What What the Constitution Means to Me Means to Me
I’ve been avoiding theatre.
When Broadway shut down in mid-March, I, like so many others, was distraught. I told myself the second things reopened in April (lol) I would get a ticket to any show I could and be there, no matter what. In the interim, I watched some of the back catalogue of plays recorded by British theatre companies, listened to theatre podcasts and audio plays, and even attended a handful of Zoom readings.
As the shutdown was extended… and extended… and extended, I found I couldn’t do it anymore. It hurt too much. Something shifted and engaging in digital theatrical creations was no longer a comfort in a difficult time but was a reminder of everything we’ve lost. Also, as time went on, technical glitches became less endearing and more annoying, and I kept finding myself thinking, ‘what’s the point of watching something attempting to be proximate to theatre when I can just watch a movie instead?’
I decided I didn’t like Zoom shows, so I put my foot down and removed them from my life. But now, in a new year, in which live theatre is still a minimum of almost five months away, I’m trying to be more flexible.
Last night, I decided to watch What the Constitution Means to Me on Amazon Prime. What the Constitution Means to Me is of course not a Zoom play, but a Broadway show that was recorded pre-pandemic and released a few months ago. I’m embarrassed to say I never saw it live. I don’t know why. It was too expensive. I was too busy. I didn’t make it a priority. Pre-pandemic Stephanie had a lot going on, and even though everyone I know who saw it loved it, I didn’t make my way to the theatre to see this particular show. Thankfully, now I have a chance to see it, albeit from my couch.
What the Constitution Means to Me is a one(ish) woman show written and performed by Heidi Schreck, based on her experience as a teenaged constitutional debater, competing around the United States for scholarship money. Of course, this is not a perfect re-creation, nor does it attempt or pretend to be one. Through out the format of the competition, Heidi, weaving between portraying a caricature of her 15-year-old self and being her adult self, goes on many asides and tangents. An important part of the competition, she tells us, is that the debater needs to connect the constitutional amendment being debated to their own life. Although 15-year-old Heidi may not have had the lived experience or language to articulate it, adult Heidi is able to connect the constitution to her life through the violence against women that has afflicted her family for generations and continues to impact innumerable women in the United States today.
I want to make something abundantly clear, I think this play is a work of genius and I added Heidi Schreck to the list of role models in my journal last night (I know, I’m embarrassing, we don’t need to talk about it). A lot has been said and written about this special little play that somehow made a very successful leap from Off-Broadway to Broadway despite not necessarily seeming like a commercial show on the surface. I’m sure you can find some lovely reviews and think pieces about it. I just want to talk about my experience watching it last night, on my couch, as a human who has gone ten months (!!!) without seeing live theatre.
Something that makes this recording special, and faithful to the play it’s capturing, is it doesn’t let you forget the audience is there. Both teen debater Heidi and adult actor Heidi are aware of the audience’s presence at all times, and the filmic version embraces that. At first, during the moments where the camera cut to audience reactions, I found myself actually jealous of all these people. I wanted to reach into the screen, shake them, and yell, “You don’t know what’s coming! You have no idea how good you’ve got it! Enjoy this while you still can!”
Slowly, as the performance unfolded, I found myself moving away from jealousy and developing a kinship for the audience- I was, in a way, one of them. When I used to actually see plays I would always arrive early (I am perpetually early to everything to the point where it’s uncomfortable) and always end up using at least some of that time to people watch, and often times I did run into friends and/or celebrities (usually Tony Shaloub, he’s a man about town!). Although as far as I know there were no friends of mine or famous people in this particular audience, I was still impacted by their presence. Just like in a real audience, if they laughed, I laughed harder. If the camera cut to someone crying, and for some reason I wasn’t already crying, I cried too. It was like a small piece of the actual magic of live theatre exists in this time capsule, and I was able to access it for a night.
That being said, I ate dinner while I watched, not before. I didn’t turn my phone off, committing one of the cardinal sins of theatre. I paused (at an opportune moment, of course) to use the bathroom, even though the actual play would have been an intermission-less experience. It wasn’t the same. It can’t be.
I’ve long been an advocate for streaming theatre. I think it is a necessary step on the path to making an incredibly elitist art form more accessible. I’m very grateful that the people at Amazon decided this play was worth saving for posterity and that I carved out time in my life to experience it. It is a beautiful, carefully structured, funny, heartbreaking, and eye-opening piece of theatre. I think you should watch it. But more than anything, I think you and I and whoever is reading this that has any form of power or money (which is to say everyone, in their own way) needs to invest in non-profit theatre. Without years of development at Clubbed Thumb, Berkeley Rep, the New York Theatre Workshop, and more, What the Constitution Means to Me never would have made it to Broadway and the Broadway production never would have been seen by whatever important person decided it should be filmed for Amazon Prime Video. For this play and so many others like it and so many that could be like it someday, we need to prioritize non-profit, new play development centered work as we move forward and recover from this awful time.
To end on a lighter note, just watching something on my tiny computer screen where an actor projected their voice and body up towards the balcony filled me with joy. And when Heidi looked into the audience and invited them to be themselves again (after they were cast as the old white men of her high school debate audiences in the beginning of the play), I cried.