Report from the front line

I went to see Women of Troy last night, and it was an interesting experience for lots of reasons. 1. I got a cheap last minute seat in the front row - Yay -the third time that has happened, so I think disorganisation is a virtue when National Theatre tickets are involved. 2. Being in the front row I got hit by the big blast at the end of the play, and covered in dust/ash. Once I finished spitting out the bits, I thought that was a bit of a result for the notion of theatre as an involving experience. 3. I could see Hecuba's snot get stuck to the stage and pull away in a great big string - certainly an authentic experience. 4. I remained uninvolved, despite the great acting, good view, great set, and a great play with enormous, tragic themes. The last point has been worrying me all day. Apart from the fabulous slow-mo dancing sequences, which I found tremendously moving, my main feeling was of wonderment that I didn't feel anything despite the god-awful things that were being acted out. I *like* emotional engagement though, and I want it back, even though I'm sure it means my hidden depths are shallow.