This is a blog post from
As a cis-gendered upper-caste Hindu man, my worldview has been inhibited by bubbles that my privilege offers me. These bubbles have protected me from problems that might have affected me otherwise, as well as rendered me indifferent to them. For instance, I was 14 when the 2008 global economic crisis struck; not that I lacked empathy, but I couldn’t care less about people losing jobs and homes because it wasn’t affecting me directly in any way.
It wasn’t until a few years later that I learned how the crisis had changed the world. Again, this wasn’t because I was facing the brunt of the issue; I started reading and watching documentaries about the 2008 crash because it kept coming up in social gatherings, and I could no longer nod in agreement like I knew what was being talked about. A number of films and documentaries on the subject gave me insights, but these insights were often coated with jargon that I knew nothing about. Even Ryan Gosling and Steve Carell ( The Big Short ) couldn’t help.
All of this had to do with the fact that I had nothing to do with that world. I wasn’t the one facing the crisis, nor was I the one causing it; this holds true for most crises. Sure, reading about it or listening to people talk about it gives you an idea and helps you comprehend in theory, but you never truly understand the consequences or empathise unless you are a part of it. More often that not, you’d find yourself agreeing with the populist narrative, without ever stopping to think what the other side of the coin might be. This was the case with respect to my grasp of the 2008 crash as well; most documentaries only helped me understand the state that the victims were in. But, what about the ones who caused it? Why did this happen? Would I ever relate to them, or even worse, find myself empathising with them?
This is where my trip to Scotland, earlier this year, came through for me. No visual aid or written word has truly helped me understand and empathise with the crisis better than a little play I ‘watched’ during this year’s Edinburgh Festival Fringe called £¥€$ (LIES).
The Edinburgh Fringe is the largest performing arts festival in the world: with over 3,000 shows, from supper theatre to cabaret to stand-up comedy. If you have an idea for a show that you think is weird enough to draw crowds, then, chances are, it has already been put up at the Fringe.
LIES, presented by Belgium-based theatre company Ontroerend Goed, was the third show on my schedule that day, which comprised of a fairly traditional stand-up show and a mind-blowing piece of theatre by the name of 'Trainspotting Live' (the stage adaptation of the Irvine Welsh novel of the same name).
Having heard a lot about LIES, I made sure I got there 30 minutes early and find myself a seat in the front row. This was common practice at the Fringe; if you want a good seat, you better get there early. Five minutes before show time, the usher opened the gates to the world of this “Belgium interpretation of the 2008 crisis”; that’s what the blurb said at any rate.
I rushed inside to find myself the best seat in the house. But, to my disbelief, there was no front row. Nor seats, for that matter. The entire venue had been turned into a makeshift casino with tables, dealers, ambient music, and suggestive lights. The table I was seated at was named ‘Bhargavia’ because I was the first one there; five other members joined me shortly, while we waited for the other six tables to occupied.
With LIES, I had, for the first time in my life, witnessed theatre where I wasn’t watching an act. I was the act.
We learned that each table represented a country and each of the 42 individuals that made up ‘the audience’ would represent the 1%: the crème de la crème of the world, the super rich, the ones who pull the strings. We were asked to trade all the currency we had for poker chips. I was the richest one at my table with £14; with irony seated next to me, I was named the “Royal Bank of Bhargav”. I exchanged my £14 for 14 poker chips and each chip represented a million pounds. I was about to gamble with the world’s richest and make investments that could potentially make or break Bhargavia’s economy.
At first, we were asked to make material investments; that is, if I invested a million and roll a 3,4,5, or 6 on the dice, I could make a million in return. But, if I didn’t roll a right number, I would lose a million. With the first few rolls and a few million made, all sense of morality and ethics went down the drain; I was scarcely concerned about what would happen to my country if I gambled with other people’s money. This was a heady game that clouded your head with the rush of controlling big bucks.
Without giving too much away, here's the essence of the show. With a running time of 90 minutes (shows at the Fringe average at 60), LIES wasn’t an hour and thirty minutes of watching actors say lines and move. It was about us, the audience, crafting our own narratives.
The next stage involved increased potential profits as well as higher risks — investing two million to win five, and five million to win fifteen. We had to roll a dice and get a certain number to make profits; in short, we were gambling. Yes, I knew the millions weren’t real and the zeroes were just part of the show, but getting into the skin of the 1%, was undeniably exciting.
With money made, taxes paid, 75 minutes into the show, a disaster struck — a disaster that was somewhat synonymous with the 2008 financial crisis, and all of a sudden, the 40 million that I had made was on the verge of becoming worthless. This time, I wasn’t just a fly on the wall of a crisis that might not affect me in any way; I made the crisis happen; I was the reason the world’s — well, Bhargavia's — economy was collapsing.
Traditionally speaking, theatre, unlike cinema, is not a passive medium. A lot of factors come into play; something as little as the temperature of the room could affect a performance and the audience’s perception of it. Traditional theatre involves actors performing and a set of people, the audience, watching it.
‘Immersive theatre’ has become a widely adopted term to designate a trend for performances which use installations and expansive environments, which have mobile audiences, and invite audience participation. LIES is a quintessential example; it didn’t just show you, it immersed you into its environment. With LIES, I had, for the first time in my life, witnessed theatre where I wasn’t watching an act. I was the act. The decisions I made impacted the narrative. It taught me that my actions have consequences; it made me question, rethink, and even feel guilt; an emotion that’s hard to evoke when you are just watching something.
When the show ended, I got my £14 back, but the illusion was never broken; on my way back home, I couldn’t help but wonder, would I have absconded with all the money I had saved if I were the one who caused the crisis?
