Why We Still Gather
One of the conversations I have regularly with students is about convenience.
If you had told me as a kid—when I was scouring libraries, wandering video stores, making lists of films I wanted to see, and calling ahead to put movies on hold—that there would someday be a world where almost anything I could think of would be available instantly at the touch of a button, I would have thought I’d died and gone to heaven.
Back then, finding a movie was part of the experience. You hunted for it. You waited for it. You drove across town to get it.
Today, nearly every film, television show, comedy special, album, and documentary imaginable is sitting there waiting for us.
And yet there’s a strange side effect to all of this abundance.
Because we can watch anything whenever we want, we often don’t.
“I’ll get to it.”
“It’ll still be there tomorrow.”
“I can watch it whenever.”
When everything is available all the time, there’s zero urgency.
That’s one of the reasons I think places like Vidiots continue to resonate with people. Renting a movie requires a commitment. You leave the house. You drive there. You pick something. You bring it home. Once you’ve invested that effort, you’re probably going to watch it.
The same thing is true of a movie theater, a concert, a comedy club, or a play.
Leaving the house is a commitment.
You have to choose a night. Buy a ticket. Make a plan. Find parking. Maybe meet a friend. Maybe go alone. But once you’ve made that commitment, you’ve created something increasingly rare in modern life: intention.
But the biggest reason to make the effort is that the experience itself is different.
Even if you’re seeing a film on a screen that isn’t dramatically larger than the one in your living room, sitting in a dark room with strangers changes the experience. There’s an energy to it. A focus.
My phone is away.
My dog isn’t asking to go outside.
The sunlight isn’t glaring across the screen.
For two hours, I am there for one reason.
To pay attention.
I’ve felt that recently watching films at Vidiots in Eagle Rock. A room full of people can elevate a movie in ways that are difficult to explain. Laughter spreads. Emotion spreads. Attention spreads. The audience becomes part of the experience.
The same thing happens in theatre.
I recently saw Purpose at La Jolla Playhouse, and from the opening moments I was completely locked in. The play is extraordinarily well crafted, deeply human, and performed with such precision that I found myself hanging on every word.
Live music works the same way.
I recently watched the professionally filmed final performance of Dua Lipa’s last tour. As someone who loves concert films, I was excited to see it. I’ve long believed every artist should document at least one performance from every tour. Even if nobody watches it immediately, it becomes an important record of the work.
But about halfway through watching it, I was reminded of something.
As good as the film was, it simply wasn’t the same.
It couldn’t be.
There is no substitute for sitting in a club, a theater, or an amphitheater and feeling live music move through a room. There is no substitute for the collective energy of thousands of people sharing the same moment.
Some of my favorite venues in Los Angeles—the Hollywood Bowl, the Greek, the Ford—are wonderful examples of this. Sometimes I tell people to go see anything there. Even if you’re only mildly interested in the performer, the environment itself is worth experiencing.
And there are benefits that go far beyond entertainment.
I’ve been dealing with a tremendous amount of stress lately. Some significant anxiety as well.
What I’ve discovered is that there is enormous value in temporarily stepping outside your own problems and immersing yourself in someone else’s story.
Whether it’s a film, a concert, or a play, there is relief in giving your mind permission to focus on something else for a while.
There’s also the simple physical act of participation.
You get dressed.
You get in your car.
You navigate somewhere.
You walk.
You climb stairs.
You interact with people.
You engage with the world.
For someone who spends a lot of time behind a screen, that’s not nothing.
And I’ll admit something else.
Despite what my career might suggest, I’m not naturally outgoing.
Large crowds can make me anxious.
I love concerts.
I don’t always love getting to concerts.
When I’m navigating a crowded venue, I often have my head down and my focus locked on one thing: finding my seat. If I allow myself to absorb all of the noise and chaos around me, I can become overwhelmed pretty quickly.
But once I get there, once I’m seated and settled, something changes.
My seat becomes my little corner of the world.
And then the music starts.
Of course, public experiences aren’t perfect.
Someone will forget to silence their phone.
Someone will talk during the movie.
Someone will be inconsiderate.
I’ve heard plenty of people say they’ve stopped going to theaters because they’re tired of dealing with other people.
I understand that.
One of the things people loved about Arclight Cinemas was the sense that somebody was protecting the experience. There was an understanding that if you were disruptive, you would be asked to leave.
The experience mattered.
The audience mattered.
Interestingly, I think audiences have actually become a little better lately.
Maybe that’s just my perception.
But as theatrical windows have widened again and moviegoing has become more intentional, it feels like the people showing up actually want to be there.
They’re invested.
They’re participating.
And that brings me back to Purpose.
In the middle of the second act, a loud sound erupted from the audience. At first I thought it was part of the play. Then I thought maybe something had happened outside the theater.
What had actually happened was that an elderly gentleman seated almost dead center in the auditorium was experiencing a medical emergency.
Within moments, audience members rushed to help.
The actors exited.
The house lights came up.
The stage manager took control.
Ushers cleared aisles.
Emergency personnel arrived.
And what struck me wasn’t just the professionalism of the La Jolla Playhouse staff—though they handled the situation extraordinarily well.
What struck me was the audience.
Complete strangers immediately moved toward someone in need.
People with medical backgrounds offered assistance.
Everyone worked together.
Everyone cared.
It was one of the clearest examples I’ve seen in recent years of people taking care of one another simply because it was the right thing to do.
Eventually the gentleman was able to leave under his own power. The stage manager announced that the performance would resume in a few minutes. The actors returned. The lights dimmed.
And somehow, almost immediately, we were back inside the story.
The play ended to tremendous applause and remains one of the most remarkable pieces of theatre I’ve ever seen.
But when I think back on that evening, what I remember most isn’t only the play.
I remember the people.
I remember watching strangers help a stranger.
I remember seeing competence, compassion, professionalism, and kindness all operating at once.
I remember being reminded that despite what the news often suggests, most people are trying to do the right thing.
So yes, I’ll continue to watch things at home.
I’ll continue to stream movies from my couch and watch television on airplanes and catch up on shows on my laptop.
But those are rarely the experiences that stay with me forever.
The experiences I remember are the ones where I showed up.
The ones where I shared a room with other people.
The ones where I witnessed not only great art, but humanity.
Maybe that’s what makes something worth leaving the house for.
—Bob
Live every Saturday, 2–6pm PT on WFMU’s Sheena’s Jungle Room.
On the Radio This Week
This week on Bob Barth’s ONE NIGHT STAND, we’ll take a look at the national tour of Hell’s Kitchen, the hit musical inspired by the life and music of Alicia Keys. I recently caught opening night here in Los Angeles and was thoroughly impressed by the production’s energy, its outstanding cast, and the way it uses Keys’ music to tell a deeply personal story about family, identity, ambition, and the transformative power of art.
I’ll also share a few thoughts on a memorable opening night curtain call appearance by Alicia Keys herself. Watching her address the audience after the performance felt like a full-circle moment—seeing these songs, and a story so deeply rooted in her own experiences, come to life in front of a packed Los Angeles crowd.
Beyond that, I’m looking forward to spinning a lot of records this week. There has been a growing stack of music I’ve been meaning to get to, and with so many great recent discoveries, new releases, and old favorites waiting in the wings, this feels like the perfect opportunity to dive in.
As always, expect a few surprises along the way.
Listen live Saturday
2pm–6pm PT / 5pm–9pm ET
on Bob Barth’s One Night Stand
via WFMU’s Sheena’s Jungle Room stream
Miss it live? Find it and all of the shows in the archive!
Development notes from the film, television, and theatre projects currently in motion.
It’s been a quieter week on the project front, though that certainly doesn’t mean things have been standing still.
Work continues on both THEATRE KIDS and TOP DOG, with conversations, ideas, and planning continuing to move forward behind the scenes. As is often the case with development, not every week brings a major announcement, but every week brings a little more clarity.
On THEATRE KIDS, I’m continuing to refine materials and move closer to the next table read. Every time I revisit the script, I discover something new about the characters, their relationships, and what the story is ultimately trying to say. That’s one of my favorite parts of the process.
As for TOP DOG, the project remains very much alive, and I’m continuing to explore opportunities and connections that might help bring it to the next stage.
Sometimes progress in creative work is measured in meetings, pages, and breakthroughs. Other times it’s measured in patience and persistence. This week has been a bit more of the latter, and that’s okay.
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