for itself. And that’s just common sense, isn’t it?
The Actor is not just applying make-up – she’s putting on a brave face. A year without theatre has hit her hard and questions crowd in: What if the theatre never opens? What if she never works again? What if her parents were right?
When a lightbulb pops in the Green Room, it’s the first time she’s been in the black all year.
The Cleaner loves theatre and has done since she was a child. For her it is raw, unequivocal magic.
And she understands her worth, knowing all art is transactional and, as an audience member, she closes the circuit. The theatre needs her as much as she needs it. She completes each performance.
The Front of House is a disappointed man. He has poisoned himself against the thing he loves, and he knows it. He has squandered his love of the theatre through jealousy. And now he snipes at the audience and sneers at the talent.
He knows he’s wrong. He knows he’s being unfair – it’s not theatre’s fault. But he is a lover scorned. If he can’t have the theatre no one can.
The God of Theatre, Dionysus, dresses shabbily. Their vehicle a shopping trolley and followers, the Bacchae, are bored and unhappy. Their beard is fake, mask is cardboard – they are half toga party, half nativity play.
Dionysus is theatre. They are made of costume, of trappings. They cling to props and are comprised of poses and attitudes. Until they aren’t – they are the liar who speaks the truth, Wilde’s “man behind the mask”.
The God of Theatre is tired, and needs to work themselves up to a dramatic conclusion.
They get there.