I know, I know, sometimes they’re just kidding around. The people doing it on Twitter yesterday probably were (though on that platform, without emoticons, it’s sometimes hard to tell). But for every playful exchange, there’s a pedantic discussion about origins, venues, style books, nationalities and so on…and on and on. I refer, of course, to the ongoing “re” versus “er” contretemps over the spelling of the art form in which I have made my career, which, for the purpose of this essay, I will avoid naming, lest I be seen as a partisan.
One can only marvel at the evergreen nature of this tedious discussion. There are those who wish to make it an “American” versus “British” skirmish, entirely avoiding the fact that we a) both speak English, and b) the “re” spelling would seemingly have its roots in France in any event. People argue passionately that the “correct” usage is “er” when referring to a venue but “re” when discussing the making of the art itself (or is it the other way around?). Some helpless folk like myself have worked for companies that each spell it differently, and therefore have to assimilate to another “house style” every few years; as a result, I cannot manage any individual consistency, consequently abandoning any personal position on the matter. The all-powerful Google will often field search results in differing orders depending upon which spelling you opt for.
If you happen to be part of the profession in New York, the question is sometimes decided for you. The New York Times — which acquiesces to the wish of a rock band that opts to name itself “Fun.” with the period as part of the name (which just stumped my spell-check) to the horror, I’m sure, of the puncuationalist academy; which freely refers to “Lady” Gaga when her honorific is self-imposed rather than a birthright or a legal name, as it did years before for the comedian Lord Buckley — is quite clear on the “er”/”re” divide. The only accepted spelling at the Times is “er,” even if you happen to be a company whose very name has chosen the “re” option. At that paper, and perhaps others, this is non-negotiatble.
I grow weary of this petty debate, if only because, be it on blogs (and I can’t believe I’m wasting time on it) or tiny tweets, it just keeps going and going like some bizarre Energizer bunny in an etymologist’s recurring nightmare. There are so many more pressing issues: are dramatic companies still producing work of relevance? Will we ever conquer the racial and gender inequality that pervades our business? How will we insure a passion for the form in future generations when it is out of reach economically for so many and removed from school curriculums? Can the rising costs of production and adnministration be contained in a way that insures access while providing a living for those who choose to toil in this field? Aren’t these topics what are worth even our brief time instead of the round-robin minutiae of what order two letters should appear in?
Some time back, I jokingly suggested on Twitter that perhaps we adopt a different solution, and start referring to it all as “teatro,” but I realize that this will only spark further nationalistic and provincial dissension on this so-far-from-pressing-it’s-ridiculous topic. But now I believe I have stumbled upon the ideal solution.
Theatr.
It can be used in all English speaking countries, is pronounced the same as the words we already use (since only spelling is at issue), and maybe even the countries that use the romance languages can twist their tongues around it without sacrificing their indigenous patois. At a time when we need unity on the dramatic form and the work that underpins it, perhaps this can be our rallying point, our common principle. If we can shorten “web log” to “blog” and crown unwanted e-mails as “spam” even when they are not a processed meat food, we can – much as “Mrs.” transformed or birthed “Ms.” some 40 years ago to dispatch a paternalistic strain in our culture – eliminate a ponderous and seemingly intractable debate simply by discarding a spare vowel.
I have made the first step. Whether I am innovator or crank, at least I offer you a passage out of inane rivalry and dispute. Do with it what you will.
In the meantime, whatever your decision, I look forward to seeing you at the theatr.
In 30+ years of attending professional theatre, I have to say that more often than not – Broadway excluded – I am shown to my seat by a volunteer usher. On balance, volunteer ushers have been the norm at theatres where I have worked, or that I have run. They provide an enormous budgetary savings to the institution or venue and they usually want only one thing in return: that when the show isn’t sold out, they can watch. That only makes sense; otherwise they might choose to volunteer in other disciplines, say at schools so they can work with young people, at health care centers so they can brighten the days of those who are invalids, and so on. But odds are, they’re there because they love theatre (and may not be able to afford to see it any other way).
According to a report in today’s Buffalo News, Anthony Conte of Shea’s Performing Arts Center doesn’t want his ushers to sit down. He is quoted as saying, “The very first thing I said when I came here was, ‘If you volunteer to see a show for free, I would ask you to please leave.’ And I believe that. Anyone who comes here because they want to see a show for free should not be coming.” It’s a harsh statement, but it’s his absolute right to say so, and he reiterates the sentiment later in the article, saying that customer service is his first priority.
I agree with him in general about customer service. But when it comes to volunteer ushers, we come from different worlds, it seems. I say, if there are seats, let them sit – and I don’t even care how old they are, an issue the article plays up. If they’re bartering their services to you – namely their work as ushers – then reciprocity seems essential, and that should come in the form of being able to see the show when the house isn’t sold out.
I’m well aware of some of the challenges of using a largely volunteer house staff – they don’t all follow instructions to the letter, you struggle with last minute cancellations, they want to be assigned to locations near their friends, they can’t be counted on to always spout, or even know, the company’s party line about productions. That’s part of the trade off, but what you can gain is a group of passionate individuals out in your community who speak with vigor and a sense of belonging about your venue. What you may lose in pitch-perfect customer service you may gain in community relations and marketing.
Having run a resident company in neighboring Rochester for a few years, I am well aware of upstate New York’s economic challenges, now hardly different than the rest of the country. I also know that there is a tradition of theatergoing in those communities, once standard touring stops 75 years ago for tours that often featured the original Broadway casts. That tradition remains, and it’s tremendous that there are so many people who want to support your work, especially since the loss of Studio Arena a few years ago.
In my opinion, the choice here is simple: either let your volunteers sit (unless there are other necessary tasks to be undertaken), or stand at the back or sides – or start paying them. If you want a certain level of behavior, if you want accountability for behavior, that’s why you pay people; it compels their compliance with practice and policy. Now I know how expensive that can be, especially when staffing a hall of some 3100 seats, but you are in fact staffing it, while apparently denying any quid pro quo in the process.
As I write, I’ve found it unable to avoid words like staff and work, because that is what these volunteers do. If you expect them to do it for nothing, simply out of their own altruism, then you may have to wrestle with a diminished usher corps, reduced attention to customers, resentment in your community, troubles with your local fire department (if they require a certain number of staff at specified positions), and perhaps even a visit from the labor board (after all, you can’t even call these internships with a straight face).
We all rely on volunteers in one way or another in the arts, but it’s essential that they be respected and even honored for the assistance they give our companies. Heck, it even costs them money to volunteer, since they may have to drive and park, or take mass transit, in order to show up. If letting volunteers fill empty seats is too much to ask, too unprofessional, then the way is clear – hire professionals (who may well be your current volunteers), and hope your former ushers want (and are able) to buy tickets to see the shows they so want to enjoy.
Even as I wrote this, I was receiving tweets saying that seated ushers are not disruptors of the theatre experience — it’s latecomers who expect to be seated whenever they arrive. Fascinating.
If a 49-year-old person suddenly announced one day that they were terminally ill and committed suicide the following day, you’d be stunned. And that seems to be the prevailing sentiment in press coverage about the sudden closure this past weekend of the Vancouver Playhouse in British Columbia, Canada, just one year shy of its own half-century mark. That said, the press coverage that’s emerging notes that the financial problems of the theatre were not unknown, so this is more akin to someone who knew they were sicker than most may have been willing to believe, and that their self-directed passing was driven by a desire to neither take on, or impose, any further burden. In a sad irony, it had one production left this season: God of Carnage.
From the vantage point of New York, why should I care about what has happened in Vancouver? Because it is neither the first regional theatre to close in recent years and it will not be the last. I cannot pass judgment on the decision of the company’s board to close, I cannot effectively analyze the factors that led to the company’s significant financial distress. I can only marvel at what was by all accounts a sudden endgame, even if there had been portents for some time. The closing of the Vancouver Playhouse evokes other examples here in the U.S. – The Intiman in Seattle and Theatre de la Jeune Lune in Minneapolis are two that spring to mind – but the fact is that there are theatres closing constantly these days, and while the world economic downturn is surely a major factor, it cannot be the sole reason.
As Michael Crichton wrote in his thriller Airframe, no single mishap brings about a plane crash; it is instead a series of events stemming (often) from a single fault, snowballing into an “event cascade.” If you prefer a human metaphor, I’ll give you a simpler one courtesy of Dr. Sherwin Nuland in How We Die: we die when we stop taking in oxygen, everything else leads up to that point, and in business, commercial or not-for-profit, money is oxygen. When it runs out, time is up.
As companies large and small close, there is often an enormous amount of hindsight: about the cultural loss, about the decisions that led to the closing, about whether different steps could have or should have been taken, even whether the company can be revived. Certainly organizations that announce a death watch – “We need $1 million by June 30 or we’ll have to close” – put a very specific goal and timetable on their distress, in hope of driving a campaign or surfacing a heretofore unknown benefactor. Other companies slash staff and productions, but in many cases that diminishment only serves to lessen the work that might draw audience or donors. We hear of victories and life goes on – witness Pasadena Playhouse – while others fail to succeed and pass into memory, preserved in the minds of their audiences and artists for a generation or two. Perhaps their existence is recorded in annals like Theatre World or local newspaper archives, but the reveries are quickly overtaken by more current events, by companies that emerge as viable entertainment alternatives, by the pharmacy that sets up shop in the building that was once home to great art.
I have lost friends and family to illness with shockingly little notice and I regret that I did not have the time for closure with them. Whatever has taken place in Vancouver this past weekend, it afforded audiences in general and the arts community in particular no time to prepare for the hole that was to be left so suddenly, which is why crowds gathered outside the theatre on its closing night on Saturday and why others gather as I write to read plays at the site of the now shuttered company. Would more alarm have helped save the company, or would it simply have given time for everyone to prepare both professionally and emotionally for the inevitable? I can’t say.
But maybe, just maybe, we need to know if our institutions are in death throes, maybe a stoic, silent walk to the gallows or hope against hope for divine intervention benefits no one. I once literally had to appeal to the state’s governor to save a venue I ran, and I wasn’t shy about saying that the company would close if promised funding wasn’t forthcoming; the proverbial death chamber stay of execution did come and that company survives more than a decade later. Yes, it’s embarrassing to admit failings, but isn’t the best time to own up to them before it’s too late for any possible salvation? Maybe the arts – their staffs, their creative artists and their boards of directors, as well as the media that cover them – have to start keening as loudly as possible before there’s a death, not after, however unseemly it might be. It doesn’t always work, to be sure, but will it hurt?
Among the presentations, I have to say that the one which most affected me was the hip-hop editorial by Matt Sax (@MattSax), who has created and performed in the shows Clay and Venice. While I am slightly out of hip-hop’s target demo, Matt’s rhythmic commentary on his Broadway experiences past, present and future galvanized me and thrilled the audience as well (though the lack of audience miking doesn’t do our response justice). You can watch on YouTube to see his performance or view it below (he does two pieces; I’m focused on the second one), but the words alone have enormous power. Matt was generous enough to transcribe his handwritten work and give me permission to reproduce it. I suspect you may find it eminently quotable.
Bravo, Matt!
* * *
tedxbroadway – 2012
by Matt Sax
Twenty years ago I saw my first Broadway show
The Secret Garden starring John Cameron Mitchell
who would have known, twelve years later Mr. Mitchell
would give me a carwash in the 2nd row
after that first show I devoured scores day by day.
Memorized every lyric on the Great White Way
Was entranced by the majesty – whether comedy or tragedy
I’d imagine showsin my mind doing the play by play.
I knew my fate was sealed by the time I was ten
didn’t know how to begin, only knew I had to get in.
My dreams were affected like never before
wanted to put on a mask – I couldn’t sleep no more
So I trained to be an actor. A serious actor…who sings
but soon I knew I also wanted to create puppet strings
See I’m a product of a generation of entitled, impatient, apathetic,
lazy children who all feel alone… We created the internet
so we wouldn’t have to leave home. We are also brave
and process information differently
We combine multiple mediums
From rap shows to symphonies
We see music visually and hear images implicitly
We cross genre boundaries, prone to eccentricity
We’re a generation who tweets about the skeletons in our closet for recreation
We all have a voice and are prone to speak with exclamations
I AM not a hipster
or a skater
or a thug
or a hater
I AM a great creator and I love the-ator
So where is Broadway going? What is the best it can be?
I think embracing this culture is a necessity.
I hate to say this – but Broadway is looking too much like Vegas
Retreads of old movies are never going to save us.
We need to look closer at the entertainment we’re affording them
We need to get back to creating stars instead of just importing them
And I believe in the importance of critics for chronicling our theatrical history –
But it can’t be that our collective fates are only written by Isherwood or Brantley
We ALL have a voice and we’re not afraid – look
what critic is gonna argue with a million “likes” on facebook?
We’re still in the world wild west where the internet’s free
And because of this the artists have a chance to shape the industry
Its important I swear
the opportunity’s there
to be at the forefront of pop culture
instead of in the rearview mirror
If I’m a little naïve – okay – I know the dollar is important
but for the future of our business we’re alienating people who can’t afford it.
As long as we create shows for only people who can see them
we run the risk of transforming the theatre into a museum.
Today we are willing to pay but expect content for free
so I say we take our Broadway shows and stream them live for a small fee
It’ll expand our reach. A million people watching in Dubai
maybe could save us from the fate of Bonnie and Clyde
I know the finances suck. How can we create a show that sells
when the NY non-for profit houses can’t produce a musical without commercial help?
It’s a different world now and I have to say
we can have people’s ears and hearts before they or we have to pay.
and before the purists scream at me and cry out
fuck out of town, give me an internet tryout
Everyone’s online, from 90 year old jewish women to toddlers
so lets get the public’s opinion before we drop a million dollars.
And so twenty years from now, what do I imagine Broadway to be?
Well I hope and pray that future will include me.
Galinda wants to be popular and so do we. I want to hear
our songs on the radio and keep seeing them on TV
I want Broadway’s reach to expand past the nation
it’s my goal to tell stories to inspire my generation.
And I am humbled to be in the presence of all these people out here
it is an honor and a privilege to have pirated your ears.
“Can’t believe that a MAJOR theater is producing [play title redacted]. Crazy talk. Does its “non-profit” mission mandate producing community theatre?”
I know. It’s just a tweet. Let it go. But it’s emblematic of bias I read and hear constantly. It’s about time I said something.
I would like everyone to stop using “community theatre” as a punch line or punching bag.
As people with a vested interest in building and sustaining interest in theatre, pretty much everyone in the business is supportive of and in many cases evangelical for arts education. We applaud academic drama programs and productions from kindergarten to graduate school, recognizing that such programs can give voice to the next generation of artists as well as the next generation of audiences. We decry funding cuts to such programs for their impact on creative as well as intellectual development. Of late, there is also recognition that these programs may offer refuge to those who seem “different” from student bodies at large, safe havens from predatory classmates (“bully” seems a bit tame these days) among those similarly inclined, close-knit teams for those who shy away from sports.
But once school is over, those whose lives and careers take them away from the arts, but whose love of performing doesn’t abate, become part of a maligned yet integral part of the theatrical ecosystem which, when spoken of by most professionals and media voices, is summarily disparaged. Why on earth does this happen, and why is it allowed to propagate?
While I’m quite certain there are some fairly sophisticated community theatre groups, I’ll cede the point that a great deal of the work done in community theatre likely doesn’t measure up to professional, or perhaps even collegiate, standards. But that’s not the point of it. If the participants wanted to be professionals, they might be pursuing those goals; perhaps some of them did, and didn’t succeed. But I’m willing to go out on a limb and say that the majority of the participants in community theatre never sought a professional theatre career, and are happy to be teachers, dentists, attorneys, mechanics, stay-at-home parents or what have you. The fact is, community theatre is a hobby, a passion and an outlet for people who truly love theatre; it’s the bowling league, the weekly pick-up basketball game, the book group for the performance minded. The participants are, I’m willing to bet, ticket buyers at local theatres, tourists who flock to Broadway or national tours, parents who encourage creativity in their own children. In some cases they may even provide the only theatre their community gets to see. They are the people we need.
Drawing on data from the American Association of Community Theatres website, which surely doesn’t include every community group out there, we know that AACT itself “represents the interests of more than 7,000 theatres across the United States and its territories, as well as theatre companies with the armed forces overseas.” They claim more than 1.5 million volunteers [participants], over 46,000 annual productions per year, an audience of 86 million and a combined annual budget of well over $980 million. That’s a lot of theatrical activity.
Before you accuse me of being a hypocrite, I will admit to enjoying Waiting for Guffman, an at times cringe-worthy satire of community theatre and a touchstone for many in the business now for a number of years. But like other Christopher Guest films, particularly Best in Show and A Mighty Wind, Guffman is an affectionate and at times absurdist view, which celebrates the passions of its offbeat thespians just as it lampoons them. There is no such affection in the tweet quoted above, or in the often-used critical riposte that labels sub-standard professional work as approximate to that seen in community theatre.
A couple of years ago, when I worked on the American Theatre Wing’s book The Play That Changed My Life, I was struck by the fact that this collection of independently written essays ended up including several paeans to community theatre, with both Beth Henley and Sarah Ruhl writing about how their parents’ community theatre experiences informed their own theatrical lives; Chris Durang wrote of play readings held in his living room which transformed his mother and the local newspaper editor into the elegant personages of a Noel Coward play one afternoon. Surely these are not unique stories. I even had my own experience with community theatre, when at age 16 I successfully landed the role of Motel in Fiddler on the Roof (playing opposite a 27-year-old school teacher); to be a high schooler cast amongst adults was my own moment of breaking into the big leagues at that stage in my life. Community theater can matter.
Let me swerve to a corollary issue, also invoked by the opening tweet, which is the suggestion that certain plays belong solely to the community theatre repertoire (I redacted the play named in the tweet because I don’t care to debate its relative merits, but rather address the broader issue). “Community theatre plays” share a common trait with many “high school plays,” in that both often feature large casts, casts that most professional theatres would happily employ if they could afford it. But because for these groups, inclusion is essential, both in a desire to be welcoming and because inclusion can drive ticket sales, the large-scale plays common to the mainstream theatre in the 1920s, 30s and 40s, and the larger scaled musicals from across the past 100 years are staples. The value of the pieces should not be diminished because they flourish in these non-professional settings; they may not always be the most current work (though, again, I know many community groups do recent, smaller plays too), but their only opportunity to be seen may be in the community theatre arena.
Size isn’t the only issue; current tastes dismissively relegate shows to “community theatre” status as well. You Can’t Take It With You stumbled on a recent effort at Broadway, but surely Kaufman and Hart, staples in community and school theatre, are no less important because of it. Neil Simon is not in critical or commercial favor right now, so his work can be tarred with the “community” slander, but if the upcoming West End production of The Sunshine Boys, with no less than Richard Griffiths in the cast, proves revelatory, a shroud may yet be lifted from Simon’s bust in the theatrical pantheon. We’ve seen somewhat of the same thing happen recently in England with the long out-of-favor Terence Rattigan; the acclaimed David Cromer attempted Simon’s resuscitation on Broadway a couple of years ago but was undone by finances. The non-profit theatre producing a “community theatre” play should be applauded for reexamining a work not often professionally staged — at least until it opens; then judge it on its own merits, not on a collective and peremptory assumption about its worth. There’s a corollary in “family” or “children’s” theatre, where You’re A Good Man Charlie Brown and Annie are seen as staples, yet those shows weren’t written for or sold to children in their original runs any more than Wicked is subsisting solely on sales to 14-year-old girls today, as some would ignorantly suggest. This reductive labeling is detrimental on so many levels.
We are part of an industry that constantly worries about its future, but can be our own worst enemy. By slagging community theatre, we’re undercutting our own best interests and evidencing our own cultural elitism; by allowing others to do so we join the juvenile yet dangerous bullies who taunted us in high school — by doing the same to adults whose only wrong is to enjoy doing that which we’ve made our careers. Even if you’ve never uttered a word against community theatre, but merely have never given it a moment’s thought, you are doing it disservice. Is theatre so healthy that we can afford to be so blithely arrogant?
In this post, I have chosen not to name a particular show to which I allude because my thoughts pertain to a very brief moment in the production. While you may be able to identify it, I am not writing theatrical criticism and don’t want my response to perhaps 30 seconds of stage time to be misconstrued as applicable to the entire evening.
I am not often moved to anger at the theatre. I may be disappointed in a show, annoyed by a directorial concept, discomfited by a noisy patron or shallow legroom, but I don’t usually get so irate that I am mentally jolted out of the production at hand and need time to settle myself down. But it happened last week.
While the production had updated a classic musical with many assorted contemporary references, what had me seeing red were fleeting one-liners at the expense of three recent Republican presidential candidates, including Rick Santorum. Was I upset because I support that individual or his competitors? No. Haven’t I laughed at jokes about them in other circumstances? Yes. So why was I deeply incensed? I was upset by the context of the comments, namely in the midst of a family-friendly musical. I think they were probably insulting and upsetting to some in the audience. And I’d like those people to keep going to theatre, even if I don’t share their entire worldview.
I read a great deal online about various theatrical issues, audience development being one and political theatre being another, and I am personally supportive of both. I think political drama and comedy can indeed have an effect beyond theatre’s four walls. Whether it’s as explicitly political as David Hare’s Stuff Happens, as subtle (save for the title) as Richard Nelson’s That Hopey-Changey Thing, or as socially aware as Mike Daisey’s The Agony and The Ecstasy of Steve Jobs, I think the theatre is a great forum for political topics (funny how my three examples are all from New York’s Public Theater). As for audience development, I think every theatre professional must (if they are not already) be constantly thinking about the needs and interests of audiences both current and future, as our art form must gain support from both ticket buyers and donors alike, not just for today, but ad infinitum.
So why did a couple of jokes that would go unremarked if heard on The Daily Show or Saturday Night Live get me riled? Precisely because I wasn’t watching those shows and neither was anyone else in the audience. I was happily watching a show which had absolutely nothing to do with the current political or social situation in America when these random gag lines flew out from the stage, displaying utter contempt for anyone in the audience who might actually support those individuals.
This is hardly an isolated incident, as I’ve been at events where a speaker suddenly inserts this type of joke to get a laugh; I’ve seen it woven into the scripts of awards shows or deployed by recipients of those awards. Frankly, it gets me pissed off every time. I’m barraged by it on Twitter and Facebook from people I follow or friend because of their theatrical interests, rather than their politics, but there it is more akin to a comment between acquaintances, and I can always opt out of my online relationship if someone becomes overbearing.
But why do theatre people, who strive to sell tickets and build audiences, participate in these drive-by insults of some portion of their audiences? Surely they must realize that, especially when dealing with a few hundred or more people at once, not everyone follows the same political bent, no more than they should assume everyone is from the same culture or the same religion (unless they have explicitly targeted a narrowly defined audience). They’re not going to suddenly trigger an epiphany, and if the goal is to appeal to audiences, why show disdain for those who might think differently on some topics?
Theatre affords those who work in it the opportunity to weave stories that communicate emotions, ideas, concerns with artistry and skill. By tossing out topical political jokes shorn of context, we play at being witty or current but only succeed in reinforcing the stereotypes that some would throw at us: lefty, radical, socialist, elitist, godless – what have you. In those moments, we achieve nothing but a fleeting laugh and the affection of the like-minded — and perhaps the eternal enmity of some of those we otherwise claim to court.
If we believe that among the dramatic forms, theatre is the most immediate and complex; if we believe that theatre must remain vital while the electronic media continues to encroach upon our territory and our audiences – then we mustn’t sacrifice our greater interests for an easy guffaw. If we wish, we can (and should) create works which rail against the status quo or those who would seek to diminish some in our society, we can make bold (or careful) and emotional appeals on those topics which we believe to be important. But when we stoop to irrelevant one-liners we play the very game of distortion and insult that I hope we all deplore in the political arena itself, a game which is reportedly turning off the populace in droves. We are better than that and, if we’re creative enough about it, if we use the narrative and rhetorical skills that we have in abundance, perhaps we can in fact change a few minds – all the while insuring that our audiences remain willing to go to the theatre many more times.
Now let me say that I think Baldwin is a terrific performer, especially since he has discovered his greatest effect comes as a character actor, not as the leading man he was once promoted to be. Whether in dramatic roles or comic, he’s brilliant, with both a dark edge and a mischievous glint that serves most every part he plays these days.
He has also put himself forward as a spokesman and participant in many arts causes. Offhand, I can think of his advocacy for Lincoln Center (even getting it worked into one of his commercial gigs), radio host for the New York Philharmonic, interviewer for a WNYC podcast, major donor to the Hamptons Film Festival, and fundraiser for a variety of arts causes (even doing an event for the small but feisty Two River Theatre Company in New Jersey). I have no doubt I’ve missed many things.
Yet I have to express my concern over the “optics” of Mr. Baldwin as one of the leading national spokespeople on behalf of the arts. The American Airlines incident, whatever the truth of it, wasn’t pretty, nor was Mr. Baldwin’s use of his celebrity status to go on Saturday Night Live days later to bolster his image and further reduce that of the airline (which has its own issues to be sure). There was the public flirtation with a New York mayoral run, which garnered headlines because of his celebrity (though seemingly far more for his declared interest than for his ultimate decision to drop the idea), yet had a dilettantish air about it, as if public service is something to be toyed with. Let’s not forget the publicity years back surrounding his promise to move to Canada if George W. Bush was elected president; we know what happened to the residency of both Mr. Bush and Mr. Baldwin, and only one moved anywhere. The divorce and custody battle with Kim Basinger was as ugly a public split as I can recall.
I don’t doubt Mr. Baldwin’s commitment to the arts and I know that when it comes to celebrity coverage, there are far too many sides to, and versions of, the same story, be it professional or personal. I also don’t want to in any way suggest that Mr. Baldwin doesn’t have every right to say whatever he wants about his politics, his ideals, and his beliefs – and I accept that as a talented actor who has achieved real celebrity, his comments will reach vastly more people than, say, this blog. Only days ago, Nicholas Kristof wrote in The New York Times about celebrities whose commitment to and knowledge of social causes must be taken seriously.
But I worry that in employing Mr. Baldwin as a national spokesman at a prestigious policy event, the messenger obscures the message. As someone who believes that the arts should not be a political plaything, I fear that Mr. Baldwin will be unable to preach to anyone but the converted, and that whatever the value of his words may be, they will be overshadowed by his public persona. Of course the irony is that it is his fame (coupled with his evident commitment to the arts) which resulted in his invitation in the first place. Just as I cannot bear to listen to anything the belligerent political pretender Donald Trump has to say about government policy (as recently as this morning on his subservient enabler, NBC), I don’t think any conservative, and perhaps many moderate, individuals will place much stock in Mr. Baldwin’s speech for the arts. He is, to my regret, a flawed vessel for an essential message.
I don’t advocate the replacement of Mr. Baldwin for the Hanks Lecture and I am eager to both hear his speech and see the resultant attention to it; disinviting him would only bring more attention to the ideological rift in this country over the value of the arts, in both policy and practice. But as we continue to fight for the value of the arts both in education and in American life, we need a genuinely bi-partisan approach and I hope that more celebrities committed to the arts and arts education – those with perhaps less baggage than Mr. Baldwin – with join the fight as publicly and frequently as he has, so we can grab the essential and elusive media attention, but then focus the country on what is being said, not on the speaker.
An unadorned, declarative headline, a basic thesis. But I feel compelled to state that theatre is, in fact, good. It is inventive, simple, thought-provoking, shocking, challenging, entertaining, comforting, educational, cultural, popular, necessary, surprising, ritualistic, original, familiar, compelling, relaxing, perfect, messy. It is and must be for all ages, all religions, all races, all classes, all incomes, all locations. It can be grand or intimate. It is, as a form of creative expression, essential. It is, unfortunately, relegated to niche status by far too many. If you do not believe this, there’s probably little that follows that will be of much interest to you, though I hope you’ll stick around anyway.
So I repeat: theater and the practice of making theatre is good. That applies to all theatre, under whatever auspices it comes to life — save that it adhere to the beginning of the Hippocratic oath, by doing no harm, in process or content. This is what I believe.
Why the declaration? Because as someone who enjoys attending theatre, reading about theatre and discussing theatre (online and face to face), as someone who has made my life in theatre, I worry that we lose sight of this fundamental in our discourse on the subject and, since we probably also all agree that theatre faces constant challenges, we reduce our strength by focusing on our divisions rather than common ground. I admit, many among us probably gain more attention from inflammatory rhetoric than we do from emphasizing mutual goals, but this is probably endemic to any subject upon which people are passionate. Yet hyperbole is largely anathema to progress and solutions. Occupy Wall Street may be known to us all, but can it claim any achievement other than awareness? And as aware as we may be, most of us probably can’t articulate its goals; “occupy” has become a signifier simply of protesting the status quo, or worse still, a punchline.
I announce my platform because of the many theatre debates to which I am either party or witness. This weekend, Patrick Healy’s article in The New York Times set off a new round in the perennial struggle between commercial and not-for-profit theatres, between large not-for-profits and small ones, between urban organizations and suburban ones and rural ones. By speaking for the article on the record, I felt compelled to join the conversations that followed. On others issues I have been more circumspect, but some include: the ongoing question of the proper place of playwrights in the life of institutional theatres, as voiced in the TDF report Outrageous Fortune; the complementary consideration of the place for new plays on Broadway; the philosophy of whether gatherings to explore theatrical challenges must by their nature be wholly public; the analysis revealing what some view as disproportionate funding by the federal government of large organizations in highly concentrated population centers; the uncertainty over whether dynamic and premium pricing is positive or negative in both commercial and NFP scenarios; the ethical question of utilizing and relying upon unpaid interns throughout our organizations. Feel free to insert your own here.
What concerns me is that in many cases, these topics are addressed unilaterally (in blogs or speeches) or with simplistic brevity (in Twitter volleys). Public colloquies are most often undertaken solely by and for peer organizations or individuals, so face to face discussions occur among people who function in a similar manner, on a similar level, or within a structure that discourages genuine free expression as people fear reprisals for honest statements. And let’s face it, everyone is so busy keeping their own organizations or projects alive, (not to mention making a living and having that often elusive construct known as a personal life, frequently with people who have interests beyond theatre), that it’s difficult to change their small part of the theatre world, let alone transform the field itself.
As I engage in as many conversations in as many forums as I’m able, I am of course opening myself up as a target, especially as I sometimes adopt contrarian views and refuse to accept labels others seek to foist upon me. Frankly, I enjoy honest, respectful debate, and I participate in it to insure that all sides of an argument are being explored, that those of us who are passionate do not simply spend our time reinforcing the beliefs of the like-minded. Let’s leave narrow-minded partisanship to the ugly political process which divides our country; let us first and foremost be partisans for theatre. Because theatre is good.
I was called part of “the theatre elite” on a worthy blog a few weeks back, and it caught me up short. I did not respond to it at the time in what might have been, for others, an entertaining series of blogs and tweets resulting from that assertion. Trust me, I don’t think of myself as remotely elite. But by forcing myself to not make an immediate response, I could consider the statement, which stung, but which I came to understand better over several days. Prompted by the perspective of the writer, I pondered my career, and I will say that while perhaps many may classify me as part of the theatre elite (however you define it) by virtue of where I’ve worked and the jobs I’ve held, I can only hope that none will think me elitist and some may find I’ve done a few good things.
Do I flirt with the charge of elitism again by speaking out to say that I do not oppose the large NFPs their ability to produce on Broadway? Absolutely I do, since these multi-million dollar companies are seen as elite, and are targeted from both sides, from smaller companies and from commercial producers, for differing reasons. But I hope that people will understand that my position comes from my central belief that theatre is good and that there are lots of ways to make theatre, that Broadway is simply one portion of the field, and that in its high profile yet geographically limited part of theatre, it is enriched by the presence of the work of these NFPs.
Are you muttering, “Pollyanna,” as you read this? Do you think I am being “willfully ignorant,” as one Tweeter said this past weekend? Do you thrive on confrontation as opposed to respectful debate? Do you favor overthrow rather than collaborating for change? Then perhaps I’m not for you — and indeed, if you’ve tried to get a rise out of me, I’ve probably disappointed you. When it comes to the politics of theatre, I guess I am an enthusiastic and passionate moderate. I want to be part of developing and implementing creative solutions that remove impediments and build support for theatre, not fomenting rebellion. As six degrees of separation have now been reduced to roughly 4.7 (according to a study I read earlier this year), I don’t want to increase that distance once again by shouting, but instead shrink it more, level the field of communication, by building ever more linkages – creative, intellectual and personal — between reasonable people, by pushing us all past reflex reaction and towards productive action.
I did not intend to deliver a sermon (another tendency brought to my attention on Twitter). But perhaps as the year draws to a close, I am more reflective than I realize. Perhaps I am influenced by the waning rays of the winter sun sinking behind the horizon on one of the year’s shortest days. Perhaps I am wearied by theatre reportage and conversation which either seeks to inflame dissension or which blandly propagates party lines without seeking deeper understanding. So I hold fast to what I hope we all keep paramount: that whether professional, amateur or audience member, we are all in this together. We would do well to remember that before our next communication, be it among ourselves or to the public, the government, the funders and others, about the art form we hold dearly in common and in trust. Because, when it comes right down to it, theatre is good.
The immediate impulse to cheer for the home team (theatre, of course; get out of the gutter and the gym) rapidly gives way to amusement about the company we keep in this investigation, and creative minds are no doubt at work pondering how to unite these diverse interests into a single happiness-generating activity to supersede all others. It has already been suggested by others that chocolate might be added to the mix. Needless to say, I would be happy to tackle the research and development on this challenging artistic and social issue (if you know what I mean).
But I foresee a significant problem already, based on a business which has previously tried to merge several of life’s basic pleasures.
Once, perhaps 20 years ago, I dined at a Connecticut outpost of the Hooters restaurant chain, which has successfully combined pulchritude and food to the delight of many and the ire of probably just as many more. Without going into detail, I can attest to the fact that the chain’s signature attractions were in ample supply – but that the food was rather dire, and the accompanying sightseeing did not make up for it. Indeed, I have never again crossed the threshold of any of said establishments, for fear that I would develop a Pavlovian response that correlated attractive women with stomach-churning revulsion.
So even if we manage to address the not insignificant challenges of melding the top three pleasure-givers, as first identified by the respected sociological journal Marie Claire and popularized by Chateleine, I worry that we might well give rise to an entirely new set of psychosexual responses that would be our undoing. Imagine if a particularly successful coupling of sex and exercise took place, say, at a performance of a play the not-entirely-inappropriate Strindberg? The fear of a rise in Strindberg fetishists should be enough to give anyone pause (except, of course, psychanalysts, who would be jumping on their couches for joy). What if this multifaceted entertainment took on, say, O’Neill’s Strange Interlude? As the TV commercials warn us, after four hours, you should call your doctor, and that would result in a series of concurrent and perhaps amusing calls to EMTs for exhaustion and muscle cramps. Even if the theatre of choice were comedy, imagine the dysfunctions that would arise if one required activity at the farcical level of Noises Off to achieve fulfillment.
I will be setting up a think-tank/laboratory to explore this in greater detail, since success in combining these elements would surely sustain the fabulous invalid ad infinitum. But if science fiction has taught us nothing else, perhaps some elements of nature are best left untampered with, and maybe we’ll just have to stick with putting on great shows. Dammit.
Over the past 48 hours, the culture pages in England have been filled with reports which are all variants of the same story: “Walkouts abound at The Royal Shakespeare Company’s Marat/Sade.” I first spotted this on Sunday in The Daily Mail and since then, the BBC, The Guardian and The Telegraph, among many others, have all piled on.
Marat/Sade, while an acknowledged modern classic, is a challenging work with content that surely doesn’t appeal to all audiences. So it shouldn’t really surprise anyone that a play about the Marquis de Sade might provoke squirming and even early exits; I suspect that Doug Wright’s Quills, also about de Sade’s incarceration at Charenton, sent some people fleeing from assorted theatres as well. Frankly, I wouldn’t be surprised if artists involved in various productions of both of these plays see the odd hasty retreat as a sign that they’re succeeding, a badge of honor.
So whether the current press frenzy is a result of an opportunity to portray theatre as transgressive and dangerous during a time when arts support is already challenged, or if it’s a case of schadenfreude to see the fortunes of the august RSC brought into question, or if the show is in fact deeply off-putting – or simply not a good production – I really can’t say. But the reports have set tongues wagging on this side of the Atlantic as well, prompting online chat about whether it’s right to walk out of a show, whether anyone has personally walked out of a show, and so on. As this seems to be snowballing, I cannot resist sharing a few thoughts and admissions.
Let me start by saying that I have worked on shows that have prompted audience walkouts – and I mean real walkouts, during the show, not politely at intermission. Off-hand, I recall people exiting mid-scene from two productions in particular at Hartford Stage: a 1986 production of Sam Shepard’s The Tooth of Crime and a 1990 interpretation of Büchner’s Woyzeck by director Richard Foreman (which ran, in total, only 70 minutes, but some folks just couldn’t wait to escape). As staff of an institution where I was, in part, responsible for drawing in audiences, this was troubling. But given the artistic choices, it was also inevitable; we did our utmost to prepare the audience for what they would be experiencing before they went in, and then had to let the chips fall where they may.
I consider the mid-scene walk out to be a very strong statement; it is at best impolite, at worst a middle finger thrust upwards at all involved (even if the director, designers, author and company leadership aren’t there to see it first-hand in most cases). During these plays, the people I saw leave made no attempt to do so surreptitiously; they haughtily stood and marched indignantly up the aisles, determined that others would register their statement. In one instance during Tooth of Crime, actor David Patrick Kelly (who was, coincidentally, also our Woyzeck), costumed with a pistol, paused the action as one couple left loudly and prominently – and leveled his weapon at their backs until they were completely gone, to the profound amusement of all who remained, which was the majority of the audience.
If we believe theatre to be a conversation with an audience, and at times a provocative or confrontational one, then perhaps the walk-out isn’t something to look down upon. It certainly beats staying and heckling the cast for material they did not create, but only take part in interpreting. It is perhaps the one opportunity the audience has to express displeasure during a performance, beyond stony silence (which can mean just about anything); theatre audiences do not have the outlet of booing, as opera seems to, but even then the “commentary” is reserved for curtain calls.
I have never walked out of a show mid-scene, or even between scenes, but I will confess to having quietly departed at intermission a few times over the years (never during my tenure at the American Theatre Wing, where such an action, if known, could have had repercussions in connection with The Tony Awards). But there have been times when the lure of television or bed have been stronger than the appeal of a second act, though I am not proud of this; in one case, I left because I was – for perhaps the only time in my life – offended on behalf of my religion and had no desire to watch it subjected to more ridicule. I have no doubt that had I willed myself to stay for some of those second acts, my ultimate opinion of the show concerned might have shifted, but at these times, I wasn’t patient enough to wait and see.
Was I taking the coward’s way out, rather than making a statement? I don’t think so, since every actor I’ve ever spoken with tells me how acutely aware they are, from the stage, of what goes on in the house. A full house in act one followed by one dotted with empty seats in act two speaks volumes. But I bet it’s preferable to audience members fidgeting in their seats, repeatedly checking their watches or glaring at their companions from time to time.
The problem with the walk-out, be it ostentatious or subtle, is that, as I alluded to earlier, it rarely reaches the people to whom the opinion is most properly expressed. They experience it, if at all, only through a stage manager or house manager’s report, and it is the house manager, box office personnel and even volunteer ushers who absorb the displeasure first-hand. Though it feels declarative as it happens, it is a fairly impotent act.
There is a corollary act, more acceptable but no less pointless: the withholding of applause at a curtain call. I have, as I know others have, at times been so miserable at a production that I am disinclined to applaud. But if it is the story, or the production concept which dismays me, withholding applause insults only the actors, who have just spent several hours telling me a story in the manner they’ve been asked to. I may feel better, but it is ineffective – the loss of my two hands hardly register in the overall decibel level of an ovation, nor does remaining seated while the rest of the audience rises to its feet visibly alter a standing horde.
I am not writing to endorse the walkout, since it is an expression of opinion that is misdirected and often falls on deaf ears. I feel for the actors in the current Marat/Sade, since surely they are giving their all, regardless of whether they in fact feel good about the show. But I cannot help but feel that a reduced audience is better than an actively hostile one.
What would I like people to take away from this? That sometimes a walkout is just a walkout, and it can be a sign of failure or even success. It really shouldn’t rise to the level of news coverage, let alone international attention, unless the audience is so decimated after the interval that half the crowd has fled, night after night after night. If you feel you must leave, at least wait for intermission, or if you must go sooner, a scene break. You owe that courtesy to the actors and your fellow audience members; remember, this is much more than changing a channel or stopping a film midstream at home. But if you really want to let the right people know what you think, write a letter or send an e-mail to the producer or company leadership; even tweets may never reach the decision makers.
No one should feel compelled to be miserable at the theatre. Leave if you must – that’s your right. But walk, don’t run.
This post originally appeared on the 2amtheatre website.
