Theatre: The Last Bastion Where We Can Still Be Truly Human

Written By: Rajesh Gopie

Let me start with a confession: I still believe in theatre.

Yes, in this fast, distracted, and sometimes unhinged world, I still believe in people gathering in a darkened room to breathe the same air, laugh at the same awkward moment, or sit in pin-drop silence as an actor/actress unpacks the unbearable weight of being. In this way, I'm like a stubborn old monk who still believes in prayer.

I know what you’re thinking, bru, Rajesh, this is 2025, not 1985. We have TikTok, Netflix, YouTube, and even AI-generated movies starring dead actors. More and more digital content, and more streaming shows in a week than we can count and yet, somehow, we’re lonelier than ever.

In Durban, the idea of “theatre” has, let’s be honest, taken a nosedive. A “show” now often means a glossy, crassly funny cabaret/standup at a casino, complete with chicken wings buffet and safe parking. It’s entertainment, I’ll give it that. But it’s not theatre. Not in the way I understand it.

You see, theatre is not the building. It’s not the lights or the seats or the bar at the interval. Theatre is an art form. And, dare I say it, a sacred one.

It is the examination of the human condition, raw, bruised, joyful, angry, hilarious. Whether it’s pantomime, tragedy, comedy, youth theatre, or a children’s tale, theatre is where we reflect. It’s where society comes to have a conversation with itself. It is a living, breathing dialogue about who we are and who we might still become.

Lately, I’ve been told (forehead bang) by well-meaning social media Ustads and TikTok philosophers that I’m behind the times. That theatre must evolve, embrace more tech, more AI, more “engagement" to attract the young. One even told me that the likes on her video are the same as an actor’s applause.

Really?

With respect, a digital thumbs-up is not the same as an audience rising to its feet, tears still wet on their cheeks, and shrieking with untamed delight. Call me judgmental if you must, but I don’t think we need more screens. We need more moments. More spaces where we are asked not to swipe, but to sit. To witness. To feel.

Now, add to this the curious local phenomenon: if you’ve starred in a local film, even a hollow, wafer-thin one, you’re suddenly more valuable than those who have devoted their lives to meaningful work on the stage, community and professional theatre. The ego, it seems, now favours being part of even the most superficial digital creation over contributing to the everlasting memory of human experience in the theatre. Fame, even empty fame, trumps depth, so it would appear.

In my connection with schools and teachers, I’ve seen something that genuinely unsettles me. There are now a couple of generations of learners who have never seen a play in a theatre. Many schools lack drama and cultural experiences for young people. That’s scary, and sadly, the malaise we find ourselves in. And are we better for it?

Yes, our city is struggling. Yes, the centre feels unsafe. Yes, parking is a nightmare. But retreating to casinos and digital echo chambers won't save us. Theatre might.

Theatre, when done right with a good script, a sharp director, and actors who bleed truth, becomes a reclamation of self. A cultural heartbeat and a collective memory. It’s how we say, "We" are still here. "We" still feel. "We" still matter.

I don't think this is just me being nostalgic about theatre. I believe in its necessity.

So no, we don’t need to “catch up.” We need to slow down. To gather and look each other in the eyes, to listen, and to imagine together.

Because in a world hell-bent on replacing people with programs, theatre might just be the last place we’re allowed to be beautifully, gloriously human.