If I am resistant to Zoom performances, am I resisting the future?

(Photo Credit: ©MoiraM)

When New York had to go into lockdown, I would say that I was pleasantly surprised at how quickly theater companies started to produce content online. The transition, though slightly clunky at first, happened almost seamlessly.

The number of theaters offering up archival performances for free, play readings, musical theater reunions, and sing-a-longs, was extremely heartwarming; a community banding together during a frightening and confusing time. This meant a lot in a city like New York, not only the epicenter of the virus but the cultural hub of the nation.

Broadway going dark has been a hard pill to swallow, its future still unclear, but people continue to tell stories and create art. 

It was amazingly comforting to see the community come together. Just as quickly as performances moved online people were cramming to define it and judge it. We all accepted zoom plays and readings would be temporary, lasting until the summer at least. As we see no new progress on the pandemic in this country a lot of us in the community are predicting that this new medium is here to stay indefinitely.

I will admit, though I did find it inspiring and a show of how resilient and adaptable artists can be, I have always been a little wary of it. Even while I found it inspiring in those first months, it also made me panic a little.

There has been much debate about this new medium. Is it really theater? Is it film? Is it something completely in its own category? Do people actually think it’s going to replace real theater? The question I find more pressing is, “Who is it for?”

Theater, to me at least, has always been for and by the community. It has been a way to find kindred spirits, share experiences, and learn a little bit more about stories I don’t know. Can this feeling of community happen through a computer screen? Can we truly connect with our audiences through this new digital medium?

Something I was nervous about when stories started going was what if this new medium made it easier for artists to be taken advantage of? Will this be just another way artists are made to do unpaid labor because they need to create and perform when it is no longer safe? Will people always expect theater to be free from now on? Is this better than nothing? For the artist and the audience?

There were tons of articles coming out in the late spring about how creating zoom content was, for the most part, self-serving for those creating it. That the content was being created as a desperate measure to create for creation’s sake. As an artist, I understand this need to create. It’s something that is just in our DNA. I’m not going to dismiss those that want to hold on to some sense of normalcy in collaborating and sharing content; in whatever form that may be.

We all need to get through all this in some way. I think when everything feels like its spinning out of control, if you find a little peace and comfort from performing in a Zoom play then absolutely do it. I don’t judge or blame people for wanting to continue to work and tell stories. I want to make that perfectly clear before I go on.

I have been resistant to this new form of telling stories. I’ve tried it. I’ve been asked to create more for it, but there is something about it that just doesn’t feel right. I have watched some of the online content, have written monologues for zoom performances, have had a short play produced digitally, and have taken virtual acting classes. So much of my creative energy is spent online, and I have to say, I’m not enjoying it.

It just doesn’t have the same feeling of unity. You don’t get that instant reaction; the laughter, gasps, or tears. There is a sense of, “Is anybody out there?” It has been extremely challenging to find a connection with a scene partner online. It oftentimes feels like I’m acting on my own. Is this really the future of theater?  It all feels at times artificial.

I have been asked to create more online, do more auditions, even act in something, and I feel like I want to dig my heels in. When we first went into lockdown I was determined to write as much as I could, keep my acting chops sharp and fresh but it was always in preparation for when we could go back on the stage.

Now that beautiful moment where we return is being pushed further and further down the calendar. There is talk that even when we can return, Zoom is here to stay. It feels like if I do not jump on this bandwagon then I’m done telling stories; maybe for now, forever, now one is sure. I do know, and I believe this vehemently, that we will get back to the stage inside a theater, but somehow I feel like I am being left behind while my community is propelling itself forward into something else; that they are able to adapt and I can’t.

I have been thinking a lot about my aversion to this new way of telling-stories. I have some grievances, one of which is that I still feel like I am grieving. I don’t feel that I or most of my colleagues had the proper time to mourn the world we lost; especially here in New York. I’ve been a playwright for five years. The stories I tell are character-driven, relationship-centric, crucially dependent on humans sharing a space, touching, laughing, crying, together. This is what I have always set out to do.

Now I’m asked to fit stories into a technical box. I am being asked to stage in a technical space, but the thing is, my brain does not work that way. I am not a director. I envision a story through text, character, and plot. Shouldn’t it fall on the director or technical designers to create a virtual playing space?

Things happened so fast there is was no allocation of responsibility, no collaboration on how we were going to put all this together. In my experience, it is the writers that have been pressured to produce stories that can be performed online instead of utilizing our creative adaptability to team up and transition stories into this new medium. This is what I have felt most resentful of; I don’t want to write a Zoom play.

I don’t want to play by the very limited rules of a virtual space. I don’t think writers should have to write stories that fit Zoom, I think it is up to the creative team to make the stories of writers applicable for Zoom. Otherwise, we’re not meeting the moment. We’re allowing the moment to dictate our art.

Writing for Zoom feels like we are forcing the stories to come to life; that we are bound by parameters out of our control. Our actors are in their own homes and can’t touch, what story fits those challenges? How many stories can we tell about that can fit this moment of isolation without it feeling that we’re constantly hitting the same nail on the head?  It feels like we are settling. 

This is what I mean by who is this for? Art has always imitated life. Artists have always been able to adapt. We are stuck at home, one of our only outlets is a laptop screen. Fine, I understand that. Our art should reflect that. But this all happened so fast. We’re all still catching our breath. We’re still very much in a transition. Are we objective enough to make a comment about life while we are still going through this form of trauma? Are we being fair to our stories by somewhat forcing it into a type of medium?

I am conflicted because I firmly support those who have continued to create. Part of me feels a sort of guilt and FOMO about not having the urge to create for Zoom. As an artist, shouldn’t I be able to adapt? I know that I don’t have to write for this medium. But like I said before, creating is in my DNA and I can’t help feeling like I’m being left behind. When there are very little other options it does feel like we are forced to conform and that goes against everything that it means to be an artist.  

There is so much still left to the unknown. We don’t know when we can gather together again and share a space. We don’t know how contained in history the Zoom medium will be. Perhaps historians will talk about the 2-3 years in the early ’20s where this new form of storytelling took the world by storm. Maybe it is here to stay forever. Maybe it will change it forever. 

Maybe I will adapt eventually, or we’ll be back together sooner than we thought. For now, I want to write stories for the time we can gather, whenever that may be. And I only hope that I will not be thought of being resistant to the changing times; of a changing art form. I hope theater can always exist on a stage with an audience sharing the space with creators. It will absolutely break me if we can never have that experience again.

Niki Hatzidis is an actor, writer, and award-nominated playwright based in NYC. NikiHatzidis.com.