Saskatoon StarPhoenix

NOW PLAYING, DEATH OF AN ATTENTION SPAN

Powering through our fear of boredom builds self-discipline and teaches patience

- CAM FULLER

If you don’t use certain muscles, they lose their strength. The boredom muscle is one of them.

We don’t use boredom anymore. We avoid it as if it’s been eradicated, like smallpox or the career of Robin Thicke.

Distractio­ns trick us into thinking we’ve conquered boredom. Faced with three minutes and nothing to do, one grazes on social media. Can’t stand TV commercial­s? Try Netflix. Need to endure the next 90 seconds at a stop light? Check your phone.

What’s lost here is the underappre­ciated value of boredom, how it gives the brain downtime, how it builds self-discipline, how it teaches patience and encourages the mind to extract value in things that only seem dull or confusing.

But I can tell you’re bored already, so let’s change the subject. There’s a fantastic production of an incredible play going on right now. It’s Death of a Salesman. It opened last weekend to a full house at The Refinery.

Personally, I was enthralled. I assumed, mistakenly, that Death of a Salesman is one of those “medicine” plays — hard to get down but somehow good for you.

At the risk of encounteri­ng boredom, I read the play before the production opened. I had two early impression­s. One is that the educator who thought it would be a good idea to teach Death of a Salesman in high school should have been taken out behind the woodshed. What possible relevance could this play have to 17-year-olds other than the fact that there’s a flashback to when Biff and Hap were in high school?

Second is that you need to have lived some life to understand it. You need to have felt regret, to have made mistakes, to see the end of your life on the horizon and to wonder if you have anything to show for it.

We’ve all said to ourselves, “If only.” For Willy Loman, it was failing to follow his brother’s footsteps, a man who boasts that he emerged from the jungles of Africa a rich man. (I just threw that in there so I could use it later. Clearly, the English nerd in me is blathering on. Ignore him, he’s boring).

What I really, really wanted to tell you about is the woman my age who sat beside me at the play. I had no reason to take notice of her, and didn’t, until 50 minutes into the first half. Then, suddenly, she stopped watching the play. Just like that. Instead, she started looking down, looking up, looking around the theatre — anywhere but the stage. At some point, she uttered one long, silent sigh. Clearly, she was in agony.

I could write a play about it. I would call it Death of an Attention Span.

Intermissi­on finally arrived after about 75 minutes. For her, the ordeal was over. The lady left and didn’t come back.

What can we learn, I wondered. First is the simple reminder that theatre is a communal act. You think you’re sitting in the dark in your own little world, but the experience is shared. When the audience is in sync, it just feels right. If someone is checking out mentally, you know it. I won’t say it’s mystical, but there is a certain magic to it.

Second is a worthy reminder that not everyone likes what you like. This woman didn’t care for Death of a Salesman. Who am I to say she’s wrong ?

Third is — oh hell, I can’t help myself — SHE’S WRONG! This play is a masterpiec­e. It’s a brilliant examinatio­n of human flaws and frailties, one powerful enough to influence your own future conduct. (Part two of this column, coming later this summer, is How Willy Loman Made Me Buy a Motorcycle.)

I don’t blame the lady for leaving. I just wish she’d tried harder to power through her boredom. She might have entered the darkness and emerged with diamonds.

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