By Edith Oliver The New Yorker, October 30 , 1971P. 101 In review of "And They Put Handcuffs on the Flowers" writer describes audience involvement, saying "To begin with, we are pulled, one by one, into the pitch-dark auditorium by an actor or an usher, who grabs each of us by the arm and throat, immediately whisperings, "Don't be frightened", and thereby reduces the grab to plain effrontery.
Panning the camera down to another row in the auditorium, Peter notices actor Richard Dreyfuss, and begins recording him, while pestering him with personal questions.
The sound of cheers fills the gymnasium when a high school athlete scores and applause echoes through the auditorium when an actor takes a bow, yet the art in the school art room is only quietly admired between classes.
Timbers stood in the auditorium adjusting the actors' positions five inches to the side here, thirty degrees to the right there to create the desired tableaux.
As the impatient, jostling crowd waits outside the auditorium doors, the famous actor prepares himself.
As we sit talking in the stalls of the cavernous auditorium, the singer and actor Pauline Malefane enters, looking for somewhere to rehearse.
Somehow the sweep of the dull green fields, the grey sea, seem to appear around the auditorium, just by the actors saying a few words.
In May, for instance, in a darkened auditorium in Lahore, two actors stood on a spotlit stage and read out Manto's "Dekh Kabira Roya" ("Kabir Saw and Wept"), a story he wrote soon after Pakistan's creation.
Most theatregoers know that it is nigh on impossible to try to capture the magic that happens in an auditorium when you feel the actor's gaze meet yours, or feel the heat of their body as they move past you.
Within the auditorium the spectators encage the actors, surrounding them on three sides.
