Special effects in movies have reached a point where it is hard to tell where they begin and any real pictures end. Soon they will all be in 3D as well. At this point the only thing that will distinguish it from real life is your knowledge and experience of how reality behaves and what creatures are found here. Sometime after that cinema might finally catch up with storytelling.
When cinema first arrived it barely mattered what was shown since the sheer marvel of moving pictures was enough to bring in the crowds. But it has had to constantly improve itself to prevent boredom from stealing its lovers away. Like an abusive spouse we have demanded more and more from it. First it didn’t talk to us, then it wasn’t colourful enough. Now that it can make us believe a man can fly, bring dinosaurs back from extinction and take us in to outer space, we are telling it it is too flat, you know, just a bit two dimensional.
Theatre hasn’t suffered quite the same difficulties. Oh, it will pull out all the stops and go to great lengths with costume and set but it knows we will be kind. We had a talk with theatre a long time ago and agreed to ignore it’s shortcomings with respect to reality in return for immediacy, interaction and inventiveness. We don’t mind that we can see the puppeteers animating a life size horse frame if they are dressed as World War One groomsmen and the puppet tries to nibble an audience member’s hat.
The accommodation we have with theatre goes by the term “The willing suspension of disbelief”. We accept that the castle is a painting of stone like shapes on a wobbly bit of canvas; the sea is some completely dry bits of blue silk being waved up and down by stage hands in the wings, however unlike fortress or ocean they may be.
As storytellers we expect far more of our audience. There is no set, wobbly or otherwise. There are no costumes, or even any actors to wear them. There may be sound effects but even they are few and far between. It is necessary for the storyteller to offer up the narrative in such a way that the audience create the wet salt waves, the cold stone castle, the playful chestnut horse, terrifying lizards and supermen for themselves. We require so much more than willing suspension of disbelief, the tacit postponement of cynicism. For storytelling to work the audience have to actively imagine the preposterous!
And this is our secret weapon. Instead of trying to satisfy your senses that here is a vast and bottomless ocean, we tell you “here is a vast and bottomless ocean” and your mind produces one. You do not have to overcome the lack of moisture on stage or the small waves and unnatural blue of a tank at Pinewood Studios. It is exactly as you imagine a vast and bottomless ocean would be. It is the exact colour of the sea, the waves are the perfect height, it has the necessary amount of foam but no more. No part of you has to willingly suspend anything, you do not have to overlook any tricks or fuzzy edges. Your reality filters, evolved over millennia to alert you to any small thing that is out of place, to point out erratic movement in flora and fauna, to nag you about shadows that are too deep or still, to tell you when things are not quite right, are completely by-passed.
Having slipped past the guards we are free to play with reality as much as we like, and the special effects are as amazing and perfect as you can possibly imagine.