Christopher Jackson and company in Hamilton (Photo by Joan Marcus)

Of all the differences in arts marketing between America and the UK (and Europe), perhaps the most significant is our dearly held concept of the subscription. Under this plan, tickets for an entire season are sold essentially as one unit, yielding a discount over individual ticket prices and a year’s worth of cultural programming for the purchasing patron, and significant advance sales for the producing or presenting organisation. A fundamental tenet for arts sales here for many decades, albeit one that has softened some in recent years as buying habits have changed, the concept perseveres in theatre, ballet, opera and symphonies, with various alternative versions now found as well.

I once had occasion in the early 1990s to explain subscriptions, through a translator, to the artistic director of a Russian theatre company that performed in true, continuous repertory. The language barrier took a back seat to the cognitive befuddlement.

At the core of the classic subscription is the idea that one need not worry about the chore of buying tickets to events individually. While patrons may end up with seats to something that doesn’t particularly interest them, they are assured tickets to shows that may become highly successful and hard to get. The discount mitigates the acquisition of seats for events that aren’t desired. Subscription also usually carries the right to buy subsequent seasons before the general public, and often the right to retain the same seat locations each year.

As the musical Hamilton begins its march towards world domination through touring and major sit-down productions, it automatically becomes a huge draw for the venues where it will play, the enticing centrepiece of any subscription package. In Washington DC, where it will be seen as part of the Kennedy Center’s 2017-18 theatre season, some two years from now, there has been some blowback to the Center making clear in its marketing that subscribers to their 2016-17 season will have the first opportunity to the following year of programming, the season with Hamilton.

While consistent with their longtime sales practices and those of  many organisations like it, the degree to which Hamilton tickets are coveted is being translated by some into the charge that the Kennedy Center is requiring people to buy subscriptions for two years of theatre if they want to be sure to see Lin-Manuel Miranda’s smash. I have no doubt that this scenario will be repeated at presenting venues wherever Hamilton plays, and will be at issue for a number of years given the show’s still growing popularity.

Is this price gouging, or the arts equivalent of blackmail? The problem is a by-product of the escalation of ticket prices for theatre everywhere. The result is that it now costs many hundreds of dollars for a single subscription to a Broadway touring series, let alone a pair for those who don’t like to see theatre alone. Of course the demand for Hamilton is fuelling a booming resale market (aka scalpers or touts), driving up its perceived value even further, with tickets being offered at $1,000 each. In a stroke of timing and luck, just last night, I was able to snag a pair of newly released seats for the Broadway run at the original price of $199 each; I jokingly referred to them on Twitter as investment-grade.

The expansion of Hamilton into multiple markets is not creating a new sales paradigm of excess and expense. What it is doing is revealing the degree to which ticket markets have grown increasingly, often punishingly expensive, as producers and venues have discovered, rather later than many businesses, that supply and demand can yield greater profits on the most popular productions. Combine that with the ever increasing costs of producing and running theatre productions and the result is higher prices, higher grosses, and higher returns when a show hits it big. That also leads to a widening divide between those who can afford tickets to Broadway shows and national tours, and even Off-Broadway and regional productions as well, and those who can’t.

There have been massive hits before Hamilton and there will be massive hits in its wake, hard as that is to conceive right now. Just as our politicians debate economic inequality in every aspect of American life, Hamilton, while loved by countless people, many of whom who have yet to actually see it, has become the unwitting poster child for this societal issue when it comes to entertainment. It’s a cruel irony for a musical about the man who created the American financial system. If only he were here to solve it, and make theatregoing more democratic once again.

Ricky Falbo and David Rosenthal in Diary of a Wimpy Kid (Photo by Dan Norman)

The day before the new musical Diary of a Wimpy Kid began previews at Children’s Theatre Company in Minneapolis, a headline in the St Paul Pioneer Press asked whether it was “bound for Broadway.” A month before the new musical Anastasia, based on the animated film, begins previews at Hartford Stage, the trade publication Variety (among many publications) has announced that it “aims for Broadway next season”. The list of shows reportedly headed to Broadway goes on.

That’s not to suggest that these shows won’t reach Broadway, especially as they already have commercial producers attached. But at this point in time, every new musical one hears about is headed to Broadway, whether implicitly or explicitly. No one seems to ever announce plans to write or produce a new musical and accompany it with the statement “bound for regional theatre.” That doesn’t have the same marketing zip or overall ambition.

There are nuances to the construction of these declarations. ‘Going to’ has a more definite implication than ‘aims for’. ‘Bound for’ has lots of wiggle room. But the message is clear: that people associated with the show have designs on the commercial realm of New York’s 40 theatres designated as Broadway houses, with all of the media attention and awards potential that entails.

For regional theatres, having a show reach Broadway is a feather in their cap, as is, of course, winning awards in Manhattan. Even shows that don’t run very long or succeed commercially are still touted for years as having made the trip in companies’ marketing materials, as a badge of honour. It’s more concrete than reminding people that they may have loved the show in their hometown, and no one necessarily cares about how much the theatre made (or in certain cases, lost) on the New York venture.

Of course, here in the city, Off-Broadway companies do their best to tamp down even rumours that they might have a show headed to Broadway until it’s a done deal. There’s certainly no stopping fans and journalists from guessing what might happen, but it seems that Off-Broadway companies want to keep the clamour to a minimum for fear that a hit show might not ultimately transfer, since that would be perceived – unfairly – as a failure. In contrast to regional theatre, where no one seems to check the stats, lots of people keep score on such things here in New York, some with regret and some with schadenfreude.

With the 2015/16 Broadway season having come to an official close just last night, thoughts inevitably turn to what will in fact be Broadway’s new productions in the coming year. There are a handful of firmly committed projects, both new and revivals (Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, Falsettos, Groundhog Day and Les Liaisons Dangereuses among them). The industry newsletter Theatrical Index lists 52 shows under ‘future Broadway plans’, some circling for a theatre, some still nascent, some for even later seasons. In only a few days, the musical Dear Evan Hansen will open at Off-Broadway’s Second Stage and it has had Broadway buzz behind it since it played at Washington DC’s Arena Stage. Once the critics weigh in starting Sunday night, it could shortly appear in ‘now playing Off-Broadway’ lists as well as ‘coming soon on Broadway’ rundowns. The landscape can change that quickly.

The company of Dear Evan Hansen at Second Stage (Photo by Matthew Murphy)

I have to say I lean towards the approach favoured by Off-Broadway theatres, rather than those of regional companies or commercial producers trying to gin up interest: just do the show, just let the play be the thing. Let audiences enjoy on its own merits, rather than have everyone thinking about its future. If it books a Broadway house, if it actually is produced there, that’s great, and be sure to let me know. But in the meantime, for the good of the projects and the artists involved, respect and appreciate shows where they are and for what they are, not solely for what they might be.

“I have a guy.”

I used to hear this phrase a lot, from various people not in the theatre industry, who always seemed to be able to acquire tickets to sold-out Broadway shows with ease. I don’t hear it so much anymore, because now everybody has a guy, whether ‘he’ goes by the name of StubHub or Ticketmaster Fan-to-Fan resale or something along those lines.

In 2007, when New York State lifted caps on the amount that ticket resellers could charge over face value, long-standing opposition from the commercial theatre community had gone silent. Only six years after The Producers had introduced ‘VIP’ or ‘premium’ pricing, using the argument that these higher priced tickets would make it possible for productions and artists to realise more income via direct sales, most shows followed suit, with their sales success directly correlated to audience demand. Resellers jumped into the fray, more openly than ever before. But now, with the rise of automated bots that gobble up tickets for sale online, it seems to be getting even harder for the average ticket buyer to acquire seats at something close to a reasonable price, even from the official ticket outlet, in the already expensive Broadway arena, if they can get them at all.

In “Why Can’t New Yorkers Get Tickets?,” a report issued last week by the state attorney general, the results of which surprised no one familiar with what’s been generally evident for some time, it was affirmed that a combination of preferred sales that limited the number of seats actually made available to the public, along with mass acquisition of tickets by bots, were biting into ticket inventory in a big way. While there are laws in New York against the use of bots by resellers, and a few fines have been levied, it’s going to take a lot more scrutiny to police such sales. As it seems in so many aspects of modern life, the people determined to get a leg up on everyone else, even when their actions are criminal, seem to be further ahead of the technology curve than those chasing them.

Theatre is not alone in this struggle; the same holds true for rock concerts and sporting events. But any given theatre is so much smaller than those venues that the problem seems more pronounced, as does the heightened demand that drives prices up, a situation most apparent today with Hamilton, which is enjoying demand that’s comparable to those experienced, in my theatregoing life, by, among others, Cats, Phantom, Les Miserables, Miss Saigon, the 1992 Guys and Dolls revival, Rent, Jersey Boys and The Book of Mormon.

So this isn’t a new story, even if it has been turbocharged by technology and made more apparent by the rise of online sales. It’s based in the fundamentals of supply and demand. Some theatre buffs might feel some small sense of pride that theatre is able to generate this kind of interest and desire. But in the process, it only emphasises how expensive theatregoing can be, even when only a few shows command eye-popping prices on the open market.

Broadway is a predominantly commercial enterprise, so it’s unlikely that capitalistic efforts will ever return ticket sales to something close to accessible for the majority; the real battle is over who gets their hands on the most significant part of the revenues being generated. However, just as dynamic pricing spread from the commercial realm to subsidised companies, one can’t help but wonder what’s happening when celebrities appear in regional houses, or when 200-seat theatres such as New York Theatre Workshop start selling tickets to Othello with David Oyelowo and Daniel Craig in the leads this fall. While NYTW made an effort to limit resales during its run of Lazarus by requiring photo ID to pick up seats, that will only go so far.

As someone who was extremely surprised when the commercial theatre industry ended its opposition to resale caps almost a decade ago, I certainly applaud efforts to put all ticket buyers on a level playing field and stem the tide of unbridled price hikes, both official and illicit. At a time when income inequality continues to divide America in so many things, it’s a worthy effort, though I fear a losing battle which has probably already had an insidious and deleterious effect on the perception of theatregoing as an entertainment option for all, even beyond the confines of Manhattan.

Somehow, some way, people with the means to do so will manage to get the tickets they want, when they want. They will always have a guy, even if their guy is now a silicon chip.

This essay originally appeared in The Stage.

Labor negotiations only tend to break into the news when they concern large public sector unions or when things are going badly. This does not concern the former or, so far as I know, the latter. But there is an item on the table in the current negotiations between The Broadway League and the Stage Directors and Choreography Society (SDC) that I find of interest, even if it is rather inside pool for the theatre industry, and even more specifically, Broadway.

SDC has put forward a proposal asking that, with their new Broadway contract, the Associate Directors and Associate Choreographers who work on Broadway shows be included as part of the bargaining unit for the first time. The goal is not to establish minimum salaries, but to seek health and pension payments for the associates during the term of their employment, which, with a successful show, can extend for years.

Because the term ‘associate’ is often confused with ‘assistant,’ and I’ve made the mistake myself more than once, it’s worth understanding the title. Associates are typically the people who remain with a show week after week to maintain the production, whether it’s notes for actors as productions roll along, rehearsing understudies and even “putting in” new cast members. Associates may travel with shows as they tour, and in some cases on shows with numerous subsequent incarnations, an associate may rehearse the cast for several weeks before the director or choreographer arrives to handle the final phase of the staging. I’m skimming the surface here. But in short, we are not talking about people who run to get the tuna sandwiches for lunch.

The position has evolved over the years, as shows have run longer and productions have become more technically complex. Some of the work I’ve mentioned cursorily was traditionally the sole purview of the production stage manager, and on some productions, it can certainly remain their responsibility. (There are superb stage managers out there and nothing I’m saying here should in any way be construed as minimizing their essential roles in maintaining shows as well.) But on the bigger shows, engineered to (hopefully) last for years, associates are much more de rigeur. Certain directors and choreographers of note tend to work with the same associates for long periods of time, because of the trust developed that allows those artists to reliably delegate tasks and productions, secure that their vision will be sustained. It’s important to note, however, that while directors and choreographers have significant say in who they want to work with, and on a practical basis the associates work for them, legally all associates are employed by the production, not the artists themselves.

The only reason I’ve heard about this topic in the current negotiations is because the associates have been organizing themselves on Facebook, and in my wide circle of “friends,” so many of whom I’ve never met, some are Broadway associates – and some are the directors and choreographers themselves. It was only yesterday that I saw the associates’ campaign for recognition move beyond a private Facebook group and onto SDC’s own Facebook page. There’s been no press release, no phone calls soliciting support.

But it came as a surprise to me that with the many unions establishing work rules and compensation minimums on Broadway, somehow the associates have slipped through the cracks, despite the responsibility and skills that the position now requires. Some of this surely stems from how the role has evolved over the past 30 years or so.

Is being an associate a training ground for the next generation of directors and choreographers, something we all should care about? It can be: a cursory look at the IBDB shows me that Marc Bruni, director of Beautiful, was associate director for nine Broadway productions before getting the top gig with the Carole King show; Warren Carlyle was the associate choreographer on two shows before he started creating the dances – and directing – Broadway shows on his own. But there are plenty of associates for whom that may well be their particular calling, who find perpetual satisfaction and success in their expertise at channeling directors and choreographers to keep shows fresh and tight, as we now see productions running for 10 or 20 years or more.

I understand why the producers of the Broadway League may be reticent about this; after all, I’ve been a theatre manager, and sat in union negotiations representing producers (albeit not-for-profit ones). There’s always the belief that when a new union comes in, or when new disciplines are added to an existing bargaining unit, the inevitable result is to drive up costs and perhaps create limitations on employee responsibilities. Even though the request right now is only for health and pension contributions, and salaries are entirely negotiable, I’m sure the producers are concerned that once assistants are in the bargaining unit, there may be additional requests in future negotiations.

It’s worth noting that associates working on productions like The Lion King and Aladdin are afforded these benefits, because Disney negotiates its own union contracts. All of its workers are corporate employees of Disney, and participate in standard Disney employee benefit programs. Of course, other producers, who are primarily independent, may say that Disney can afford to do this precisely because they are a large corporation, not a limited partnership formed to mount a single production. But Disney shows still have to balance expenses against income, like any other show.

I have to say that I look at the current situation not as an avowed ally of either the associates or the producers, but rather as the son of an insurance salesman, as well was someone who traded in my bar mitzvah savings bonds at age 16 because I realized I could get a better rate in a mutual fund. I also look at it as someone who had no opportunity for a retirement savings plan, let alone an employer contribution, until I was in my 30s, and who has had to buy health insurance on the open market for the past several years (and I say with genuine appreciation, thank you, President Obama).

My voice doesn’t really matter one little bit, because I’m not at the table or directly connected to the interested parties. But I don’t think its unreasonable for enterprises which may be grossing anywhere from $500,000 to $2 million a week to give long-term employees who are surrounded by countless colleagues who do receive health and pension benefits the same level of security. And while audiences may never realize it, it matters to them too, especially if they’re seeing a show after the first couple of months on Broadway or in a subsequent sit-down company or on a tour.

“You know, if we all agreed to stop putting critics’ quotes in our ads, they’d lose their power over us, and we could just sell our shows on what we think is best about them.”

I will confess to having made that statement, or something along those lines, more than once when I was the public relations director at Hartford Stage. Thinking back on it now, I can attribute it to a) youth, b) feistiness and c) naïveté. Remember, of course, that this was the pre-internet era, when reviews didn’t linger forever online, but genuinely became inaccessible 24 hours after they appeared in print. And of course, there was no persuading absolutely every  other theatre in the area that this was viable, and without unanimity, it would fail.

No one took me terribly seriously (though at the time, I certainly did). At the same time that I was attempting to jumpstart my radical approach to arts marketing, I was also guilty of some exceptionally creative “Frankensteining” of words from reviews for the express purpose of trumpeting them in ads. Because that was what was expected, I freely engaged in hypocritical acts because, well…paycheck.

More than two decades later, it seems that Broadway marketers may be moving towards my way of thinking after all. As evidence, I give you three screen captures from video advertising for three current Broadway shows:

Finding Neverland ad on Times Square video screen

Screen grab of Curious Incident tv ad

Screen grab of Something Rotten! tv ad

Look, ma, no quotes! Apparently it’s now enough simply to plaster the logos of media outlets on an ad to suggest that their critics have been positively disposed towards the show being sold. I’d say the truth is more variable.

Without going back and rereading the coverage in every outlet represented in these images, I’m willing to give The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time the benefit of the doubt, because the reviews were, as I recall, pretty terrific, and because the show has given equal weight to each outlet it represents. There’s a certain understatement at work.

I give the Something Rotten! ad credit for some subtle humor, because while it offers up The New York Times logo, a bit of animation that lobs a tomato at it, and obscures it, because the Times wasn’t actually all that keen on the show.

The Finding Neverland logo parade seems fairly disingenuous, because its New York Times review wasn’t positive, yet it dominates to screen. Did the Times write about the show? It certainly did. Does the screen say that they liked the show? In point of fact no. But I suspect that they’re trading on the fact that the presence of the Times logo might fool some people into thinking the show was endorsed by the paper, which may not be an absolute ethical lapse, but it’s certainly willfully misleading.

This isn’t to say that quotes have disappeared from ads, and even the examples above pull out some specific quotes on their own, separate from these logo parades. In the case of Fun Home, their ad is almost entirely glowing and attributed review quotes, with some award nominations thrown in as well. What they’re avoiding is any mention of what the show is actually about, which is a shame, but a sign of our still unenlightened times, in which the content of the show may be perceived as possibly limiting its commercial appeal.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QlpNv60eGyU

I know of critics who will on occasion, when they think their writing has been inaccurately represented in ads, reach out to productions and make their feelings known. In such cases, especially with major critics, I would imagine those concerns receive due attention, since no one wants to be party to a souring relationship with a critic. But in these cases, the question is whether the folks who police trademark usage for each outlet have noticed these examples, and whether they are concerned enough to suggest – or enforce – that, in some cases, their logos may be getting used to imply an endorsement which doesn’t necessarily exist.

For those who decry the shrinking space for arts reviews, or who find star rating systems too reductive, it seems we’re in the process of moving on to the next iteration – exploring how to dispense with opinion entirely, in favor of implied endorsement, warranted or not. My youthful activism has come around to a more mature realism: we need as much writing as possible about the theatre, and that doesn’t mean just feature coverage, but criticism as well. If we work to marginalize critics through marketing, we may boost a show here or there, but at the end of the day we’ll be worse off for having done so.

There was a time, children, not so very long ago, when hit plays ran much longer than than 131 performances. Why 131? Because in the last ten complete Broadway seasons, that’s the average of how long a play – new or revival – ran. Yet, out of 313 plays in that decade, only 21 plays ran for 200 performances or more, and only seven ran for 300 performances or more. No play in the past decade topped 800 performances, as The 39 Steps stopped climbing at 794 performances and War Horse headed for the stables at 741.

Going back 40 years ago, specifically to the 1974-75 season, out of the 42 plays produced on Broadway that year alone, four plays ran over 200 performances, three ran over 400 performances, one ran a hair under 600 performances, and two ran well past 1,000 performances. Those last two plays, FYI, were Same Time Next Year and Equus.

For perspective, a year of performances, assuming 52 weeks at eight shows a week, is 416 performances. So that means in the past 10 years, only five shows ran for more than a year. In 1974-75 alone, four did. What happened?

Well, based on studying the past decade, and then looking at the prior 25 years at five year intervals, it seems the average length of runs for a play hasn’t changed much: from 146 then to 131 now, all of two weeks variance. As Ken Davenport pointed out, new plays run longer than revivals; on average, the difference between them over the past 10 years is about five weeks.

One key factor is that when you go back to the days when plays ran for a year or two or more, there were many more shows that ran only a handful of performances. It wasn’t uncommon for show to play two or three previews, open, and shutter almost instantly. The long-runners were balanced by the fast-closers. With extended preview periods now, the idea of a show that doesn’t manage to play for at least a month is unheard of; even Elling performed 29 times and The Performers exposed themselves 30 times.

Today, when the solid base of fixed runs at Roundabout, Lincoln Center and Manhattan Theatre Club accounts for a significant amount of the dramatic activity on Broadway, relatively short runs are more common. Place them alongside the now common star-driven limited runs of 13 to 17 weeks, and the 131 performance average makes perfect sense. The average run per season only varied significantly once in the past decade, in the 2007-08 season, thanks primarily to The 39 Steps and August: Osage County (666), with assists from Boeing Boeing (296) and November (238).

So as much as we might want to complain about the brevity of plays’ runs on Broadway, the minor difference in average runs suggests that things haven’t really changed all that much. Even when we go back into the 1970s, when it wasn’t uncommon to find 40 or more new plays in a season, the average held.

In an era where hit musicals run longer than ever, why are hit plays running shorter? People are quick to blame the short, star-driven runs of plays, where brief runs can gross more than $1 million a week and generate profits without overstaying their welcome – and that’s not untrue. But the long-runners nowadays are plays that are launched without stars – The 39 Steps, War Horse, August: Osage County, Peter and The Starcatcher. Only one significant long-runner in the past decade was star-driven – God of Carnage – and therein lies a big catch.

Long-running plays are those which either aren’t conceived as star vehicles or, even when star driven, take the leap and make cast changes, or even introduce entirely new casts. There were three casts for Carnage, and while the presence of James Gandolfini undoubtedly was key to launching the play, it proved (not unlike playwright Yasmina Reza’s Art) that a play could become a hit even without maintaining its original cast. In the case of August: Osage County, cast replacements were actually better known than those who originated the roles: Deanna Dunagan may have won a Tony, but even regular theatregoers were probably more familiar with her successors, Estelle Parsons and Phylicia Rashad.

It would appear that long-running plays have fallen victim to the conventional wisdom that only stars are stars, that plays can’t be stars. But even if we were to accept that as true, look at what Equus managed: Anthony Hopkins (who was far from a star in those days) was succeeded by, among others, Anthony Perkins, Leonard Nimoy and Richard Burton. Yes, that’s right – Burton was a replacement. Though not in the years I selected, let’s also remember that The Elephant Man originally starred the unknown Philip Anglim, who was followed by, among others, David Bowie. I would put it to casting directors to answer the question of whether stars are no longer willing to succeed others on Broadway, at a time when ostensibly there are more name actors than ever seeking the professional credibility that a Broadway stint can bring. Or is it that profit margins are so low that producers aren’t willing to risk installing a new star or new cast?

With the kind of money at risk on Broadway these days – a play will cost $3 million or more – there is an understandable desire to minimize risk. But in the process, plays have been minimized as well. The length of plays’ runs, and the size of the theatres they play in, certainly explain why 80% of Broadway attendees see musicals. But the data, both old and new, bears out that once a play succeeds, provided the success is based on something more than just the celebrity of a cast member, plays can still be coaxed into longer runs, allowing non-musical pieces to perhaps claw back a bit more of Broadway. Maybe we’ll never return to the days when “the play’s the thing” on Broadway, but perhaps they can be more of a thing than they’ve been lately.

*   *   *

Note: The years cited prior to the 2004-2005 season are a sampling of the period, not complete (I have neither sufficient time nor any staff to research as much as I’d like). The plays cited from that period are not necessarily the longest runners ever (Gemini (1,819) and Deathtrap (1,793) are among the plays that outran them), but simply happened to fall within the years selected during the defined span of time. Even longer running plays date back to the days of Tobacco Road (3,182 performances) and Life With Father (3,224), but the fundamental changes in Broadway since that time render any comparison uninstructive. There have been changes since the 70s as well, but it is not so far in the past as to be invalid for comparison’s sake.

It’s a funny thing about milestones, the way certain thresholds get set in our minds. If you follow reporting on the movie industry, breaking the $100 million gross barrier is a major achievement (and for those of us in the arts, an astronomical figure), although its not always connected to the cost of the film under discussion. But that number has been a yardstick for years, once cause for double page ads in Variety whenever it was reached, regardless of whether the movie that achieved it was released in the 60s, 70s, 80s or today – despite inflation making the success happen a little faster with every passing year. To be sure, plenty of movies still don’t make it, but it’s a less rarified club than it was in the days of The Sound of Music or Star Wars.

Once upon a time, when people still spoke of the price of a loaf of bread as an economic indicator, gas prices crossed a big threshold when a gallon broke over the $1.00 price point. People under 40 may not even remember this being breached. This was a big deal in those non-digital days, when prices couldn’t simply be altered with a tiny bit typing; I happened to be in England a few years back when the price of a liter of petrol broke the £1 mark, resulting in some creative solutions to signage that never anticipated announcing such a sum.

In theatre, in my lifetime, the big round number that sticks in my memory was the $100 ticket for The Life and Adventures of Nicholas Nickleby, though it could be explained away by the massive physical production, cast size and length. It seemed a one-off as opposed to a trend-setter. Miss Saigon had $100 tickets at the start of its run, but didn’t sustain them, dropping back to the then more typical $65. The $100 price cropped up again for the 1999 revival of The Iceman Cometh, which by virtue of its length, simply couldn’t give enough performances in a week to make economic sense otherwise. You may know of other isolated instances.

We didn’t truly reach the $100 asking price per ticket milestone until The Producers introduced the $100 ticket in the wake of rave reviews, also giving us the innovation of the VIP ticket at the extraordinary price of $480. This was in 2001, just 13 years ago. At the time, other hits were quick to match The Producers, with Mamma Mia! jumping to $100 per ticket just two months later.

But it should be noted that the $100 price was the theatre equivalent of a hotel’s “rack rate,” the stated top price for rooms which were in reality variable and negotiable. In theatre, through group sales, discount offers, the beloved TKTS booth and day of show lotteries you could still see a Broadway show for much less than that. As a result, over the past decade, while regular prices have risen, especially at the most successful shows, the average price paid on Broadway stayed under $100 per seat. That is, until last year, the just-completed 2013-14 Broadway season, when the average ticket was $103.92, up $5.50 over the year before.

So while articles may be trumpeting record revenues and record attendance, they’re either downplaying, avoiding or ignoring the true breaking of the $100 threshold, preferring to lead with the allure of numbers in the millions (attendance) or billions (dollars). That’s a shame, because in terms of what matters to the average audience member, the average ticket price seems much more essential news. To me, that’s the headline.

It’s always important when discussing prices over time to acknowledge overall price changes in comparable fields or the economy as a whole. So let me point out that in the period since The Producers in 2001, the Consumer Price Index has risen from 177 to 233, an increase of 32%. The average movie ticket price nationally has gone from $5.65 to $8.13, a jump of 44%. But the Broadway jump from $58.72 to $103.92? That’s an increase of 77%.

I don’t have the resources to analyze all of the factors contributing to that jump, beyond the prevalence of premium or VIP seating, along with hit shows with higher prices that don’t need to discount (The Book of Mormon and Wicked) and superior supply and demand management (The Lion King). Maybe Nate Silver and his Five Thirty Eight team could work on this and tell us whether there’s a valid economic underpinning, or whether its just naked supply and demand having its day.

But surely if Broadway price hikes outstrip the economy and even other entertainment options, Broadway will eventually reach a tipping point that could have an impact on the already dicey economics of producing and running shows. Purchasing decisions based on price could put even more shows at risk for sustaining an economically viable run, whether in theory, as a Broadway engagement is contemplated, or even once it’s up and running.

So I want to call out this pricing milestone for all to see, and wonder where it will lead our commercial theatre yet a few more years down the line. If price resistance takes hold, if the Broadway price-value equation tips too far with the former outweighing the latter, will it be a place where shows can only be smash hits and utter flops, with no mid-level performers managing to run? If that happens, I hope it will prompt more people to sample institutional and independent theatre, here in New York and elsewhere. But on Broadway, and indeed at every level in the arts, ticket pricing is our global warming crisis, steadily rising year after year without raising true alarm and provoking meaningful action, until it threatens to swamp us all.

Broadway dreams being immediately blown up into pending productions is something that really gets my goat. Why? Because it’s a case of hyperbole becoming ostensible fact in the press, and the only people it serves are those trying to make a nascent production into reality.

When I last wrote about this phenomenon about nine months ago (it really makes me cranky), I suggested that it makes an argument for why paid professional arts journalism is so essential – to separate real news from puffery. I regret to say that I’ve been proven wrong in that regard.

Perhaps you saw one of the many announcements yesterday about the new Broadway show based on the syndicated TV series, Soul Train. “‘Soul Train’ Headed for Broadway” was the headline in both USA Today and The Chicago Tribune. “Soul Train’s A Comin’ To Broadway,” declared The Wall Street Journal. “Rock Of Ages producer is bringing Soul Train to Broadway,” announced The A.V. Club.

Here’s the problem. There is no Soul Train musical. No writers. No director. It’s unclear if any music rights have been acquired. All there is, right now, is a producer who has licensed the trademark and plans to develop a show.

Every article I saw actually makes note of this fact in some way, but it’s buried at least a few paragraphs in. One of the examples cited above makes it the very last sentence. But I’d be willing to bet that the vast majority of people who glanced at this story (with 120 Google News citations and climbing) thinks it’s a done deal.

Mind you, I take no pleasure in pointing this out, because I know three out of the four journalists involved in these stories pretty well, and I may get some grief from them. It’s certainly worth pointing out that journalists rarely write their own headlines, so the majority of the responsibility may not lie with the writers. In our clickbait world of online news, “happening” is much stronger than “may happen,” although such a distinction can be quickly elided by aggregators. But somewhere along the way, accuracy is sacrificed.

But I should in all fairness note that headlines more reflective of reality did appear: “Soul Train Aims To Pull Into Broadway Station” (Variety), “Soul Train May Boogie To Broadway” (The Grio, running an Associated Press story), and “Soul Train Making Tracks To Broadway?” (San Diego Union Tribune) are examples. Jim Hebert at the Union Tribune struck a strong note of skepticism in his copy, going so far as to say “don’t hold your breath on this one…” The cause is not lost.

I suppose if I were the producer and publicist for the show – and keep in mind I was a publicist for more than a decade – I’d be thrilled by the amount of attention garnered by the existence of a legal agreement. But when I see so many worthy arts activities that actually exist, eager and even desperate for media attention, this inflation of intentions is really rather depressing. I assume anyone who has a show that has already been written feels much the same way. But clearly the retro lure of a famous brand, with photos ready to run, holds greater sway than what’s happening now (those last three words actually being connected to a property someone may option any day).

In the film The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance, there’s a famous quote: “When the legend becomes fact, print the legend.” Fifty years later, it’s been simplified in a way that would make Jimmy Stewart, John Wayne and perhaps even Lee Marvin blanch, since we no longer wait for something to become legend: “Print the hype, with a great headline.”

A star being replaced early in a Broadway show’s run is usually a sign of trouble. They’re unhappy with their role, perhaps, and getting out at the earliest opportunity. Maybe they’ve been offered a better paying gig, and it’s worth it to them to buy out their contract and move onto greener pastures. So what does it mean when even before a show opens, the star’s replacement has already been announced?

In the case of the recently opened revue After Midnight (which boasts renowned trumpeter Wynton Marsalis as artistic director), it means the producers have deployed a whole new strategy, in which the show is designed to accommodate a rotating roster of headliners. While Fantasia Barrino, an American Idol runner up who has gone on to a successful recording career and who previously appeared on Broadway in The Color Purple, will steer the show through its first four months, she’ll be succeeded in February by KD Lang, who, after one month will in turn yield the stage to Babyface and Toni Braxton who will appear for just two weeks.

The producers have given Barrino top billing as ‘special guest star’ to indicate the transient status of the position, and she performs only four numbers in the show, which like most revues is essentially modular. It will be fascinating to learn what the producers have in store for those who follow in her footsteps, since their individual style may not naturally mesh with the same material.

Obviously, for people who enjoy the show, return visits will yield partially different rewards, since a handful of numbers in the 90-minute piece will at least vary in style and might, perhaps, be swapped for different songs. For members of the public less engaged with Broadway, they may be lured in by these pop performers appearing in an intimate venue. Without any pejorative connotation, After Midnight – modeled on revues at legendary nightspots like The Cotton Club – even evokes memories of vaudeville. If you don’t like this week’s bill, come back in two weeks.

This approach is a logical progression from similar efforts on the Great White Way. The producers of the long running production of Chicago have made a specialty of rotating stars of varying fame in and out on a regular basis, generating new waves of press every time a ‘bold-faced name’ steps in as Roxie, Velma, or Billy Flynn. Once again, the vaudeville style of the show itself ends itself to easy transitions; it’s not as if a new Lear was joining an acting troupe every four weeks. The Play What I Wrote also employed weekly mystery guest stars, and, as an aside, it’s worth noting that this Morecambe and Wise-derived show marks the only time Kenneth Branagh has performed on stage in the US to date.

Another precursor to this format was the series of post-show guests employed by Million Dollar Quartet, a largely fictionalised retelling of the one-time recording session of Elvis Presley, Johnny Cash, Carl Perkins and Jerry Lee Lewis. To bolster its sales, the show began offering two or three song mini-concerts after the final curtain to add to its marketing draw. Though I’d seen the show early in its run, I arranged to sneak in at the tail-end one night to see the real Jerry Lee Lewis duet at the piano with his Tony-winning doppelgänger Levi Kreis. It was, I have to say, a thrill.

I’m not advocating a parade of stunt casting. The risk is too great, even if, upon seeing stage novice Melanie Griffith in Chicago, New York Times critic Ben Brantley wrote: “Ms Griffith has only minimal command of the skills traditionally associated with musical comedy. She dances very little, and her well-known baby-doll voice has only a casual relationship with melody. Yet she is a sensational Roxie.” But that rave shocked even the show’s producers.

In this era of star appearances in theatre that run for only 12 to 16 weeks, perhaps this is a new paradigm which recognises that many stars can’t commit for long runs, and creates a way to deploy their drawing power in a manner totally organic to the show, for the benefit of audiences and investors. I for one can’t wait to see Madonna in After Midnight in 2017.

Rylance’s Richard III

When it comes to Shakespeare, not all plays are created equal. That’s far from a surprise to anyone who pays attention; Hamlet certainly ranks far ahead of King John in the canon, and even Coriolanus and Timon of Athens get more attention than Pericles. A great deal of this situation in recent years, at least in the U.S., is attributable to the educational curriculum, which has a strong hand in creating the “greatest hits.” The hierarchy is also a product of performers’ aspirations, and I daresay that when asked what Shakespeare roles they’d like to play, actors respond more frequently with Lear and Rosalind than Henry VIII and the Countess of Roussillon.

Rylance in Twelfth Night

The choices for the current Shakespeare plays in repertory on Broadway are among the more familiar titles, but they take on novelty for being all-male casts and indeed for being in rotating rep. Had it not been for the coincidence of a competing rep of Waiting For Godot and No Man’s Land in the same season, the Shakespeares would have been the only shows in rep on Broadway since the mid-90s. A key selling point in the Shakespeare rep is actor Mark Rylance, playing Olivia in Twelfth Night (or Twelfe Night as they’re spelling it in ads) and the title role in King Richard The Third.  After his triumphs in Boeing Boeing, La Bête and Jerusalem, one suspects the audiences would flock to anything Rylance chose to perform, except perhaps those poems he reads as award acceptance speeches.

The January calendar of Twelfth Night and Richard III

So while it’s hardly the discovery of a shocking secret, I was surprised today to discover that the Shakespeare rep doesn’t treat its productions as equals: in general there are six weekly performances of Twelfth Night and only two of Richard III. The producers (and perhaps Mr. Rylance) have decided that the market will bear plenty of comedy and not so much tragedy, with the added bonus that Stephen Fry appears only in the comedy, and for some of us, he’s a big draw too. They also may be saving a few dollars by making fewer set changeovers, since labor costs money.

I can’t say that I wouldn’t have lobbied for the same balance, if I’d had a say in the matter. I happen to have a great love for Twelfth Night, due to it having been the first play I worked on when I started at Hartford Stage in 1985. As for Richard III, even though I’ve seen terrific productions with Ian McKellen and Richard Thomas, among others, I always feel a bit lost in the constant realignment of loyalties throughout the play, and I rarely walk away having had an emotional experience, even as I might appreciate the talent on stage. Indeed, my college roommate, who has been my Shakespeare wingman for some three decades, was befuddled when I refused to see Richard III at BAM last year; I just didn’t feel like it and he wasn’t going to change my mind (he took his mother-in-law). By the way, I should note I have not yet seen the current Broadway shows.

Shakespeare scholars and Rylance buffs may be dismayed to learn of this programming imbalance. The former might not cotton to the elevation of a comedy over a history, but the latter may just be realizing that if they wish to be Rylance completists, they’d better hustle up on getting tickets, because the Richard III inventory is much scarcer than the seats for Twelfth Night.  As for whether there’s a deeper meaning to favoring one play over the other beyond gauging the marketplace, I leave that for the academics to debate.

P.S. Waiting for Godot and No Man’s Land each play four shows a week. Make of that, you should pardon the expression, What You Will.