It is the policy of London’s Underground, commonly known as “the tube,” to not accept advertising which, in the words of it supervisory authority, Transport for London, “may cause widespread or serious offence’.” By judging posters for the West End transfer of Joshua Harmon’s Bad Jews as potentially doing so, and therefore banning them, TfL may well be giving greater widespread offense for its oversensitivity, even if it comes from a place of genuine concern, which now rises to the level of censorship.

I don’t want to discount disturbing reports of rising anti-Semitism in Europe, but this poster won’t feed that trend. A Jewish playwright and a Jewish producer shouldn’t be prevented from their promoting their work because of fears of how some might misinterpret its name.

True, there is no governing body preventing the production of the play itself, and numerous other outlets – all presumably with a set of advertising standards – haven’t apparently taken issue with the ads. But in cutting off the miles of pedestrian tunnels used by countless shows to reach both natives and tourists alike, TfL has put a dent in what, by my own observations when visiting London, is a foundational part of a great deal of theatre marketing.

Had the poster been a stark white sheet with nothing but the words “Bad Jews” in big block letters and a tiny print phone number and web address, one might possibly mistake it as a political statement. If the play title were “Jews Are Bad,” you might at least be able the comprehend the protective concern. But the Bad Jews poster, with its rash of review quotes, billing of actors and creative team and clear identification as a theatrical production, can hardly be mistaken for anti-Semitic propaganda. It is, unquestionably, a show poster.

Presumably, this has not occurred because representatives of TfL have seen the play and decided that it’s ‘not good for the Jews.’ If that were their criteria, then presumably they have also banned posters for the current London run of The Ruling Class, a pitch dark satire whose targets include the Church of England and whose central character is a nobleman who believes he’s Jesus.

Let’s remember that the authority which has banished Bad Jews from The Tube is the same one that saw no problem with (strikingly clever, IMHO) ads for the English National Opera’s Don Giovanni in 2012, the ones which showed an open condom wrapper and offered the slogan (in big block capital red letters) “Don Giovanni. Coming Soon.” Surely the parents of some small children, asked to explain this image, may have felt offense. (I saw a modified version of the poster that read “Opening Soon.”) Perhaps, like so many censorious authorities before them, TfL misses innuendo until it’s pointed out to them, but sees offense in the straightforward. And, like so many censors, it makes arbitrary decisions that it can’t justify.

Of course, this is also the same authority that blurred out the face of Prince Charles on posters for the play King Charles III, again to avoid causing offense. I have little doubt that the Don Giovanni campaign was designed to be provocative, and generate buzz around the production, but it was consistent with the efforts of so many opera companies to attract younger audiences by marketing their work in a manner that blows the dust off of perceptions of the art form. In the case of King Charles III, the image was arresting, but probably tamer than many an editorial cartoon about the monarchy. I know many British people have great affection for the Royal Family, but was the original poster really offensive to anyone beyond the family, who as public figures have been subjected to worse (such as the puppets of Spitting Image) and who I imagine don’t spend any time in the tube? The British government may have abolished the censorship authority of their Lord Chamberlain in 1968, but perhaps former staffers or acolytes of that role have holed up in the Underground.

Like so much public censorship, the decision on Bad Jews has produced a round of ridicule in the British press, which also brings with it untold free marketing for the show. Transit for London may have kept the words “Bad Jews” off of its walls, but it has placed the show on the lips of people everywhere, and if that prompts even more people to see that very provocative, probing play about Jewish identity among millennials in America, one is almost tempted to thank them. Save for the genuine worry about what TfL, in their seemingly absolute authority, might seek to censor next.

 Howard Sherman is Director of the Arts Integrity Initiative at the New School for Drama.

I realize I’m writing this blog post for a very specific subset of readers, but after nine months of writing my “American Stages” column for London’s The Stage newspaper, I have a request of those cited in the title.

Now mind you, I’m prepared to stipulate that many of you still may not be aware of the column, despite my own efforts and the efforts of the folks at The Stage to promote it. So if you’re reading this and thinking, “What ‘American Stages’ column?,” allow me to direct you to the index of the columns thus far. I’ll also agree that the column is somewhat New York-centric and probably east coast-centric. But there’s a reason for that.

None of you are sending me press releases. Not even theatres I’ve called in the past and asked for material for use in this very column.

Perhaps I should have been more explicit in asking for releases. So I’m writing this instead. Now before you all deluge me with material on every single thing you do, including grants you receive, ‘best of’ lists you appear on, one night only readings and the like, let me take a page from Wall Street Journal critic Terry Teachout, who is quite clear about what he’s likely to be interested in and when you’re barking up the wrong tree.

So here are my rough guidelines:

1. I’m not a critic. “American Stages” is meant to highlight work that might be of interest to readers in the British theatre community, but I don’t review shows. I do like to see as much as I can, but there’s no correlation between my seeing a production and my featuring it in the column.

2. I am committed to representing interesting work around the country. Because of the curation of arts stories that is a significant part of my Twitter feed, I often surface interesting productions worth writing about on my own. But Twitter is a rush of information, and there’s no guarantee that I’ll be seeing your tweets when you happen to send them.

3. I’m looking to highlight new work or major productions that might prove interesting to UK readers. The fourteenth production of one of the most produced plays in the country isn’t likely to get in. Neither is your Christmas Carol. But even with new work, it needs a hook beyond “a new play,” so think about tipping me to something that might cause theatre pros across the pond to take an interest.

4. If there’s an English, Irish, Scottish or Welsh hook, make sure I know it – whether it’s a playwright, actor, director and so on. It is a London publication after all.

5. Because the column is online, even though I’m writing with a certain focus in mind, remember that it can be shared as widely as you and I both like. There’s no paywall and no geographic limitation to who can read it.

6. Photos are helpful (if they’re good photos) and videos are sometimes even better. While there’s typically only one main photo a week, I can embed several videos with my copy, and I’ll use everything from trailers to interviews to musical numbers to humor.

So far as I’m aware (and by all means, feel free to correct me), there’s no other UK outlet with a regular column dedicated solely to US theatre news. Sure, big stories like Kenneth Branagh in Macbeth get covered in international media as they happen, as do the Tony Awards. But new musicals in San Diego? Not so much. So use me, because I want to showcase the entirety of US theatre, within my word limit and my fortnightly schedule.

As an aside, I write a second, monthly column for The Stage’s print edition, which unfortunately I can’t share online effectively. I’m writing specifically about aspects of the business of theatre in those pieces, and I eventually post that material to my website (though I’m far from up to date). But new initiatives and thematic stories are my bailiwick there, and can showcase trends and innovations wherever I may learn of them.

As some of you may know, I used to be a publicist in not-for-profit theatre. I’m all too aware of the challenges posed by the explosion of online outlets in how you do your jobs and you can’t give one-on-one service to every writer out there. So add me to your national list using howard AT hesherman DOT com. I’ll let you know if it’s too much (or too little). Frankly, if I was still a publicist, I’d be all over me about “American Stages.”

When I saw it for the first time last week, I was really struck by the poster for the West End debut of the musical Urinetown. Why? Because it didn’t look like a theatre poster. It looked like a movie poster.

In point of fact, it looked to a certain degree like the poster for Star Trek: Into Darkness, which owed a debt to the poster for The Dark Knight Rises. Many movie posters are endlessly iterative and imitative, as they want to subtly remind you of other successful films in the same genre. I give points to Urinetown UK for evoking dark futures with humanity under threat – completely consistent with the world conjured in the show. Equally apt, it counters the darkness by placing a young attractive couple, reaching for a drop of water, at the center of a spaghetti-tangle of (empty) pipes, and they added a tagline: “A drop of hope can change the world.”

It has taken almost a decade since Urinetown’s Broadway closing for it to reach England, so the opportunity to capitalize on Broadway buzz has long since faded, That certainly suggests one reason why the graphic bears no relationship to the Broadway marketing material, unlike The Producers, The Book of Mormon, Jersey Boys and so many other US to UK transfers. That works in two directions as well, since Mamma Mia! and Matilda ads look the same in both countries, having started in London.

As I pondered the Urinetown UK art, it struck me that one reason the vast majority of theatre ad design looks so different from movie ad design is that while a movie is trying to simply drive sales and pique interest, theatre designs, more often than not, are trying to build a brand. If theatre images emphasize a star, they could be undermining a long run, since eventually stars leave; movies have no such problem. Think of the image of Les Mis’ Cosette: as the show ran and ran, the image became so ubiquitous that they could run ads without the show’s title and you would know what the ad was for. Producer Cameron Mackintosh’s team even could play with the image, running variations on Cosette that honored holidays or welcomed other shows to Broadway. And it was hardly the only show to do that: think of the Phantom’s mask, the eyes of Cats, the Chagall-esque Fiddler on the Roof, Larry Kert running after Carol Lawrence for West Side Story (though that would eventually be supplanted by Saul Bass’ fire escape logo for the film). Colleges, high schools and community theatres use knock-offs of these designs for years and years.

As I’ve said, it’s the lapse in time that has afforded Urinetown UK the chance to go in another direction, since given the relative age of the show, it doesn’t undermine a worldwide branding effort.  The other reason they have that opportunity: in my opinion, the original Urinetown graphic never became iconic. Do you remember it? Perhaps only vaguely, and I suggest that’s because it was only a type treatment, as opposed to an image, a true logo, a brand.

To digress for a moment: when I worked at Hartford Stage, one of my responsibilities was to work with a range of local designers to secure pro bono graphic designs for each of our shows. In addition to keeping expenses down, it insured that each show would have its own feel and look, with the ads held together by a very solid, strong and consistently utilized company logo. In this process, the artistic director had only one edict – there must be some representation of the human in every graphic. He believed that people are at the center of theatre, that audiences come to watch people on stage, and so the human element – sometimes nothing more than an eye or a hand – was a reminder of the unique nature of live theatre. In hindsight, thinking back over 50 shows, I believe he was right and I’ve advocated for this approach ever since. To be fair, not every design was perfect, and some worked better as art than as marketing, but the best remain those that followed the artistic director’s dictum. If you think of great theatre graphics, I’d be willing to bet that you’ll find the majority do so as well. That’s why, at least in my estimation, there’s not a graphic image from the Broadway Urinetown that lingers in memory.

But turning back to Urinetown UK, as I have often this week, I continue to applaud the complexity and sophistication of its imagery, which come to think of it also recalls that used for Terry Gilliam’s film Brazil.  I was so intrigued, that I took the time to watch a three-minute promo video for the show and, to be honest, it ended up showing me what I think is missing from the Urinetown campaign. A barrage of words flew at me from a variety of speakers, all describing the experience of the show: epic, wackadoo, eco-friendly, apocalyptic, daring, exciting, entertainment, political, adventurous and satirical wit. Director Jamie Lloyd said he hoped it would advance “conversations about climate change, environmental disaster, the moral responsibility of big business.”

But looking at the poster and watching this video, I realized that something has been, if not forgotten, downplayed for this Urinetown, at least as I know the show.

It’s very, very funny. I laughed a lot.

Not only that, it is especially funny to those who know and love musicals, since it’s “satirical wit” is focused, in part, on previous, iconic musicals.

Now if it is Lloyd’s intention to lean heavily on the show’s Brechtian overtones and downplay the humor, then you can probably ignore everything from here on in.  But if Urinetown UK– with all of its topical, political and social overtones – is to retain its irreverent take on both a world without water and its stance as a love letter to musical comedy, then I’d urge the powers that be to tweak the tone of their rhetoric and their imagery, lest they mislead their potential audience – and those who buy. Remember, you’re fighting a title that, for some, carries a whiff of something distasteful, even while it becomes a memorable point of distinction from most other musical theatre.

I’ve heard it said many times that if a show is a hit, its logo – whatever it is – looks brilliant. And perhaps in the long run, if there is in the long run, that becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. But when you’re trying to set expectations and lure audiences, every communication is freighted with meaning (it can even effect the advance perception of critics who were previously unfamiliar with the material), and what I remember most of Urinetown was having a darned good time.

Going on a theatre binge in a city other than the one in which you reside provides, inevitably, an imbalanced view of that city’s theatrical ecology. Unless you have unlimited time and an unlimited budget, you can barely scratch the surface of all that’s going on, with the possible exception of an intricately strategized Edinburgh visit in August.

For a variety of reasons, both professional and personal (plus free accommodations), I’ve taken to “helicoptering” into London a couple of times a year in an effort to see more than just the work that makes it to U.S. shores, and I’m just back from my spring visit. While it’s undoubtedly by accident, or perhaps a reflection of my own psyche, I was struck on this trip by how seven shows – only one musical; works new and revived; by British and American authors – managed to explore remarkably similar themes.  My week was one that focused on looking into the past and the role that honor and integrity plays in our lives.

Most obviously, Alan Bennett’s paired one-acts, Hymn and Cocktail Sticks (joined as Untold Stories in a West End transfer from The National Theatre), are autobiography with a decidedly rueful tone. In both cases, Bennett himself (embodied by Alex Jennings) recalls and interacts with his past, focusing on his relationship to music and his father in the former, and his growing intellectual disconnection from his parents in the latter. While Bennett has directly drawn on his own life in the past (he was a key character in his own The Lady In The Van years back), these short plays , written 11 years apart, show him as both reflective and perhaps regretful, a son considering his parents from a vantage point older than they were in the anecdotes on display.

The two most biographical plays (in commercial West End runs), though almost wholly fiction, were Peter Morgan’s The Audience and John Logan’s Peter And Alice. While both are rooted in historical events and real people: the former constructed from the framework of Queen Elizabeth’s weekly audience with the Prime Minister; the latter imagined from a one-time meeting of Peter Llewelyn Davis, the model for J.M. Barrie’s Peter Pan, and Alice Liddell Hargreaves, the template for Lewis Caroll’s Alice in Wonderland.  P&A takes meta to the max, as the adult role models grapple both with the men who gave them potentially eternal life, as well as the characters that bear their name, layering the mortality of humans alongside literary perpetuity, and their memories of their younger selves. The Audience, rather than simply being a highlights reel of postwar British history, uses the weekly audiences instead to address the burden and commitment of being the queen and Logan even allows Her Majesty to interact with her younger self, long since locked away.

Just as Queen Elizabeth is bound by the duty of her role, the young man who is at the center of Terence Rattigan’s classic The Winslow Boy (at The Old Vic) is potentially disgraced after an accusation of theft, breaching his family’s honor in the mind of his determined father. Though decades old (it debuted a few years before the Queen was placed in her regal straitjacket), its portrayal of a small cog being tossed aside without due process by a large and ostensibly honor-bound institution has any number of resonances in any era; the senior Winslow, hell-bent on clearing his son’s name, pronounces any number of sentiments that would be welcomed by Occupy Wall Street and veterans’ rights advocates alike. The more obviously political This House (at The National Theatre), set entirely in Britain’s Parliament between 1974 and 1979, though fascinated with the machinations of governing, also turns on tradition and honor, as the legislative body grapples with the place of long-standing practices in the face of political necessity; like The Audience, it takes its framework from history but roots itself in the humanity that manages to stay alive amid conflict that affects an entire country.

Going further back into history Bruce Norris’ The Low Road (at the Royal Court) posits an amoral antihero plying his capitalist trade in colonial America. With readily apparent parallels to recent economic crises worldwide, Norris deploys as his lead character an apotheosis of financial rapaciousness, looking backwards in order to damn practices of the present day and all too recent past. In this tale, the lack of honor makes the greatest argument for it. The one musical of my visit was a revival of Stephen Sondheim’s Merrily We Roll Along (a West End transfer from the Menier Chocolate Factory), the backwards treading story of three friends irrevocably broken apart at the beginning of the show, only to flash ever backward to the key points of their relationship, like a film run backward as they move from missteps to success to first meetings, and as their superficial, damaged lives are restored to their youthful integrity and dreams.

So here’s the question: is London theatre consumed by these issues, or do I unwittingly choose shows which embody certain themes? Do I build my own theatrical inkblot? Honestly, I knew little of either the Bennett plays or The Low Road; I saw them because of my interest in those authors. I knew something of the premises of The Audience, This House and Peter And Alice, but no details; I was drawn by the praise of others and by the Helen Mirren and Judi Dench to two of those shows. What if I hadn’t been able to get a ticket to several of these shows?  I had only purchased three before arriving in London. What if I had moved beyond the West End and the major subsidized houses into fringe venues, deciding what to see with even less foreknowledge? Perhaps I had curated my own version of PBS’s Masterpiece, cherry picking only the very best of what was on offer and leaving riskier, but perhaps even more compelling and diverse, prospects alone.

Whatever the motivations, intentional or otherwise, I created a week that was informative and reflective, and startlingly consistent in theme even if divergent in style. And for perhaps the only time I can remember, I saw seven consecutive shows and was pleased to have seen each and every one, no mean feat for any avid theatergoer.

But I do wonder: what if I had spiced things up with Viva Forever, or tapped into Top Hat? I would have come away with a markedly different vision of the English stage and its present-day themes. Hmmmm.