By Shrinitha Kannan
Upon numerous interviews with theatre-goers in the first round of Dr. Kelsey Jacobson’s Gatherings project, two patterns stuck out to me. First, the types of performances people spoke of attending were mainly large-scale, “traditional,” theatrical performances encompassing companies like Mirvish, Stratford and shows on Broadway. Second, when discussing how they got involved with theatre, several interviewees referenced a familial connection, from their parents taking them to their first show, and how attending theatre evolved into a family ritual. As I reflected upon my theatrical journey, I realized that my story was entirely different. For instance, I have only ever witnessed a production in a school setting or a community project, and I chose to pursue theatre—separate from my family. As a kid, I dreamed of being a personality of some sort. I specifically wanted to be a YouTuber using my Littlest Pet Shop toys and crafting up little sets to create elaborate stories to be filmed and posted on YouTube. Of course, my parents did not want their 8-year-old child posting on the Internet, nor did YouTube regulations, so nothing came of that. Then I grew up and started to think more “realistically.” I watched my older sister, whom I admire, thrive in the commerce field. As Leya Mathew (2022) describes, “dignity and worth within the modern schooling system could only be imagined through the pursuit of medical-engineering education,” for South Asians such as myself. Although my sister was not pursuing either of those fields, commerce seemed to provide a financially lucrative career, so my parents approved. With that being said, it is important to note that my parents did not necessarily look down upon the arts—in fact, my mother loved and still loves dancing.
However, as immigrants to Canada, all of their decisions were directly related to survival and achieving their long-term goal of financial stability. Therefore, they encouraged us to pursue occupations that they knew had high success rates rather than exploring what else there was to offer. Growing up as a second-generation child, I did not understand this at the time and simply assumed we weren’t artsy people. And so as I crept into high school, I found myself following in my sister’s steps, attending the same high school and business program. I took all the same courses, but what I did slightly differently was take drama. I took drama in grade 9 and loved it, but then didn’t plan to take it in grade 10, because I didn’t think I “needed” it anymore—I was going into business. However, when I was cast in my high school’s rendition of Chicago: High School Edition, my mindset began to shift. I never thought theatre was meant for “people like me” until I was cast in that show.
In the original story, all of the characters were White, but to fit the diverse population of my school, various racialized students played various characters (because race was not central to the story). I remember being a freshman, ensemble member, looking up to our Velma—a strong, multi-talented South Asian woman owning the stage. Velma and the other inmates in the story were perceived as desirable and powerful, traits one does not typically think of when thinking of South Asian women. This was extremely impactful because it helped me recognize and push the bounds of the stereotypes that I had internalized. The school theatre set the foundation for what I could be in theatre. It allowed me to exist in a space that was foreign to my upbringing and culture as a South Asian woman.That confidence I built up in grade 9 declined as soon as I started pursuing a post-secondary theatre program. The only theatre I knew was my high school theatre. I was in one major production before the pandemic hit, and had only participated in class performances since. Additionally, as mentioned before, I had never seen any productions outside of school as I didn’t have access to it—it wasn’t something my family was able to pour money into, or encourage for fear of striking a passion that would be assumed to lead to failure (job insecurity). So, no, I’ve never seen the live versions of Mamma Mia or Hamilton, etc. I know I can listen to the music online or watch it taped, but everyone knows that it’s not the same. I wanted to consume theatre the way it was meant to be consumed, for its liveness, ephemerality, and novelty. And so I didn’t watch them online. But then, when I got to university, it felt like everyone already knew all the famous plays, musicals, actors, directors, etc., except for me. On top of that, the majority of the students in my program were White, and so the community theatre I once saw filled with diverse identities was no more. There I was again, feeling like theatre was never “meant for people like me.” Thankfully, I didn’t let that isolated feeling stop me. I knew that the passion I once held for theatre could not be defeated so easily. So I made sure to keep in touch with that same teacher who cast me in my first production. I saw what big things she was able to do with school budgets and minimal staff. I saw how she poured her heart and soul into that school, its productions and students—how she was able to encourage students in circumstances such as mine into theatre who may have otherwise never gotten involved. It was going back to that school and seeing more of their productions that have continually pushed me to pursue studying the arts. I’ve experienced firsthand how community theatre has allowed for typically marginalized populations to gain wide-scale access to participating in and watching theatre (Mattingly, 2001), and now my goal is to continue creating such spaces in the future. So yeah, maybe I haven’t seen the original cast of Hamilton on Broadway, but have you SEEN my former high school’s production of Matilda?!
References
Mathew, L. (2022). The merit of medicine: science aspirations in India. Cultural Studies of Science Education, 17(3), 701–726. https://doi.org/10.1007/s11422-021-10088-y
Mattingly, D. (2001). Place, teenagers and representations: Lessons from a community theatre project. Social & Cultural Geography, 2(4), 445–459. https://doi.org/10.1080/14649360120092634