It has nowhere to go, nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. All roads return to the same point. Not that there aren't attempts to evolve, adapt, even rival its computerised confederates. Where once we whistled the set, now we sing the hydraulics. And the problem is also social.
Theatre hides in dark corners of old buildings or cozies up in new.
It has unwillingly crawled up an intellectual fox-hole pursued by marketing hounds, refusing to come out even when attacked by ferocious terriers. Push down on the jelly from the top and it all runs out the side. Two planks and a passion. The first plank the stage, the second the ideology on which to build the passion. The passion is to spread that ideology.