Free Web NovelChapter 209: Chapter 189: Seeing Off the Drama Guild
Sir Turt quickly realized two things—one good, one bad.
The good news was that the drama industry would likely survive.
The excellent stage production of Prosecution Witness and the audience’s response—nearly ten minutes of applause after the show—both demonstrated the uniqueness and appeal of stage performance.
Even under the market assault from the Shadow of Evil, drama hadn’t completely lost its competitive edge. It would still retain a loyal audience.
While it would likely never be as popular as it once was, that was far better than being completely obsolete.
Besides, the entire entertainment market was growing, fundamentally because people were starting to have disposable income.
Perhaps the future of drama could even be brighter than its present.
As the Chairman of the Drama Guild, he had never truly loved drama, having always treated it merely as a tool for social climbing.
But one grows attached to a tool after using it for so long.
He was still gratified to see that drama had found a path forward.
The bad news, however, was that *his* drama industry probably had no future.
The Drama Guild was hardly a unified entity. Within its ranks, many people were eyeing his position.
The chairmanship wasn’t a lifetime appointment, and his disgraceful performance today had provided his competitors with plenty of ammunition to use against him.
A thriving drama industry that didn’t belong to him was even harder to accept than one that gradually declined under his leadership.
The surrounding audience rose to their feet, giving their praise generously.
Only Sir Turt remained seated, his head in his hands. He was trying to think of any way to turn the Drama Guild around and save his own position.
’Lead the entire guild to reform and adopt the New Drama Guild’s performance style?’
Easier said than done.
’What was that theorem called again? Inertia—the property of an object to maintain its original state of motion.’
’The greater an object’s mass, the greater its inertia, and the harder it is to change.’
The Drama Guild was definitely an organization with immense "mass."
Change would be incredibly difficult for such an organization.
The entire cast and crew of Prosecution Witness took the stage for their curtain call, basking in the theater-wide cheers.
A year ago, they were the outcasts of the drama industry, ostracized and unable to find a single role.
Although they later starred in Mechanical Warrior and made a lot of money, their reputation in the artistic community remained poor.
The general consensus was that stories about fighting monsters in strange-looking Mechanical Armor were no different from the legends Minstrels made up to earn a few coins.
They were bizarre and captivating, but they lacked depth and substance, and the demands on acting ability were low.
It was a purely commercial work. While everyone envied the profits it brought, such a production didn’t add to a troupe’s achievements or status. In fact, it might even detract from them for being *too* profitable.
The mainstream view still revered the kind of artists who would starve for the sake of their art.
Of course, artistic expression and making money weren’t mutually exclusive pursuits; it was just incredibly difficult to achieve both at the same time.
Perhaps such a masterpiece only came along once every few years.
And Prosecution Witness was clearly one of them.
The order of the curtain call was the crew, the supporting actors, the main actors, and finally, the principal creators.
When Grandpa Galina walked onto the stage, the veteran troupe leader, a man who had seen countless grand occasions, couldn’t help his vision from blurring with tears.
He never thought that at his age, he would see the day he’d be recognized by the audience once again.
The audience’s adoration was the greatest reward for a performer. As for the critics, they were nothing but parasites clinging to the industry.
They couldn’t survive on their own, yet they were always the loudest.
The troupe members already on stage split into two lines, parting toward either side to clear a path for their beloved old leader.
Grandpa Galina walked to the very front of the stage, met by the audience’s cheers and his colleagues’ applause.
He raised his arms high, and as the roar in the theater reached its peak, he took a deep bow.
He was thanking the audience for coming to show their support for the troupe.
Although the bow made the chronic pain in his lumbar spine flare up again, the thrill and joy he felt were the best painkillers.
He had to show the audience sufficient respect. After all, their support was the reason the troupe could survive.
Whether they were an unknown newcomer or a highly acclaimed master, every performer should maintain that attitude toward the audience.
Grandpa Galina had always done so.
He couldn’t stand those peers who, after a little success, acted as if they were a cut above the audience.
Their attitude was like, ’It is your honor that I perform for you. Consider it a gift from me.’
How was that any different from those people who look down on farmers the moment their own bellies are full?
Then, Grandpa Galina and the entire troupe bowed together, waving farewell to the audience as they waited for the main curtain to fall.
’What a wonderful atmosphere,’ he thought.
It would be even better if the audience section didn’t feature a sign, spelled out in flames, that read: "AMAZING GRANDPA, MASTER OF DRAMA, UNBEATABLE IDOL, WITH YOU TO THE TOP."
It was as conspicuous as could be in the darkened audience.
Thankfully, Galina had only written "Grandpa" and not his actual name, or else he wouldn’t have known how to face the audience.
He had no idea where that child Galina had learned this kind of thing.
She seemed to call it "fan support."
Grandpa Galina didn’t particularly want this kind of "fan support."
He was finding the things young people were into harder and harder to understand.
The main curtain slowly closed, separating the troupe from the boisterous theater.
All good things must come to an end.
After the excessive excitement came a feeling of emptiness. Behind the heavy curtain, Grandpa Galina suddenly felt hollow, as if nothing really mattered much anymore.
