In the “legitimate theatre” or at the cinema, the show doesn’t begin when the curtain goes up, but rather when the theatre-goer is first exposed the the performance through advertising. This builds a sense of anticipation as they order and receive the tickets, which intensifies as they await the date of the performance. Then they might get dressed up and go out to dinner before the show. Finally, they arrive at the theatre, open the brass-clad doors and enter a lobby filled with rich colors, textures and smells. They join a diverse group of people from all walks of life, pick up a program, peruse the souvenirs available after the show, perhaps chat with others in the lobby and ultimately head to the wait at the closed doors that represent the threshold into the “house.” The doors are opened wide and the crowd swells and pushes forward where they are greeted by ushers who take their ticket—the symbol of their worthiness to pass through the mystic portal from one world to another—and escort them to their seat. There then begins the wait as everyone takes their place. Finally, a hush goes over the crowd. The lights go down, the music swells, the curtain goes up and the audience is transported to another world, another place, populated by creatures who resemble people, but are somehow more real, places that are somehow more compelling and exotic than the place we inhabit. A place filled with more emotion than it is possible to comprehend.
This elaborate ritual preceding the actual event goes a long way to establishing the appropriate context to allow an audience to surrender themselves at the prospect of living another life or learning of other places, things or experiences that they themselves will never had except by extension. This shared fantasy, results in a “shared experience” that bonds people together in a way much stronger than mundane experience. “That which does not kill us, makes us stronger,” might well be written, “that which does not kill us, brings us together.”