Mr Wilson had just one goal: he wanted his art to be remembered.
And finally his chance had come. At long last, after years of preparation, he had the opportunity to write and direct his own theatre performance.
He had been dreaming of this moment for years, ever since he was young lad. How lucky he was to have the chance to showcase his art to an audience.
As the candlelight flickered inside his chambre creating dancing shadows upon the walls, he sat at his table going over every last detail of the script for his performance until the early hours of the morning. He went over every line, every detail and every nuance. He wanted the message of his show to be subtle and yet profound.
He chose his actors and actresses with utmost care. They had to embody the role on the deepest of possible levels, making the audience lose themselves in their characters.
The costumes had to be just perfect; elegant, beautiful yet somehow imperfect and authentic.
He was sure that what he had created, after years of planning and writing, was something special that just had to be shared with the world. He wanted this performance to be remembered through the ages. He hoped it would influence those of future generations and help them understand how to live a life of meaning and purpose.
He dreamed that it could right the wrongs of this world; that it could spark change, revolution and progress in the corrupt society he found himself in.
Everything he had learned throughout his 41 years on earth had been poured into this single story. This was his greatest piece of art. His prized achievement. While creating the performance, it often felt as though God himself was creating his art through him.
Finally, the performance was ready.
A small group of townsfolk, as well as a few upper-class folk who had traveled in from the city, sat patiently in the audience. A total of 104 people filled the threatre seats on that first night.
The performance began. And performed beautifully it was. The actors and actress hit every beat perfectly, the music swelled up at just the right moments and, aside from a few minor points of improvement, Mr Wilson was deeply satisfied with the performance. He shed a tear as he watched his performance finally come to life before his eyes.
The audience held mixed reactions. Some of the townsfolk had looks of boredom upon their faces; one or two even fell asleep midway. Yet others had tears streaming down their faces and applauded with such enthusiasm and such passion it was as though the performance had somehow touched the very root of their soul.
Some spoke of how its message was exactly what was needed to create change inside the dishonest and shameful system the country was run by; that it could be a rallying point behind which a grass-roots movement for real change could form.
Following the first successful performance, Mr Wilson and his crew traveled to nearby towns to repeat the performance there. After a month, ticket sales had made him £43; an unexpected bonus on top of his true reward – having the chance to change the hearts of others.
At the end of each and every show, many of the townsfolk would shuffle uninterested towards the exits. But a handful would come rushing up to him and the crew with sparkles in their eyes, asking questions excitedly. Many of these excited fans began to follow Mr Wilson and his crew from town to town, eager to see the performance just one more time.
Letters began to arrive in the mailbox of Mr Wilson from threatres in the big city. They had heard of the success of him and his crew and offered him an evening slot on their stage.
Mr Wilson was filled to the brim with excitement. Perhaps, he dreamed, he could retire from his regular job as a shop owner and spend the rest of his days creating art and touring the country.
The theatres in the big city did request one or two small adjustments to the performance: a prettier dress and slightly more make-up for the lead actress and an extension to the sword-fighting scene. This, they said, would help sell more tickets and encourage more people in to watch the performance.
Excited as he was, the man agreed to the changes. The more people who saw the show, the more people his art could touch, he thought.
With the new changes, Mr Wilson and his crew began their tour of the big city. Performance after performance, he received standing ovations from the audience. He even received a few mentions from critics in the local newspapers.
The audience’s reaction seemed to have changed somewhat from his first set of performances. While the previous crowds had sat quietly and respectfully until the end of the show, the audience had started cheering and shouting during the sword-fighting scene and a few whistled inappropriately as the lead-actress appeared on-stage wearing the beautiful new dress. The loyal fans from the previous shows sat eagerly in the front seats, jumping up to applaud wildly as the show came to a close.
On the day of the final performance, 672 people filled the seats of the theatre. During the second tour, Mr Wilson was flabbergasted to find he had made £836 – more money than he had ever seen in his entire life. And to think, it had only been 2 months!
Mr Wilson bought himself some fashionable clothes and a nice pair of brown leather shoes. Between shows, he started taking trips around the city by horse and carriage and taking his crew to dine in the finest restaurants in town. And as he walked by, women’s heads would turn, admiring the distinguished, wealthy-looking gentleman they saw.
In a mere instant, he had gone from being a humble shop-keeper, earning £27 a week, to a wealthy entertainer with pockets filled with gold.
At night, he would sit in his chambre by the candlelight, dreaming and wondering just how far he could go.
For the third set of performances, a number of other changes were added. It was asked that he add a second sword-fighting scene near the beginning of the show; the threatres thought this would capture the attention of the audience early on and keep them hooked.
He convinced the lead-actress to wear a more risqué and more revealing dress than before. Despite her protests that it didn’t fit with her character’s personality or motivations, he knew a controversial statement like this would get the newspapers talking, spreading word of his performance even further.
Reluctantly, he made adjustments to the original script; removing some of the lengthy conversation scenes, for the threatres had noticed much of the audience yawning and getting distracted during these moments.
It was asked that he lessen dialogue with anti-establishment and anti-government messages. Not doing so, they said, would prevent the major newspapers from discussing the show at all.
His third set of performances was a wild success. As his crew performed the new performance, with the updated changes, word of his performance spread rapidly throughout the country. Before long, threatres were filling their seats to maximum capacity.
The townsfolk would bring all of their friends there to have a good time. Despite the protests of much of the crew, the theatres started selling beer and wine during the performance. Initially, Mr Wilson thought this might ruin the atmosphere and mood of the show, but after striking a deal with the theatres that allowed him to take some of the profits from their beer sales, he decided it wouldn’t be a problem.
The crowd would cheer and laugh during the fight scenes. Much of the men, drunk as they were, would whistle and call out as the lead actress strutted on to the stage in her revealing outfit, as she fixed a false smile upon her face.
Mr Wilson grinned from ear to ear as he sat in his chambre by the candlelight after each and every show as he counted his profits. He would count them over and over again, just to satisfy himself. On occasion, he would even throw the money up into the air and laugh joyfully.
He bought an estate in the city and started making powerful friends. They would sit, smoke pipes and talk of revenue, profits, scaling and marketing.
He took beautiful women out for nights on the town. In the back of horse and carriage, he would kiss a new woman almost every night of the week. The women would tell him how creative, smart and talented he was. And having removed most anti-establishment and anti-government messages from the show, Mr Wilson’s name suddenly filled the newspapers, quickly turning him into somewhat of a celebrity in the city.
His fourth set of performances was vastly different from his first shows in his hometown all those years ago.
Despite his 2-year working relationship and friendship with his lead-actress, one day, out of the blue, he replaced her with someone prettier, younger and with more curves to her hips and bosom.
He gave the new lead-actress a flirtatious dance routine scene. She would twirl around the male-lead actor and she would tease, wink and blow kisses to the audience, who would jeer and whistle in response.
His performance now had multiple swordfight scenes with countless deaths of unknown “fodder” characters. The hero would take on multiple enemies at once in a highly choreographed fight sequence, which was something closer to a dance routine than a fight.
The script still contained the bare bones of the original script, but had been made simpler, easier and less complex to help the less perceptive among townsfolk follow the story
When the show’s name was mentioned in public, people would roll their eyes and chuckle.
Upon hearing of the performance’s success, writers up and down the country, and even abroad, began to copy Mr Wilson’s model. Within the space of just 10 years, almost every show at the theatres followed a similar style to Mr Wilson’s show. The mainstream style of performance art in his country had been changed forever.
Mr Wilson died at the ripe old age of 82, having lived a life filled with wealth and luxury.
Upon his death, nobody remembered his show from all those years ago; the audience had long since moved onto watching other shows. And his name and his art were quickly forgotten in the abyss of time.
