Regardless of the art form, truly amazing performances have one thing in common.
They pay attention to all of the details, and do not cut corners in their execution.
A few weeks ago I saw the Cirque du Soleil show The Beatles LOVE. Set to a soundtrack of Beatles recordings, the cast tells a story through dance and acrobatics on a remarkably kinetic stage surface.
I was struck, though, by how carefully details were executed beyond the main action.
For example, projection screens were going through most of the show, despite the focus being elsewhere – enhancing the story even if only 1% of the audience was looking. At one point, an acrobat entered on a door hanging from the ceiling, and danced in the air for several minutes while the action was elsewhere. In a scene with easily a dozen acts going, two performers did fast spins with lampshades for at least three minutes – never mind the dizziness, it enhances the show.
Any one of these details (and many more I missed) don’t show up on the main arc of the story, but they are vital for the transformative experience Cirque du Soleil is aiming to create.
In the wake of that nudge, I have tried to remind myself when I consider neglecting a minor details of my art that cutting corners is a path away from transcendence.
Cutting corners is a path away from transcendence. It’s true in writing music, in performance, in human interaction, in parenting, in all things.