wet feet and fire hazards.

As we step off the train in Wroclaw, Patryk speaks loudly into his cell phone. He seems to be aggravated by the conversation, but why, or whom he is talking to I do not know. We left Poznan a few hours ago, and are in Wroclaw to see a show. Patryk is a theatre critic, and was hired by a national magazine to write an article on site-specific theatre productions across the country. So far, this is the third city on our national tour, and although my expenses are not reimbursed as his will be, I join him when I can. It is a good excuse to see more of Poland, and avant-garde theatre.

We head into the terminal, and he ends his call. Apparently it was from the theatre company cancelling the show we had just spent the morning in commute to see. The same thing happened in Krakow after waiting 20 minutes past the expected curtain time. They had technical difficulties. I asked Patryk if they said why the show was cancelled, and he said that it was because it was cold.

Cold? I ask. They are having a show outside in the polish winter and were not expecting it to be cold?

Apparently not. I zip up my non-gay jacket. Well, I am cold right now. And hungry. As Pat checks the schedule for a train home, I look around for something to eat. McDonald’s and KFC are the only restaurants in the terminal. All foreigners think we Americans eat McDonalds all the time. As if it was our traditional food. Last time I had McDonalds in the States it was with Patryk. He wanted to go- I didn’t. but he smiled and said, “But I’m loving it!”, so I caved on account of cuteness. But the point is, McDonald is everywhere here. As it is in every other country I have been to, and I assure you, they eat there far more often than we do. So I find it irritating when I am told it is all we Americans eat. I will take the blame for Starbucks, with no arguments, since the old joke about a coffee shop on every corner is incredibly accurate. In my home town we have TWO Starbucks on the very same block. But it is justified. We need that second Starbuck because of the plush couches it has.

We decide to leave the train station and get food elsewhere and at least see a bit of the city if we have come this far, even if we wont be seeing a play. This is when I briskly step into a puddle, completely soaking my left foot. The good walking shoes I brought to Poland are my river walking shoes, that have a fancy high tech design to let water escape through mesh on the side. Unfortunately when not river walking these shoes do a wonderful job of letting water in through the very same mesh if you happen to be oblivious enough to step into a puddle of almost freezing water. Shit. Hungry, cold, wet feet, and three hours in a train only to turn around and go home. Great day. But we get food, and end up getting another call from the theatre company. Patryk is able to tour the space where the performance would have been, so the trip isn’t a complete bust after all.

On the train ride home, I spend the time thinking about the differences between theatre in the States and Poland for my article. Yes, my article! When in Krakow we met Patryk’s editor, who said that if I was going to all of the shows with Pat, why don’t I write something from an immigrants’ perspective on Polish theatre. It was after a few beers, so I question his Polish sincerity, but there are a few interesting differences. First of which is drunkenness. At two of the three performances we have seen, the actors pass off as much vodka as they can to the audience during the show. Is this typical? Aparently so. Cheers for Polish tradition!

The second is fire hazards. In the states there are conditions as to how many people you can cram into a small space. If you break it, the fire department will shut you down as they did during Willamette’s production of Raised in Captivity, when our set was condemned as a “burning inferno, and audience death trap.” (sorry kay-la la)

One show we saw had seats for 20, but ended up seating about 45. We all shared laps.
Another show I saw was in the back of a Winnebago, where the max capacity for an audience is about 5. There were 12 of us literally stacked on top of each other like the final moments of a game of Jenga. The benefit to having a show in a moving vehicle is that you can hit the gas, and send the audience toppling over each other. Patryk took an elbow to the face, and I got friendly with the lady wedged between my legs. Ah, the intimacy of small audiences.

The third and final difference in Polish theatre tradition I will talk about (this blog is getting long winded) is the curtain call. If the audience likes a play, they show their pleasure by clapping loudly in unison. No joke. It is a very odd feeling, closer to what you hear at a high school pep rally or a beer guzzling competition than in your fancy dress at the theatre. There will also be at least three additional bows at the end. The actors bow, head off stage, run back on and bow. Multiple times. This happens at home as well, if a show gets an overwhelming response and the audience wants another bow. But here, the actors take over. If you don’t stop you clapping in unison immediately and get up and leave, the actors will just keep on running out and bowing again and again and again. But hey, if the audience is drunk on the vodka you gave them, and will be bottlenecked at the door from being over capacity, why the hell not take an extra bow, or five.

While getting off the train back home in Poznan, I try to figure out how to get this all into an article for the most prominent theatre magazine in Poland. Fat chance. I silently hope Patryk’s editor was too drunk to really have meant he wanted an article from me. Then I step in another puddle.