And afterward? After the lights have dimmed, the actors have taken their last set of bows, and the audience have all departed for their homes? What remains? The show is over for good. What is left? A review, a photo or two, a grainy videotape shot from the back of the theatre for archival purposes? Is this all we have of a production that has meant so much to us? No matter how fine a review, photo, or archival video, the theatrical experience is ultimately beyond the grasp of even the most well-intentioned pen or the finest lens. Neither of these trusty instruments seems capable of capturing the quintessence of our theatrical encounter. There is always something missing from their documentation, no matter how earnest or sensitive they might be. They can never quite replicate the force of life that was lived on stage for the benefit of other living beings. This is an intriguing combination of what I will call presence and remanence. I shall try, in these next few paragraphs, to explain.