I have never seen Mike Daisey perform. However, I have been to The Public Theatre many times, I have read many reviews of and features about Daisey’s The Agony and The Ecstasy of Steve Jobs (and his other monologues) and have discussed it with people who have seen it and were, indeed, quite enthusiastic about it. Apparently, by the standards of non-fiction that Mr. Daisey followed, at least until this past Friday, I could have claimed to have seen his show. Yet I never would have thought to do so.

As someone whose primary interests have long been the arts and journalism, “The Daisey Affair” is a train wreck, media circus, artistic bombshell and teaching moment all bound up with a bright big bow of schadenfreude. After declaring to all who would listen, both free and paid, that he was an honest messenger about deplorable conditions, Daisey got his comeuppance when, after repurposing portions of his stage piece for radio’s “This American Life,” someone sought to fully fact-check his claims and found them wanting, insofar as Daisey’s own first-hand experiences went. There have been independent reports of the working conditions at Apple’s China-based supplier Foxconn; Daisey himself did not witness all of the effects and abuses at those plants, and had wholly fabricated certain anecdotes.

Perhaps it is fitting that Daisey was caught out by public radio itself, since the excerpt that ran on their stations was no doubt heard by more people than had actually seen Daisey perform the piece at The Public Theater and Woolly Mammoth Theatre Company as a whole (this is a guess, not a fact). Frankly, had it not been for the “This American Life” airing and its tragic sequel, “Retraction,” theatergoers may well have gone on indefinitely believing everything Daisey said to be true as objective fact. So while public radio may well loom larger, proportionally, in overall impact, I would like to focus solely on the theatrical presentation, since that is the world in which I travel.

Am I angry at Daisey? Yes, I am. Not because I feel personally duped, since I never saw the show. But I’m upset for all of the people I know, and those I don’t, who were completely taken in by Daisey’s account, which he declared to be a work of non-fiction, a phrase that with every passing day, accelerated by people like James Frey and Daisey, becomes ever more suspect. Yes, theatre is primarily a world of artifice, but it is also a world in which “truth” is valued, be it literal truth, emotional truth, what have you. In a place where we are normally are asked to suspend our disbelief, where that is an essential principle, we are also ready to believe wholeheartedly in fiction, where we willingly trust artists – and therefore, we do so even more when we’re presented with something represented as fact.

Theatres are not in the habit of fact-checking the work they present; they operate on a good faith basis with the artists with whom they work and unless something seems egregiously out-of-whack, the work of artists like Daisey, Spalding Gray, Anna Deavere Smith, Eve Ensler and others are accepted as art and as theatricalized documentary. Now, of course, Daisey has spoiled the fun for the rest of the class, and artists who traffic in “true stories” may well have to provide footnotes to be printed in the programs or on the websites of the theatres that produce or present such work, or even open their notes for scrutiny, as if every production was a libel suit waiting to happen. It’s interesting to note that Smith makes her original tapes available online already, although this was intended as a guide for those who would attempt to mimic her subjects as she does, but they certainly provide the ability to verify her faithfulness to their words – or indeed to examine how her artistry has taken their words and melded them into a work of theatre.

I am angry with Mike Daisey because he made people I know, respect and like complicit in his fabrication. While both The Public and Woolly Mammoth have appropriately remained rather silent in the first 72 hours of the revelation beyond short prepared statements, I have no doubt (but again, I am guessing) that the people who worked to promote the engagements of Agony and Ecstasy, those who chose to present it, those who helped to mount the production, are feeling betrayed because, so far as we know, they had taken Daisey at his word. The only insight we have thus far are tweets from Alli Houseworth, who was the marketing director at Woolly Mammoth when the show ran there and she is, to say the least, profoundly unhappy. She is also, I imagine, only one of many feeling this way, but the rest must keep silent, be it by employer edict or professional decorum. [Addendum: subsequent to my posting of this piece, Alli wrote her own post expressing her thoughts in detail.]

In addition to theatres’ staffs, those who reported on and reviewed Daisey, and indeed praised him (people I also know, respect and like), feel they have been ill-used; one major critic wrote to me that he felt like he had egg on his face, others have publicly questioned their role in facilitating Daisey’s untruths, as if they had given glowing coverage to Bernard Madoff which caused people to lose their savings (I exaggerate here for effect, and the metaphor is wholly mine). Some have pointed out that they had noted uncertainty about Daisey’s veracity; no doubt like all arts writers, they were too overworked and underpaid to attempt to verify the story independently, or simply felt that by questioning it, they had sufficiently addressed the ambiguity they perceived, because, after all, it’s only theatre.

Mike Daisey failed me, and everyone who attends the theatre, because he has contributed to the degradation of the word “theatre.” Some time ago, I wrote about the fact that, in modern parlance, theatre can either mean the presentation of dramatic and musical works as well as the venue in which that work is presented – but an can also mean any act from which true meaning has been dissociated from visible action. We most often hear this applied to ploys by those who govern, or seek to govern us; “political theatre” is a constant refrain. But now, by attempting to convince us that his work was factually true ,only to be revealed as partially false, Daisey has further eroded anyone’s belief in theatre. Even plays which do not pretend to be “documentary theatre,” but which utilize real-world events as the setting for stories either invented or amalgamated from research, will be called into question. Could audiences value Ruined or Blood and Gifts less in the wake of “Daiseygate”? I fear they might, and that is a shame both for the artists who created them and for the real world situations that they brought into focus in a way that the evening news perhaps never had. The same holds true for the working conditions in China that Daisey sought to bring to light, until the spotlight shifted from message to messenger. Daisey had shown with Agony and Ecstasy, as some often wonder, that political theatre does have a place in American discourse, only to undermine his own platform.

Movies have long ago degraded the phrase “based on a true story” as a catch-all to exploit tales which may have their roots in real world events, but which take creative liberties with the historical record. Must theatre now apply very specific disclaimers – or claims – to any production which seeks to be perceived a something more than pure fiction? I have already seen a real world application of such efforts, in the London program for the play with music Backbeat, about the very earliest days of The Beatles, and it remains one of my favorite program notes ever. In order to assure the audience of what was true and where they had strayed from fact, they went so far as to excuse a small flaw in their casting by noting that, “And, of course, Paul was left-handed,” lest everything else be discounted. Interestingly, Claude Lanzmann, who made Shoah, which many consider the definitive documentary of the Holocaust, refuses to use the term; because he staged moments with some of the survivors he interviewed, he prefers to call his epic document “a fiction of the real.” If only Daisey had done so as well.

Finally, I’m upset with Mike Daisey because he has provided a theatrical scandal for the media to feast upon once again. Theatre is, beyond those specifically charged with and invested in reporting upon it, rarely able to break beyond the ghetto of the arts page into the larger consciousness: the electronic media, new media, the front page. We only find ourselves there when something goes spectacularly wrong, and though you may think this an unfair comparison, the Daisey brouhaha is the biggest “beyond just the arts” theatre story since Spider-Man: Turn Off the Dark began its troubled journey to the stage.  Just as the Daisey story broke on Friday, I wrote a post musing on the attention that George Clooney’s arrest might focus on the Sudan and wondered whether some celebrity might be willing to get arrested to promote the arts, since that appears to be the only way to get attention these days. Daisey wasn’t a celebrity, nor is he a criminal, but he has achieved his greatest fame to date for engaging in actions which are ethically questionable. He has made theatre relevant to more than just those who love it, but in the worst way possible.

Let me return to my opening sentence, the fact that I have never seen Mike Daisey perform, because there’s a tremendous irony. I never chose to see him because, based on what I had read, and despite the glowing remarks of those who knew his work, I conceived a bias about the work, however unfair it may have been to do so. I did not wish to spend my money to go to a lecture, no matter how artfully presented. Just as I tired quickly of Michael Moore, I assumed that an evening with Mike Daisey would be somewhere between a profoundly biased 60 Minutes segment and a partisan polemic – and that’s not why I go to the theatre. I go to see and hear the world transformed by an artist into something that is, indeed, emotionally true but filtered through a creative sensibility. Fiction may be a lie, but it is a lie I willingly participate in, whereas I mostly leave my fact consumption for other media. If only I had known what Daisey was really doing, I might have been more willing to see him, not less. Now, I look forward to his next play.

I contemplated titling this piece “On The Objectification of Theatre Artists,” but decided against it for two primary reasons. First, because it is not my graduate thesis, and second, because people might choose to approach it more seriously than it perhaps deserves.  I will say that I do not fundamentally support the idolization of men or women for their physical appearance, however as one who works in entertainment (with a particular background in marketing and public relations), I know that for all of the enlightenment our society has achieved over the years, we are still drawn in by attractiveness — it is both celebrated and idealized throughout the media. Lecture over.

Among the deluge of tweets, updates and posts I see every day, I have been amused, and at times startled, by the comments of two young women who communicate under the unified nom de plume of The Craptacular. They are avid theatergoers, but they express their enthusiasm most emphatically when they see what I can only refer to as “a hot guy”; they deploy much more colorful expressions, I assure you. I find their slang rhapsodizing over a variety of stage heartthrobs distinctive because, for the most part, what I see otherwise are die-hard fans debating the artistic skills of various performers, say comparing and contrasting various divas (including some long dead), rather than ever speaking of earthier appeals.  Save for the ad campaign for Chicago, which has long celebrated the forms and figures of the countless performers who have done that show, I rarely see Broadway, or any theatrical production, for that matter, relying on something that we have been told, ever since the Mad Men era, is a surefire marketing tool: sex.

This certainly contrasts with the movies, which in so many cases are all about appearance. For decades, people have become screen stars based first and foremost on their physical attributes. In film and television, the emphasis on attractiveness can be a curse (I should be so stricken): actors like George Clooney, Brad Pitt, Michelle Pfeiffer and Angelina Jolie and many others have had to work extra-hard to prove that they are more than just pretty faces and bodies. But in the theatre, talent almost without fail comes first; attractiveness is sometimes the bonus. I generalize, of course, but you get the idea.

That’s why I think the women at The Craptacular are on to something (I so want to call them gals, but I’m walking on eggshells here). Maybe theatre shouldn’t be afraid of flaunting it now and again, especially if we genuinely seek to be part of the mainstream of entertainment and not relegated to the backwater known as “the arts.” The fact is, whether you are male or female, gay or straight, theatre is not just a feast for your mind and your ears, but for your eyes as well. In theatre, talent can make the unconventional unexpectedly attractive, just as it endows more conventional beauty with more depth than your average movie ingénue.

There have been a few occasions when theatre folks, usually because of their work in other mediums, have drifted into the range of media that emphasize physical appeal. I recall Kristin Chenoweth’s FHM appearance and Laura Benanti’s Playboy showcase in particular, because a) I know both women and b) I never believed I’d ever know women who appeared on the covers of those sorts of magazines.  I suspect theatre-centric actors have similarly graced female-oriented publications, but my gaze tends not to linger on that part of the newsstand; I leave it to you to recall examples that support me. Kristin and Laura may not have been chosen for these platforms primarily because of their remarkable skills as performers, but once they are put upon a pedestal, they reflect the spotlight back on the stage.

Jerry Mitchell tapped into the sex and Broadway link years ago when he created “Broadway Bares” for Broadway Cares/Equity Fights AIDS; he took an underused asset – the sexiness of so many performers – and put it to great use, raising money for an essential cause. It has become a tradition within the community; it’s frankly a shame that the annual extravaganza can’t last for more than a handful of shows and reach more of the general public, harking back to The Ziegfeld Follies, yet conceived for the age of Maxim. Certainly if Ben Brantley is to be believed, the runaway success of Hugh Jackman’s recent Broadway stand had less to do with the guy’s overwhelming talent and charm and more with his status as a figure in countless sexual fantasies.

I’m not proposing that theatre aspire to burlesque (even as that particular form of entertainment makes a comeback). All I’m suggesting is that in our relentless effort to court those attuned to higher aspirations of art and talent, we may be burying a valuable asset that was once unashamedly part of theatre’s fabric. Theatre is where the devil’s assistant Lola gets what she wants through “feminine wiles”, where Adelaide endlessly fronts a girlie show until she can settle down into domestic bliss, where Gypsy emerges from the chrysalis of Louise Hovick – and where the women who play those roles become stars. As I ponder this, I regret that the male characters who are physical ideals are all comic figures, villains or both: Miles Gloriosus, Gaston, even Kodaly. What’s up with that? Maybe some form of envy by their creators?

Sex sells, sexiness sells, beauty sells and theatre’s got all of that. Just as Las Vegas learned a lesson when it tried to rebrand itself as a family friendly destination, maybe theatre, and Broadway in particular, needs a makeover, needs to rough up its image, needs more leather and lace — just like Sandy at the end of the movie Grease.

At the beginning of December, I breached countless confidences, both personal and professional, in order to bring you “Decoder,” a post which revealed the true meaning of timeworn words and phrases seen so often in entertainment marketing and public relations. I crossed that ethical boundary with great trepidation, believing that I might be forever drummed out of the corps of professional arts promoters. That threat still lurks.

But, since it proved so popular, I’m throwing caution to the wind with this newest post (tangentially and privately subtitled “Electric Boogaloo”) which explores not only words and phrases left opaque previously, but marketing and PR actions that may have heretofore seemed utterly benign.

1. Life-affirming = someone dies.

2. Triumph of the human spirit = protagonist survives torture, tragedy and/or the deaths of loved ones, but survives.

3. Edgy = contains language and sexual situations easily found on the grounds of your average high school (see also: adult content).

4. Speaks to today’s youth = set on the grounds of your average high school.

5. Important = addresses topic that has been featured in the first hour of The Today Show.

6. Frothy = addresses topic that has been featured in the fourth hour of The Today Show.

7. Timely = addresses topic that is in the news a lot right now and boy, did we get lucky on the timing.

8. Relevant = we know it’s decades old, but if you strain, you can connect it to something that is in the news a lot right now.

9. Vivid realism = 1) portrays physical violence, 2) portrays gore, or 3) portrays vomiting, or seeks to induce same in audience.

10. Bold = addresses topic satirized by South Park two seasons ago.

11. Imaginative = has a tenuous connection to reality or logic.

12. Rarely performed = it’s not that good, but if we work hard enough, you’ll think it’s relevant.

13. Renowned = we know it, but doubt you do.

14. Epic = butt-burner; use the bathroom at intermission(s) even if you don’t think you have to.

15. Intimate = we needed another two-actor show.

16. Post-modern = the scenes aren’t in chronological order.

17. Impressionistic = 1) impossible to tell where scenes start or end and/or 2) no walls.

18. “If you only see one show this year” = 1) We accept that most people don’t like theatre, but we’d like this to be your annual outing, or 2) this is our only show this year, so other than seeing it, we don’t really care what you do with your spare time and disposable income.

19. “Critics rave” (no supporting quotes) = rave from critics and/or outlets you’ve never heard of.

20. “Critics rave” (with supporting quotes) = 1) we’re concerned you’re too lazy to read what’s below, and 2) with raves like these, why aren’t you buying tickets anyway?

21. Have purchased a full page ad in The New York Times pre-opening = 1) we couldn’t make a promotional deal with a credit card company, or 2) our 42 producers want to see their names in an ad in the Times.

22. Have purchased a full page ad in the Times after good reviews = isn’t this what everyone did in the ‘70s, when we were 12 and we lived for the Sunday “Arts & Leisure” section?

23. Have purchased a full page ad in the Times after bad reviews = we think we can fool you into thinking that critics rave.

24. A non-tri-state regional theatre has purchased an ad in the Sunday Times = won’t you please send a critic out to see our show?

25. New York Times “ABC” ad uses color logo = everyone else is, so I guess we have to, no matter how ugly this now looks and how impossible it is to find actual information, but it’s cheaper than a display ad.

26. Ads promote celebrities who’ve seen it = we just can’t think of any other way to sell this show and thank god our cast has famous friends.

27. Mails an advance postcard advertising discounted previews = Hugh Jackman isn’t in it.

28. Mails a post card just as previews begin = boy, that credit card pre-sale ad really didn’t work, did it?

29. Mails a post card advertising discounts after opening (not so good reviews) = why do you people care what the critics had to say?

30. Mails a post card advertising discounts after opening (good reviews) = don’t you people even care what the critics had to say?

31. From the producers of = you don’t know these people, but there are no recognizable names in the production either, so this way we can at least mention shows you may have heard of.

32. Introducing = this young talent is really the lead in the show, but veteran actors with more credits and recognition snagged top billing.

33. All-star cast (no names listed) = 1) we haven’t finished casting or 2) you’ve never heard of them.

34. Ground-breaking = the author/creators are rather full of themselves or the ad copy writer hasn’t read many plays, as there are no new stories.

35. Seats as low as $59 = however, there are only 20 of these at each performance, and they’re in the last row of the rear mezzanine.

36. Special guest appearance, this week only = “Hey, there’s a reporter with a few lines in the play. Let’s get a real reporter to play the part for some press attention. How much damage can they do?”

37. Successful Off-Broadway run = when used by a regional theatre, it means the show played Off-Broadway (or possibly Off-Off).

38. Hit Off-Broadway run = it extended its original run by two weeks.

39. Long running Off-Broadway hit = it has actually played at least six months. Off-Broadway, but possibly gave only two performances a week (on the set of another show).

40. Winner of [number of] Tony Awards, without noting specific awards = didn’t win best play, musical or revival, awards were in less prominent categories, and/or awards were won by actors no longer in the show.

41. Classic tunes from the American songbook = signals jukebox musical or revue using numbers your grandparents or even great-grandparents used to sing.

42. Shattering box office records week after week = because we keep raising the prices.

43. Join us for post-show discussion every week = 1) commercial production – apparently the show itself just isn’t enough of a draw for you; 2) not-for-profit production – we have a grant for this; in both cases – the show is really short.

44. Devised by [name of theatre group] = we don’t need no stinking 1) playwright and/or 2) director.

45. Devised by [name of individual & name of theatre group] = the first person named gets a bigger cut of the royalties.

46. [Playwright’s name]’s [Title of Famous Play that everyone knows they wrote] = I am fed up with seeing my name reduced to nothing in some “billing box” on the posters.

47. QR code in ads/on poster = 1) we know you’re clever enough to master a smart phone, but worry you can’t retain a URL as simple as [name of theatre/show].com, or 2) Someone is squatting on the obvious URL and we think you’re too lazy to Google for the right one.

48. Facility charge = the theatre owner/operator wants more than just the rent and this is how to do it without sharing it with anyone involved in the production.

49. Service/handling charge =  1) via independent ticketing service = this is how we make our money, even if you are doing all of the work on our automated website, and if you don’t like it you can just haul yourself down to the box office, or 2) via institution’s own box office = we want to generate more revenue without sharing it with royalty participants.

50. Work-in-progress = we know it’s not really finished and we’re hoping you’ll cut us some slack (especially critics) even though we’re charging our regular prices.

If I suddenly disappear, have the detectives begin the search by questioning members of The Broadway League, LORT Managing Directors, ad agency executives, marketing directors and members of ATPAM. It can’t hurt – they’re probably up to something fishy anyway.

I have opined in the past about the dark arts of theatrical billing, marketing and publicity in such posts as This Blog is Prior to Broadway and Blurb. Now, as the holidays approach, I have decided to give you a special gift.

You no longer need to try to parse that brochure, that post card, that press item as just another member of the uninformed masses. No, you can read between the lines by converting shopworn phrases that fill ads, direct mail and online solicitations by using this handy-dandy list, which will surely have me drummed out of the American Academy of Arts Euphemists, a secret society of which you will find no other evidence (we’re that good). Read and learn.

1. Comedy = it’s funny, or intends to be.

2.  Drama = it’s not funny, or doesn’t intend to be.

3. Comedy-drama = there are laughs, but it’s serious minded.

4.  Dark comedy = there are laughs, but it’s really sort of creepy.

5. Black comedy = a) it’s funny, but you wouldn’t bring your mother, or b) it’s really not funny, but we don’t want to admit that and call it a drama.

6.  “It’s about the human condition” = a) we don’t understand it at all, or b) if we told you what it’s actually about, you wouldn’t come.

7.  Play with music = there may be a few songs, but don’t get too excited or expect a cast album.

8.  Musical = it has a bunch of songs and dance.

9.  Musical drama = it has songs, but it’s serious and there’s probably not much dancing.

10.  Music theatre = it’s serious, likely has no hummable tunes, and has movement.

11.  Movement = there’s sort of some dance-like stuff, but don’t expect a production number. (See also, “subliminal choreography,” coined by Ben Brantley in New York Times review of Once.)

12.  Annual tradition = it pays the bills.

13. New version of our annual tradition, A Christmas Carol = a) the royalties on this script are lower than the old one or, b) our artistic director didn’t see why the theatre has to pay someone else royalties for an edit of a public domain novel.

14.  New holiday favorite = a) we’re tired of doing A Christmas Carol but we have to pay the bills so you’re getting this instead, or b) why did Dickens have to use so many characters? This has just one elf. (See also, “One-man Christmas Carol.”)(See also “One-man Christmas Carol adapted and directed by our artistic director.”) (See also, “One-man Christmas Carol adapted by, directed by and featuring our artistic director.”

15.  Crowd-pleasing = the critics won’t or don’t like it. (See also, “281 shows. 281 standing ovations.”)

16.  Heart-warming = tear-jerking.

17.  Brechtian = not heart-warming.

18.  Classic of world literature = a) you should like this because smarter people than you say it’s good, and/or b) didn’t you read this in school?

19.  Rediscovered gem = no one has produced this in decades, maybe centuries, and you never read it in school.

20.  “In the tradition of…” = it’s reminiscent of these other plays that were hits, but isn’t as good as them.

21.  Updated = standard script of a well-known classic lightly sprinkled with jarring references to the Geico gecko, Twitter, and current political candidates, with no one credited for said emendations.

22.  Hip = we dare you to say you don’t understand and/or like it.

23.  Current = people swear.

24. Daring = people swear a lot.

25.  “In the tradition of David Mamet” = people swear constantly.

26.  Family friendly = no one swears.

27.  Family drama = everyone harbors resentments which emerge during birthday/holiday/vacation.

28.  Regional premiere = it’s been done in many other theatres, just not in the immediate area, which may only be a 60 mile radius of the theatre.

29.  Broadway premiere = it’s been done almost everywhere, possibly for years, just not in a Broadway-designated theatre.

30.  New York hit = it was produced somewhere in Manhattan.

31.  New York actor = they live in New York, but aren’t very well-known there.

32.  Broadway actor = they were once in a Broadway show.

33.  Newcomer = just graduated.

34.  Broadway star = terrific actor, but not necessarily a household name or guaranteed box office draw.

35.  Film and/or TV star = may or may not have stage skills or even experience, but everyone knows who they are and wants to see them in the flesh.

36.  Produced in association with [commercial producer] = they gave us a lot of money.

37.  Suggested by Shakespeare’s _____________ = this ain’t Shakespeare. Purists likely to be miserable.

38.  Translated by = this person actually speaks the language used in the original script.

39.  Adapted by = a) this person doesn’t speak the original language in which the play was written or b) this person had made some tweaks to original play, but it’s still pretty much the play you remember.

40.  Freely adapted = you may have trouble recognizing the original play, often because it is now hip or daring.

41.  With a new book = we’ve kept the score, but a) have made significant changes to the story, including removing all of the casual racism that was common in musicals from the 20s and 30s, and b) convinced the family of the original bookwriter that their parent’s work really wasn’t any good and stood in the way of the score ever being heard on stage again.

42.  Two-piano orchestration = You think we can afford all of these actors and an orchestra? Just be happy you’re getting a musical you’ve heard of.

43.  Chamber musical = One piano, maybe a violin, and you’ve never heard of the show. Might be music theater.

44.  Concert-style presentation of a play = scripts on music stands and no one has memorized it, but you’re still paying full price. Cast may be dressed formally, despite actual setting of the piece.

45.  Originally conceived by = if not named in any other credit, this person had an idea but didn’t actually create any part of what’s on stage, is no longer speaking to anyone with billing and may be bringing, or has already brought, legal action (see also: “based on an idea by”).

46.  $30 under 30 = a discount predicated upon our average audience member’s age being at least twice this number.

47.  “__________.com raves” = no print, TV or radio critic liked it.

48.  Limited seating available = we’re selling pretty well, but not so well that we can afford to stop advertising.

49.  Final weeks = a) non-profit meaning: it was always a limited run, but we’ve got lots of tickets left to sell so please buy them, or b) commercial meaning: if you don’t start buying tickets soon, these will be our final weeks.

50.  Extended by popular demand = a) we left extra space in the production schedule because we thought you’d like this one, and b) this is going to help us close our projected deficit for the season.

Have you been bamboozled by, or guilty of obfuscating through, promotional euphemisms? I hope you’ll share other examples below, for the sake of theatergoing humanity.

“Everyone,” I wrote in a tweet to promote my previous blog post, “enjoys a good blurbing now and again.” Although I didn’t mind if someone read some perverse double entendre into “blurbing,” it was neither euphemism nor metaphor. I was referring to the time-honored and oft-criticized practice of skillfully extracting positive phrases from arts reportage or critique in order to employ them in service of marketing a show. As a former “flack” (if we’re going with slang, I’m going all the way), I gave good blurb; it was part of my job. When I left Hartford Stage, the graphic designer who did our print ads presented me with a framed “Ellipsis Award,” for the most skillful use of those three dots, which could cover a multitude of sins and through which one could, if they chose, drive a figurative truck.

I have not personally practiced the dark arts of blurbing, nor craftily employed the ellipsis, professionally for almost 20 years. Yet just as many came before me, others have followed, and publicists and marketers still employ “pull quotes” for press releases, ads, brochures, and the like with skill and abandon, all to pull in the rubes (that’s carny slang for marketing).

I have watched the quotes themselves grow larger as attributions grow smaller; in some cases ads are designed to appear as if the uniformly glowing words at the top are quotes, when in fact they carry neither the necessary punctuation or any source. The pinnacle (or nadir) of this practice came when a Hollywood studio was revealed to have invented both a critic and a press outlet solely for the purpose of manufacturing positive blurbs.

Several decades ago, those of us inside Hartford Stage would have philosophical discussions about the use of blurbs, as well as my artful insertion of ellipses that turned positive words into enthusiastic ones. Wouldn’t the people who saw the ads realize the quote had been subtly manipulated? No, we decided, since no one was likely to have saved the original copy  (remember, pre-internet). Wasn’t the ellipsis itself tipping people off? No, because frankly most people didn’t study them them as we did (and besides, to use an excuse popular in so many situations, everyone else was doing it). Wasn’t using quotes reinforcing the importance of critics, when we wanted audiences to decide for themselves?

To that last question, the answer, to our own chagrin, was yes. We were emphasizing critical opinion for our marketing needs. We had to. Why? Well here it is again: because everyone else was. Blurbs, pull quotes, what have you – they were a necessity. We believed that if a show had opened and we couldn’t feature at last one positive quote from a prominent media outlet in our advertising, the audience would be convinced the show was a dog. Even after the show had closed, we used those blurbs again: in subscription brochures, in grant applications, in annual reports. Blurbs were crack and we were hooked.

25 years later, little has changed, even if the media has. Despite the ability of anyone with a computer to locate a complete review, blurbs, be they accurate or artful, proliferate. The brevity of Twitter facilitates such practice. Even though the original context can be quickly recalled on Google, we still cling to quotes in our marketing, embracing reviews even as (and thus was also always the case) we often vilify the source, namely the critic.

This paradox is at the center of arts marketing. We do everything we can to make our productions critic-proof, yet we throw our arms wide open the moment a critic, any critic, praises the work.  If we bitch about critical power, why do we reinforce it? In brainstorming sessions, over drinks, we dream of cutting the cord, going cold turkey and abandoning quotes in our ads, but we can’t do it. We need our fix and seem convinced that our audiences do as well. As subscription rates have, overall, declined, blurb-laden ads are perhaps more needed (we think) than ever, since single ticket sales have reasserted themselves in our economic models (as they have always done in the case of commercial work).

I will paraphrase the producer Kevin McCollum here, only because I’m not positive I recall this comment precisely: “We are the only business that decides what to do tomorrow based on how we did it yesterday.” And indeed, we in the age of the internet deploy blurbs just as they were used by hucksters a century ago, locked in a perpetual cycle of believing that outside affirmation is the best, and perhaps only, means of assigning value to our work in order to lure audiences.

I’m not raising the paradox to pan critics; in fact I think we must do all we can to insure that full-length reviews written with intelligence and care remain part of the arts landscape. However, the attention span of both editors and consumers seem to favor ever briefer consideration of the arts – which are then further reduced to a ranking of so many stars on a scale, or a subjective, simplistic thumbs up/thumbs down summary by third party aggregators. Arts writing is coming to us pre-blurbed.

In a world of new and ever-evolving media, we are mired in an archaic marketing technique which has, to my knowledge, no empirical proof that it even works. Blurb if you must, but can’t we do better? Or are we just a …. bunch of … addicts?

This post originally appeared on the 2amtheatre website.

As a result of fairly assiduous Twitter use, I have a very respectable score on Klout. However, now that Klout is about to start factoring in FourSquare activity, I have begun “checking in” these past few days, though I registered at least a year ago and find it somewhat juvenile (Badges? I don’t need no stinking badges). I am one of the select 10 million (an oxymoron to be sure) who has secured a Google+ account, however thus far I have made but a single post, comparing the coming Facebook/Google+ wars to the VHS/Beta wars of some two decades ago. I make only the occasional Facebook post, but at least I no longer restrict my friends to those I met in school. I keep up on LinkedIn, but only connect to people with whom I have genuinely worked, to maintain the integrity of the platform. My PeerIndex score is lousy, due I believe, to a tech error (reported, unresolved) that leaves out the vast majority of my Twitter activity. I’ve largely given up on Quora, because the questions being posed in the areas where I have some expertise are predominantly: a) subjective, b) silly and c) reminiscent of the Monty Python “How To Do It” sketch which offered simple instructions on things like how to be a gynecologist. I captured one of the free Spotify accounts earlier this week due to a car company promotion (I already forget the brand, and I don’t own or intend to buy a car anyway), although I have listened to only a single song.

Enough?

Let me also remind you that these are all personal accounts, as I’m in a job transition. So all of the above is either building my personal brand, providing fun as I decompress from a series of stressful jobs, or completely wasting time that I could be using more productively.

If this is what I’m facing, I can’t help but wonder how arts organizations are wading through the developing, churning world of social media, since every week seems to produce a new site or app designed to revolutionize how we relate to each other, be it as individuals, businesses & patrons, artists & audiences, and so on.

Traditionally, arts organizations haven’t been early technological adopters, largely because of a lack of internal expertise and the high cost of entry. I am old enough to remember Hartford Stage’s first fax machine (a wonder), first computer network (so much better than electric typewriters), first Mac and desktop publishing software (which we discovered didn’t actually design things for us) and first computerized ticketing system (somebody else’s headache, but terrific). But that technological adoption, in the latter half of the 1980s (e-mail became a standard while I was at Goodspeed Musicals), seems slow by the standards of today.

One significant factor in today’s more rapid adoption is that of cost. The most prevalent tools of communication at the moment, many name-checked above, are free. If you’ve got a computer and internet access (and for real convenience, a smartphone as well), you’ve pretty much got what your organization needs to jump into the fray.

But the challenge is deciding whether to do so or when to do so. Certainly if a promising new service appears that requires you to secure your company’s name from squatters (remember the domain name rush that characterized the spread of the internet itself?), it should be done right away. But beyond that, there needs to be a certain amount of wait and see.

If your organization has an in-house IT department (now the norm at large not-for-profits), there are probably one or more technologically savvy individuals forever lobbying every department about a new tool that can make their work more efficient, from the newest in collaborative CAD programs to online donation systems. Development, marketing and p.r. departments are watching social media in particular, both to give the organization an edge and to show the public that the organization has an edge.

But it has generally been acknowledged that just as freedom isn’t free, neither is social media. The cost is one of time and brainpower: does the organization have someone on staff who has the conceptual and technical savvy to figure out how to best use the cascading platforms? Can the organization afford to give over a portion of the time of an existing staffer to that pursuit, or to hire someone to focus exclusively on this area? Is the cost-value equation favorable for being active and meaningful on multiple platforms? What is the ultimate goal for the organization?

I am hardly the first person to pose these questions. Indeed, my Twitter feed is bombarded by advice — and solicitations to pay for advice — on how to best utilize these resources. In fact, I’m pretty stunned by the number of people who proclaim themselves as social media experts or gurus, in a field that is, in terms of widespread awareness and usage, maybe six or seven years old. I’m not being dismissive of true experts and explorers, as I’ve spoken with some very shrewd folks, but just as companies paid a fortune for their first websites because the practice of building them was so new, I fear the ratio of people with true insight to those who merely post a lot on Facebook poses risks for less sophisticated groups who feel they may be missing an important trend.

So I want to offer a single piece of pragmatic advice about adopting a new platform or, as the once dominant MySpace has shown, when to abandon one. That advice is to analyze, in a full organizational survey, why you’re doing it. What do you hope to achieve? Can the platform conceivably do what you want? Has it reached a tipping point where more than just first-adopters are playing with it?

As an aside, I should say that in most cases, the leaders of large organizations are ill-equipped to make these decisions, because they haven’t the time to understand these new forms of media themselves. They know how to search on Google, they can click on the link for a funny YouTube video, they may have a personal Facebook page, but their jobs don’t afford them the time to delve deeply into these areas. Indeed, I fear that many of them feel they are above it; at a recent LORT conference, I did a show of hands survey of managers asking how many knew their organizations were using social media, and how many had their own presence. Many hands appeared for the first question, but few remained up after the second. Yet these platforms are not just “for the kids,” and they certainly shouldn’t be relegated to intern-level responsibility, as is so often the case. This will change over time, as succeeding generations will take social media as simply the norm, not innovation.

Social media, like it or not, is transforming how people relate to each other, to the businesses they frequent and the organizations where they participate and which they may support. It is ignored at its own peril, but it is also embraced, if not with danger, then with caution.

While adopting a child is significantly more profound on many lives, adoption of social media platforms demands some marginally equivalent level of self-scrutiny and awareness. Otherwise, your organization will find itself making errors in public perception and in allocation of resources. And as we’re learning again and again, we post, tweet and share at our own risk. If a twitter revolution can ostensibly bring down a dictator, think what could happen if you use it wrong – or it turns on you, like an ungrateful child.

P.S. Those who found this essay online probably find it to be obvious, or old news, precisely because you’re far enough into the social world to be ahead of the thinking herein. But perhaps you have some discussion to provoke within your organization, or someone to persuade. Maybe this can help.

This post originally appeared on the 2amtheatre website.