School board meets in Sherman TX on November 13 (YouTube screenshot)
On November 13, following close to three hours of public comment by more than 60 individual speakers, each allotted up to three minutes to speak – the vast majority of whom vigorously supported the drama students and questioned the process by which decisions were being made in the Sherman school system – and more than two hours of closed session, the board of the Sherman TX Independent School District voted unanimously that the original script and cast of the musical Oklahoma! should be allowed to proceed at the high school.
This follows a week and half in which the school’s administration initially informed parents and then students that no student would be allowed to perform any role where a character’s gender that did not align with the gender the cast member were assigned at birth. While this affected as many as 20 students according to statements at the meeting, the decision was widely interpreted at being focused specifically at Max Hightower, a trans male student who had had been cast as the secondary character of Ali Hakim, a role from which he was now being removed.
That decision, announced on Friday November 4, was followed on Monday, November 7 with a statement that the school was now reviewing the text of Oklahoma!, one of the most popular musicals in US high schools for more than a half-century, for material which was inappropriate for high school performance.
On November 11, late on a Friday afternoon, the school announced that there was an alternate Oklahoma! script that would be performed, one which would be acceptable for all ages. That was in fact a cut-down one-hour version of the musical which was intended for pre-high school performances and audiences with short attention spans. A statement to this website from Concord Theatricals , which licenses Oklahoma! for performance, confirmed that the district had applied for the rights to the alternate version, but did not say that such rights had been granted.
Coming after more than five hours of meeting time that went well past 10 pm, the following resolution was adopted by the school board by unanimous decision: “As the board has not adopted a board policy regarding the casting of students in theater productions or performances, I move that the board direct the superintendent to reinstate the original script of the musical Oklahoma at Sherman High School and cast that was assigned as of November 2, 2023.”
School board president Brand Morgan then went on to read a statement on behalf of the school board as follows, “We want to apologize to our students, parents or community regarding the circumstances that they’ve had to go through to this date. We understand that our decision does not erase the impact this had on our community. But we hope that we will enforce to everyone, particularly our students, we do embrace all of our board goals to including addressing the diverse needs of our students and empowering them for success in diverse and a complex world. The board is committed to uphold its ethical duties to including being continuously guided by what is best for all students in our district.”
The more than five dozen speakers at the meeting ranged in age from high schoolers to grandparents, and included speakers who identified themselves as lifelong Sherman residents, residents who had moved away and returned later in life, students matriculated at Austin College in Sherman, parents and siblings of current students and more. Several speakers identified themselves as gay, queer and trans.
The Austin College students each spoke to their personal experiences, but all shared and reiterated the same concluding statement when it came their turn: “I demand that the school board upholds its self-reported goals V & VI by supporting LGBTQ students. I demand the school board allow Sherman High School to perform ‘Oklahoma!’ and all future shows in its original form with students cast in roles they earn. I demand the board maintains SISD theatre department as a welcoming and inclusive space.”
A number of speakers cited statistics about rates of suicidal ideation and suicide among gay and trans young people and charged the school administration and board with ignoring such concerns. One speaker bluntly asked, regarding the school’s gender policies, “Are you telling me that instead of writing biographies in playbills you would rather be writing obituaries?”
One Austin College student who spoke at the board meeting, identifying themselves as a trans male, stated that theatre is a safe space but that Sherman itself is not. They went on to say that by standing up at the meeting, “I am risking coming out to my entire homophobic family because this is a hill I will die on.”
This does not, however, mean that all discussion on the matter of future productions and casting is necessarily over. One school board member asked for additional conversation on the matters raised at the meeting, stating, “I would like to request a special called meeting Friday at noon of this week here at the central office boardroom to continue this discussion with the board and with legal counsel.” Board president Morgan said that such discussion would be scheduled within 72 hours.
No announcement has yet been made regarding the performance dates for Oklahoma!, originally scheduled for next month.
On the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, Lin-Manuel Miranda—bookwriter, lyricist, composer, and star of the Broadway hit musical Hamilton—has already given a matinee performance and served as master of ceremonies for a streetside #Ham4Ham show. He is optimistic there will still be time for a nap after talking with this writer and before a second performance of Hamilton in less than two hours.
“The sense of community I get from doing it is really why I’m here,” he says, sipping a cup of tea. “That’s joyous to me. That’s the thing that I loved most about doing high school theatre. I always try to stay connected to that same impulse. It’s the running joke that Jonathan Groff and I have: ‘We’re in the play.’ There’s nothing better than being in the play, of being chosen from everyone in your school and showing the world what you have.”
At thirty-five, with Hamilton, Miranda is at the top of the theatre world after only three Broadway musical credits, following his Tony Award-winning In the Heights and his contributions of music and lyrics to Bring It On. He’s already broken into film, writing cantina music for Star Wars: The Force Awakens and writing the score for an upcoming Disney animated feature, Moana, to be released next fall. He has performed at the White House, and the president has come to see him in New York. He’s welcomed at events from the Kennedy Center Honors to gatherings of historians who seem to love Hamilton just as much as die-hard musical theatre buffs. In the midst of all this attention and activity he’s still very connected to his roots. Anyone who follows him on Twitter can find him relating stories about his parents, his wife, his young son, his relatives, and his countless friends, as well as chatting with as many fans as he can.
The experience of high school theatre never seems to be very far from Miranda’s mind. He speaks of it often, and his school theatre experiences are the explicit topic of our interview. He tells me his earliest artistic goal was to be in his sixth grade play.
“We had an extraordinary music teacher at my elementary school who started the tradition of the sixth grade play,” Miranda recalls. This was at Hunter College School, a public elementary and high school for gifted students. “I’m very lucky that she started it just when I got there. I think the first sixth grade musical they did was West Side Story when I was in kindergarten.
“The entire school would watch the sixth grade play. I remember as young as second or third grade already fantasizing, ‘What’s going to be the sixth grade play when we get to sixth grade?’ It’s funny in retrospect to think how much of my life was spent thinking, ‘What show are we going to get to do?’ which is not the usual elementary school concern.
“Then, the crazy thing that happened was we got to sixth grade and they said, ‘We’re going to do the previous six years’ shows. We’re going to do short versions of all of them.’ So we get this lethal dosage of musical theatre at age twelve. I was a cowhand and a son in this unwatchable four-hour show that our parents had to sit through. But for me, it was the greatest experience of my life.”
Miranda didn’t go out for theatre at all in seventh grade but returned as an eighth grader with the encouragement of his English teacher, Rembert Herbert, whom he thanked in his Tony acceptance speech.“He really got me engaged as a student first. He told me, ‘You’re writing all this stuff in the back of my class, but none of it is for class. So can you join us?” Pressed on what he was writing at the back of class, Miranda confesses, “Bad love songs to girls.”
“What caught Dr. Herbert’s attention,” he explains in more detail, “was that we had an assignment where we were put into groups and we had to teach three chapters of Chaim Potok’s The Chosen, which was a book I really love. I decided we’re going to make a musical version. I wrote a song for each chapter, and I was such a control freak that I recorded them all a capella and the other kids lip-synced to my voice.”
Herbert encouraged Miranda to contribute to the annual student-written, student-directed Brick Prison show, and beginning in ninth grade, Miranda also began auditioning for shows.
“I was in Lillian Hellman’s The Little Foxes and in You Can’t Take It with You. Those were my plays. In ninth grade, I got cast as the Pirate King in The Pirates of Penzance, which was huge, because I beat out the seniors. Then, Godspell in tenth grade. I started dating the assistant director and she became my high school girlfriend. Then she directed A Chorus Line junior year and I was her assistant director, so I kind of apprenticed into the directing track. Then I directed West Side Story my senior year.
“So I got too busy to [act in] the plays. But I was a president of Hunter Theatre, even though I didn’t participate. I would do their budgets. We all hung lights. We all did all the stuff.”
Directing West Side Story as a senior was an important time for Miranda.
“West Side Story is such a controversial show, because everyone’s unflattering in that show. The Puerto Ricans say, ‘That’s our only thing and we’re all gang members.’ I’m sensitive to that. At the same time, for me, it was an incredible teaching experience. I got to bring Puerto Rico to school. My dad came in and gave dialect lessons to my white and Asian Sharks. There was no brownface, nothing stupid like that.
“But I wanted to make sure that while they’re in America, they’re yelling Puerto Rican things like ‘Wepa!’ It was a way for me to actually engage the part of me that only existed at home and bring that into school. That was really lovely.”
Were there any parts Miranda wished he could play again or roles he missed out on?
“If I could do the Pirate King again,” he says, laughing, “having more than a reliable half-octave of range, I’d love another crack at it. That being said, I have no regrets. I had a wonderful time doing everything. Those are the shows that are just in your bloodstream forever—because you did that. It’s a totally different thing than loving a cast album or seeing a show and loving it.
“That’s why, for me, a show I write becomes real when a high school gets to do it. Because I know there are kids who had their first kisses as Benny and Nina [in In the Heights]. I know there are salon ladies who are going to be friends for life because they were Daniela and Carla together. I had that experience with my friends on the shows we worked on. That’s what I love most about being on this side of the process now, being the one who makes the musicals.”
Theatre wasn’t Miranda’s only interest in high school. In addition to writing some short musicals, he was making films as well, pulling his friends together from all of their other activities to work on them. But he relates that experience back to theatre.
“I think that one of the best things getting to be in a position of authority in theatre in high school gets you is that you have no power to hire or fire or replace anyone. So the only voice you have is your self-created authority. I learned to harness that: ‘All right, guys, this is the plan,’ knowing at any point that anyone could say, ‘I don’t want to do this. I want to go home.’”
Given the wide variety of skills Miranda displays as writer, composer, and lyricist, I ask him about his musical training.
“I took orchestration and composition, which was a class available in high school, but really just piano lessons and basic music theory. I actually have a couple of friends I would call up in the middle of the night and ask, ‘Hey, I’m playing an F#, an A and a C. I don’t know what this chord is called. What is it?’ And they’d say, ‘You’re playing an F# diminished.’ I kept thinking I was going to invent a new chord. And they’d say, ‘No, they all exist.’”
Miranda discovered the friendships he made while working on shows gave him shortcuts across the usual boundaries of the school’s social order.
“The saving grace of being a theatre kid,” he explains, “is that you get to make friends in every grade. So if your grade is kicking your butt, which was true for me some of the time, I had friends in other grades. The heartbreak that comes with that is sometimes your best friend will graduate because they’re two or three years older than you.
“And that’s something. I knew even then that was something my peers weren’t sharing. They were relentlessly involved with who is friends with who, and what clique is big, and who is in and who’s out in my grade. Being a theatre kid allows you to have this birds-eye view of it. I would spend my lunch period with at least four different groups. So I was always a little friends with everyone.”
Miranda went off to college planning on a dual major in film and theatre, and those interests narrowed the schools he applied to very quickly, since few offered both. He chose Wesleyan University in Connecticut, where he eventually dropped his plans to also study film.
“I got to college thinking I knew everything. I got the rude awakening of, ‘Oh, I don’t know anything. I know how theatre at my high school worked. There’s still so much I have to learn.’ I was both humbled and empowered by this. We thought we were hanging lights right—we didn’t know what the heck we were doing. And that’s the fun of it. You learn the skill set you need to prepare you to work with lots of different kinds of people.”
Although we agreed the interview would focus on Miranda’s school experiences, it’s impossible to talk with him right now and not ask about Hamilton. Hip-hop, rap, and historical biography are not the usual ingredients of musical theatre. Had he always envisioned it on Broadway?
“I honestly thought of it like Jesus Christ Superstar,” he says. “I thought, ‘This will be a show, but I’m going to write it by writing the music first,’ which is exactly how Andrew Lloyd Webber did Superstar. It was a concept album. I had the good fortune to ask him about that. I peppered him with questions like ‘How did you get these for-real rock singers on that concept album?’ He said, ‘Because they were just around. We recorded the Jesus Christ Superstar concept album next door to where Led Zeppelin was recording album number III. You would just say, ‘Hey, do you want to come in and sing this part?’
“My vision for having rappers play the founding fathers started as ‘I’m going to get the artists first.’ Then we just started writing the show and I stopped worrying about landing the rapper and said, ‘Let me make the thing.’ Now we’re reverse-engineering it. We’ve got this mix tape coming out and hip-hop artists are going to be covering songs from the show.
“It worked out the way it was meant to work out. I was going to make a concept album that someone else was going to stage. It turns out I made a staged piece that someone’s going to turn into a concept album.”
Given the enormous demands on his time right now, one has to wonder, is Miranda having fun?
“What I’m enjoying so much about the success of Hamilton is it’s an opportunity to get together everyone who loves musicals. I know a lot of people who don’t love musicals like our show, but you can get them in because of history. You can get in because of politics. You can get in via hip hop.
“For me the fun is getting on Twitter and talking about Les Mis or Wicked for a little while, talking about the shows we all love, and reminding the pop culture world at large. Because you know what? We all do love shows. I know everyone likes to think of musical theatre as this niche genre. But a lot of us did the school play. A lot of us watched Glee. A lot of us, even if we never saw a Broadway show, could sing a few show tunes because of school and because of our parents. So it is this secret thing that we all know that we don’t all talk about together. That’s what I’m enjoying about this part of the process.”
What part of the creative process gives him the greatest pleasure?
“For me, it’s all about what I can bring, because musicals are such a hybrid art. They’re fourteen art forms mashed into one. So it becomes a simple calculus for me of ‘What can I bring into the room?’
“One of the things I love best about writing is being able to bring a song to my creative team—walking into a room with people you trust, showing them a new song, which is like being naked in front of them, to be honest. That’s why it’s important to get the right people in the room, and knowing you’re going to leave with a better song because of the people you’ve allowed. That’s an exhilarating process.
“Expand that to the whole show entirely. That’s a pretty great moment,” Miranda continues, enthusiastically. “Seeing a cast read your work for the very first time, that’s a really exciting part of the process.
“You know, it’s not lost on me that as someone who kind of felt like an outsider in my own community growing up, I’m just writing communities for myself. That’s what I get from being in the show, too.”
“What’s the deal with all this high school theatre?”
That’s the kind of comment—spoken, written or tweeted—I’ve been getting regularly over the past four years since I began writing about instances of censorship of theatre in American high schools (and, on occasion, colleges). To be fair to those who may be skeptical about the extent of the problem, I myself have been surprised by the volume and variety of issues raised over the content of shows being done—and, in some cases, ultimately not being done—in school-sponsored theatre.
But between writing about these incidents, and directly involving myself as an advocate in some of them, I’ve come to believe that what’s taking place in our high schools and on our campuses has a very direct connection to what is happening (and will be happening) on professional stages.
So here are nine common questions that have arisen as my advocacy has increased, and some answers—although, as every attempt at censorship is different, there aren’t any absolute answers.
1. Why is there so much more censorship of high school theatre these days?
There’s no quantitative study that indicates the policing of what’s performed is any greater than it was 10, 25 or 50 years ago. Everything is anecdotal. But the Internet has made it easier for reports to spread beyond individual communities and for news-aggregation sites uncover and accelerate the dissemination of such stories. It only takes one report in a small-town paper these days to bring an incident to national attention; that was a rarity in the print-only era.
2. Isn’t this just a reflection of our polarized national politics?
School theatre censorship doesn’t necessarily follow the red state/blue state binary division, because the impulse can arise from any constituency. While efforts to quash depictions of LGBTQ life—as with Almost, Maine in Maiden, N.C., or Spamalot in South Williamsport, Pa.—may be coming from political constituencies galvanized against the spread of marriage equality, or from certain faith communities which share that opposition, that’s hardly the only source. Opposition to Sweeney Todd, both muted (in Orange, Conn.) and explicit (in Plaistow, N.H.) was driven by concern about the portrayal of violence in an era of school shootings and rising suicide rates, while Joe Turner’s Come and Gone was challenged by a black superintendent over August Wilson’s use of the “n-word.”
3. What’s the real impact of school theatre on the professional community?
The Broadway League pegs attendance at Broadway’s 40 theatres in the neighborhood of 13 million admissions a year and touring shows at 14 million a year. TCG’s Theatre Facts reports resident and touring attendance of 11 million. That totals a professional universe of 38 million admissions.
Based on figures provided to me by half a dozen licensing houses, there are at minimum 37,500 shows done in high school theatres annually, and conservatively guesstimating three performances of each in 600 seat theatres at 75-percent capacity, that’s more than 50 million attendees. In both samples, the numbers don’t represent the total activity, but high school theatre’s audience impact is undeniable, both as a revenue stream for authors and as a means of reaching audiences who might not see any other theatre at all.
4. Does it really matter what shows kids get to do in high school?
While there are valuable aspects to making theatre that apply no matter what the play choice may be, many schools view their productions as community relations, frequently citing that they want to appeal to audiences “from 8 to 80.” While the vast majority of students in the shows, and their friends who come to see them, will never become arts professionals, they are the potential next generation of audiences and donors for professional companies. If they are raised on a diet of Alice in Wonderland and The Wizard of Oz (both currently very popular in the high school repertoire), how can we expect more challenging work , new work, or socially conscious work to sustain itself 20 years on?
5. Are school administrators fostering an environment in which censorship flourishes?
I’m unwilling to accept the idea that our schools are run by people who fundamentally want to limit what students can learn—or perform. But they are operating within a political structure topped by an elected board of education, and can be subject to political pressure that often makes the path of least resistance—altering text or changing a selected show, in most cases—the expedient way to go. Unless an administrator (or a teacher, for that matter) is independently wealthy, they can’t necessarily afford to risk their job fighting for the school play that may have challenging content. That said, students at Newman University rebelled against administration-dictated text changes, reverting to the script as written for the latter two of their four performances of Legally Blonde in November.
6. Isn’t this a free speech issue?
In a word, no. Schools have the right and responsibility to determine what is appropriate activity and speech under their control, and just because students are exposed to all manner of content in the media and even in their day-to-day lives doesn’t mean that schools can or must permit it, either in classrooms or performance. That The Crucible is in countless high school curriculums does not necessarily prevent it from being censored as a performance piece, despite the seeming double standard.
The same stringent oversight that affects school theatre is also often directed at school newspapers and media. However, while some school systems attempt to control all student speech, it is a First Amendment violation to infringe on student speech to the media about their dissatisfaction with the actions of a school, including censorship. Drama teachers, who are best equipped to make the cases for the shows they choose, are usually prevented from doing so by employment agreements which prohibit them from discussing school matters without the express approval of the administration, typically the superintendent.
7. Don’t shows get edited all the time in schools for content?
In all likelihood, shows are constantly being nipped and tucked by teachers and administrators to conform to their perception of “community standards,” whether it’s the occasional profanity or entire songs. But that doesn’t make it right, and it is censorship. Aside from violating copyright laws and the licensing contracts signed for the right to the show, it sets a terrible example for students by suggesting that authors’ work can be altered at will, undermining the rights of the artists who created the work.
Some writers and composers have authorized school editions or junior versions of their shows for the school market to recognize frequent concerns and to keep from denying students the opportunity to explore their shows. But the rights must lie with the authors, not each and every school. If that isn’t made clear early on, how can we expect to fight censorship anywhere?
8. When a show is canceled and then successfully restored through a public campaign, is that winning the battle and then losing the war?
That’s a genuine concern of mine—that once there’s a public battle over theatrical content, the school will thereafter clamp down even harder and apply greater scrutiny forever after to drama programs, academic or extracurricular. At the Educational Theatre Association’s national conference this past summer, one attendee asked the others if there were shows that they believed would be great for their students but which they couldn’t even raise as possibilities. Every single teacher in the room raised his or her hand. So the incidents that become public—ones in which a show is announced, then has approval rescinded—are the tip of the iceberg. Drama teachers and directors are already having their choices limited, often by self-censorship. There’s much more work to be done, but if blatant examples don’t come to light, it may never be possible to galvanize support for school theatre that challenges students to do great work and great works.
9. Can professional artists and companies make any difference when incidents of censorship arise?
Local theatres—professional, community and academic—make superb allies in fighting against censorship. Institutions and individuals within communities that are respected for their art occupy a position from which to speak out forcefully and effectively for school theatre programs. Whether it’s a nearby artistic director or a one-time resident who has gone on to a professional career, they bring a history and authority that will speak to both the local populace and the media. The vocal support of the Yale School of Drama and Yale Rep with the aforementioned Joe Turner, and of Goodspeed Musicals and Hartford Stage in the case of Rent in Trumbull, Conn., were key factors in the ultimately successful efforts toward restoring those shows to production.
In closing: The first time I inserted myself into a school theatre censorship debate in 2011, I assumed it was a one-off. I did not realize at the time that I had found a cause. Each time an incident comes to a conclusion, regardless of whether the outcome was, from my point of view, positive or negative, I think that surely the message is getting out there and this will be the last time. But then comes the phone call, the e-mail, the tweet, from someone I’ve never met and possibly never will, saying that a show is threatened or has just been shut down. And I begin my introductory speech, which is unfortunately well-honed at this point.
“This is no longer about education,” I say, “this is no longer about art. This is now a political campaign.” And off we go.
A couple of weeks ago, yet another high school play was canceled over its content, this time at Santiago High School in Corona, California. Unlike the cases we often hear about, there was no press about the decision, no student protest, no faculty outcry. By the time I learned of it and communicated briefly on social media with a couple of students involved in the show, they were ready to just move on. The play was to have been performed in the latter part of this month.
Hearts Like Fists at Theatre of NOTE
The play, Hearts Like Fists, was first produced only two years ago, debuting at Theatre of NOTE in Los Angeles in August 2012. It made its East Coast premiere in December of the same year at New York’s Flux Theatre Ensemble. Described in a synopsis as “a superhero noir comedy about the dangers of love,” it has already been produced at several high schools, including the Jewish Community High School of the Bay Area and at Sachse High School in Sachse, Texas; it will be done next month at TMI – The Episcopal School of Texas in San Antonio. As someone who sees real value in high school students having the opportunity to work on contemporary plays, I was very pleased to see that such a new work had been quickly found by schools.
How did I learn of the quiet cancelation in Corona? My high school theatre advocacy was mentioned in conversation on Facebook where the play’s author, Adam Szymkowicz, had shared the news, which he only learned of through students who had contacted him on Twitter. While a school representative, in response to my inquiry, said that the cancelation was due to the play not having received the proper approval, that is an oft-cited reason that typically differs from other accounts. But with no other accounts to go by in this case, I’m left only with a vague sense of something amiss, since I doubt that any teacher would go into rehearsal for a show without having followed the appropriate protocols. That would be a willful challenge to an administration, putting employment at risk.
Advertising for production at Theatre of NOTE
In my opinion, the play has an enormous amount to offer school theatre troupes, as it addresses love, rejection, and female empowerment by inverting many comic book tropes, offering strong female roles in a stylized ensemble work with 9 or 10 roles. It does, however, contain stage violence and a handful of phrases that might well bring parents up short. Shorn of context, they include, “She knees him in the groin,” “I promised you angry sex,” and “I’m thinking about your body pressed against mine…I’m thinking about taking of all your clothes piece by piece…Then I would tear into you, with my hands and with my teeth. I would leave marks.”
While these phrases are not typical of the dialogue in Hearts Like Fists, and indeed these examples comprise the majority of what I thought could prove problematic for schools, one can imagine parents who might take exception to hearing this out of the mouths of 17-year-olds, even if the same students might discuss such things in their own lives or hear them even on broadcast TV. But as a result, the skittishness of administrators to allow them to be spoken in performance is not a complete shock. It’s a shame, really, because the play offers so much, but schools have long proven themselves to be risk averse.
I know Szymkowicz entirely from online interactions, stemming in large part from his impressive ongoing series of interviews with other playwrights, so I reached out to him about the cancelation, both before and after reading the play. Via e-mail, I asked Szymkowicz about the fact that in his Facebook dialogue, he seemed disinclined to make an issue of the cancelation.
Adam Szymkowicz
“As a playwright I am used to plays being postponed or cancelled for various reasons,” he replied. “Productions appear out of nowhere and sometimes just as mysteriously, planned productions don’t happen. I’m not saying it’s a fun thing about being a playwright but at this point I’m used to it. It never occurred to me that I have any power in whether or not planned productions do actually happen. Either people want to do a play or they don’t. I can’t make people do my play just because they said they would.” Szymkowicz noted that the show has had 10 productions, with four more coming up, and would soon be his most produced work.
Had he ever thought about Hearts Like Fists as a play for high schools, I wondered. “No,” was his simple reply. “It was a commission for South Coast Repertory. But I specifically didn’t have cursing in it because of how sensitive it seemed that Orange County audience was to curse words based on the reading of another play I had there. The fact that high schools have been doing it is a happy accident.”
But, in hindsight, does he believe there are facets of the play that particularly speak to high school performers and/or audiences? “I think loving the wrong person is an experience a lot of people have in high school,” he observed. “Also being a secret superhero (metaphorically) or having super powers not yet fully expressed. All general love confusion. High school is, for some, a confusing time.”
As is the case with a number of newer musicals, I wondered if he would consider authorizing a high school version of the show, with his own content edits. “I looked at the play once,” he wrote, “a year or so ago, with an eye to that, but I couldn’t figure out how to make tamer versions of certain scenes still work.”
Given the few phrases that might well give schools pause, I wondered whether Szymkowicz had considered that schools that have done or will do the show might be making their own, unauthorized edits, and how he would feel about that. He replied, “I wouldn’t like that and, of course, as you know, contractually they are forbidden from doing so.”
However, he wasn’t opposed to school editions on principle, saying, “If it doesn’t harm the play, sure. I am glad high schools are doing more challenging work and pushing boundaries and creating conversations. I worry about work that is sanitized past the point of having meaning or worth. But if you as a writer can take out something too adult (not that we all agree on what that is) but still have a play you are proud of, more power to you. Some wonderful plays are done frequently at the high school level.”
Finally, I asked Szymkowicz whether there was anything he’d like to say to the students, or to the administration, about the play being canceled.
“I spoke to a few of the students over Twitter who seem heartbroken and sent my regrets that this happened after they had already started rehearsals. I suspect the administration thought it would harm his/her community in some way to do this play. I think it is a bigger harm to not let them do the play. But look. I’m a playwright, not an administrator. I think theater is a good thing. I think communication is always better than shutting down conversations that make us uncomfortable. And honestly I also think my play is kind of tame. I suspect if these kids wrote plays themselves they would be much more upsetting or explicit than my play.”
I happen to agree strongly with Szymkowicz that communication is better than cancelation, and I believe that somewhere in the process of play selection, the start of production at Santiago High and the cancelation, some essential communication was missed. I admire the teacher who wanted to bring new work to her students and I respect the playwright for his decision that any alteration in the play would be to its detriment, and that even in high schools, he wants to see his play done as written, which is his absolute right. Much as I’d like to figure out if there’s a villain here, I can’t. And, sadly, circumstances have insured that Szymkowicz’s villain, the rejected, lovelorn Doctor X won’t be found at Santiago High either.
Once each year, the world turns its eyes to Williamsport and South Williamsport PA, as young athletes from around the globe compete in the Little League World Series. This year has garnered particular attention for the wunderkind pitcher Mo’ne Davis, whose story has united people across any manner of gender or racial lines, through the talent and grace of a single young woman. Less publicly and widely known, however, was that over this summer, the administration of the South Williamsport Area School District and the town’s Junior/Senior High School had been working against the very spirit of inclusion and diversity that is in abundant evidence on the town’s ball fields. (My previous reports were posted on July 2 and July 15.)
It was first reported by the local television station WNEP on July 1 that the school principal had canceled plans for a production of the musical Spamalot, slated for the 2014-15 school year. The reason cited, according to drama director Dawn Burch, was the musical’s gay content, which includes a same sex wedding. While a particularly incendiary statement in that initial report, about homosexuality not existing in the community, was attributed to principal Jesse Smith, it was declared inaccurate by all parties, and excised as of July 3.
The Sun Gazette of Williamsport, on July 3, reported that Dr. Mark Stamm, the district superintendent, denied Smith ever made the excised statement, though Stamm never spoke directly to the broader issue of the show being canceled over gay content. He also declared that the production had not been approved according to district policy.
Because Burch, acting on advice of counsel, would not release her communications with Stamm and Smith to corroborate her account, I became one of at least two parties to seek access to the school’s internal communications about the show under the State of Pennsylvania’s Right To Know Law. I received the materials in question yesterday, August 20; the metered postmark was August 18.
In brief, the materials make clear that Burch was telling the truth about Smith’s statements, namely that “homosexual themes” were the reason the show was being rejected, and that despite Stamm’s assertions as the story went public, it would seem Burch had very likely gone through the proper channels in seeking approval for the show or at the very least honestly and openly believed that approval had been given.
Cause of Cancelation
Regarding the assertion that Principal Smith had cited gay content as a cause for canceling the show, I quote first from an e-mail Smith sent to Burch on June 27, 2014 at 10:58 am. The first three paragraphs are redacted and only the following can be read:
“Finally, you told me late in the school year that you were looking to perform Spamalot for your spring 2015 musical. I have some concerns such as a guy sending another guy a message on girl’s underwear and a gay wedding to be performed. If you are still planning to perform this then we will need to talk.”
A cover letter to the materials provided to me by the school’s Open Records Officer – Dr. Stamm – states that six e-mails between Stamm, Smith and/or Burch on the dates June 27 through June 30 were withheld because they contained some combination of a) performance evaluation, b) written criticism of an employee and/or c) identifies child then aged 17 years or less.
Whatever was said in those e-mails aside, Smith sent an e-mail to Burch on June 30, 2014 at 7:27 am asking her to choose a different musical. He questioned the appropriateness of Spamalot as follows:
“I am not comfortable with Spamalot and its homosexual themes for two main reasons:
1. Drama productions are supposed to be community events. They are supposed to be performances that families can attend. To me, this kind of material makes it very hard for this to take place. I don’t want families to be afraid of bringing small kids because of the content. I don’t want members of the community staying home because they feel the material is too risqué or controversial.
2. I think that choosing productions with this type of material or productions that may be deemed controversial put students in a tough spot. I don’t want students to have to choose between their own personal beliefs and whether or not to take part in a production.”
So Mr. Smith feels that love is controversial, that homosexuality is risqué. He feels that people might be afraid of exposing children to it. To that I say: Mr. Smith, your statements condone the homophobic members of your community and seek to consign every gay resident to second-class status. Yet their love is not something to be feared or hidden any more than any romantic relationship of yours or Dr. Stamm’s or my own. You are coddling those who would seek to suppress and condemn, instead of setting an example of respect, equality and inclusion.
Yes, by statute Pennsylvania is inconsistent in its position on LGBT issues, in that marriage is legal for all, regardless of the genders of the couple, however the state doesn’t yet afford equal rights protection regardless of sexual orientation. But Smith is teaching lessons seemingly drawn from outdated textbooks. The law will catch up soon enough with society, either on the state or federal level, insuring equal rights for all. Stamm’s position that Smith’s decision regarding Spamalot “is sound” (e-mail from Stamm to Burch, June 30, 2014 at 1:12 PM) can be taken to mean that he condones the same discriminatory attitudes that would erase gay life, in any context, from the school’s stage. As an aside: the Motion Picture Association of America’s Ratings Board may share the school administration’s general view on representing homosexuality, according to critic Stephen Whitty of The Star-Ledger.
Approval of Spamalot
The earliest materials provided to me by the school district are dated June 27. As quoted above, Smith acknowledges that he had a conversation during the school year with Burch about her intention to produce Spamalot, and expresses specific reservations. However, there is no correspondence indicating prior approval, leaving conflicting accounts by Burch and Stamm in the press.
This leads to the very last item in the materials I received: a check dated May 12, 2014 to Theatrical Rights Worldwide, the licensing house, for $1,935, with the note “For Spring Musical – Drama.” It is signed by Jesse Smith. In an statement to me as I began exploring this situation, a representative of Theatrical Rights confirmed to me that an executed license was in place between the company and the school for Spamalot. The school also provided a copy of the Spamalot contract, signed by Burch, dated May 7, along with the check request (which did not specify the show title, only “Spring Musical License/rental/materials).” So how did a check get signed by Smith and sent to the company for a show that ostensibly wasn’t approved? Would Burch submit a check request for a musical that hadn’t been approved for Smith’s signature?
Any school administrator who has any experience in licensing theatrical material is certainly aware that payment is made in advance, not following a production. A Facebook events post shows that the school’s 2014 musical, How To Succeed In Business Without Really Trying, was produced in March of this year. So it is exceedingly unlikely the check could have been construed to be payment for that production two months in arrears. The school provided me with check requests and check duplicates for perusal copies of other shows that Burch looked at, perhaps to suggest that there was confusion, but there’s only one contract, and the only check other than the one that corresponded to the Spamalot contract that over $100 was the license fee for this fall’s play production.
I can draw only two possible conclusions. The first is that Burch had secured the proper approval, albeit verbal, for the production of Spamalot, and Smith’s concerns only arose roughly six weeks after he signed a check for the rights. In that case, he was backtracking on his prior approval and Stamm’s comments reported on July 3 were either misinformed or willfully meant to obscure the events. It would be very interesting to know what prompted Smith’s change of heart, if that is the case. When did Smith discover content he objected to, and how?
The second possibility is that Smith signed a nearly $2,000 check to license a show he hadn’t approved. In my training and experience, anyone with financial responsibility is expected to know what they’re paying for. A common practice is for a check request, along with either an invoice or a contract (or both) is attached as backup to a check ready for signature. I cannot speak for the business practices of the South Williamsport School District, but if this is the truer of my two scenarios, then it appears Smith didn’t follow a fairly standard fiduciary protocol and review the license he was paying for, and now wants to distract from that oversight by blaming Burch, who appears to have been operating openly and in good faith.
Now What?
With Jesse Smith’s statements about suppressing the representation of homosexuality at the school now public, perhaps he will speak about the entire situation; he has not done so publicly to date. Both Smith and Stamm should repudiate their positions – and acknowledge the truth of Burch’s original assertions – or they must deal with being known as educators who appear to deny the truthful, honest lives and loves of many of their students past, present and future, as well as the LGBT community locally, statewide and even nationally.
From my perspective, I don’t understand why, once they knew they had to reveal their positions as a result of the Right-to-Know requests, Stamm and Smith didn’t own up to what had taken place and get out ahead of the story with an apology. Instead, they have left it up to me and others to reveal the truth, which will no doubt be picked up and explored by yet more who care deeply about equality in our society. They would do well to immediately consult with local LGBT groups about establishing a Gay-Straight Alliance at the school in the next few months, to demonstrate their commitment to the open acceptance of all of their students. They should also make clear that Burch may produce plays, musicals or both that include “homosexual themes.”
And where does this leave Dawn Burch, a drama director who couldn’t quietly accept the administration’s exclusionary position and spoke out? Well as this news was first breaking, on July 3, 2014 at 8:39 am, Dr. Stamm wrote to her that, “The feedback we received from the community, both local and national, is being given appropriate consideration. Whether or not you are able to return as the drama director, is a decision that you will have to make.” It is important to note that Burch is a contract employee, not a teacher; she has no tenure. I hope the school system stands by letting her decide her future and that she stays on to run the theatre program, for the benefit of all the students, not just those whose lives find favor with those in power. And no matter what shows she puts on – in correspondence disclosed, she did express a willingness to consider other shows for the coming year, but not without the source and the reason for the change in selection being known – I look forward to visiting South Williamsport to applaud her.
* * *
I e-mailed Dr. Stamm and Mr. Smith last evening at 6:43 pm, asking if they would speak with me on the record about the situation, setting a 9 am deadline. As of 9 am this morning, neither had responded. When I reached Burch by phone last evening, she declined to comment further on the situation. Should any of the parties contact me for an on-the-record conversation subsequent to the publication of this post, I will add to it here or write additional posts as warranted.
Based on the commentary I was seeing in online articles and social media comments yesterday, someone had just painted a mustache on the Mona Lisa. No one seemed to care that Da Vinci had decided to it himself.
I’m referring to the outpouring of dismay over the news that some changes had been made to the storyline and score of Disney’s upcoming film of Stephen Sondheim’s Into The Woods. Mind you, no one has seen the film as of yet; the response resulted from a New Yorker “Talk of the Town” piece in which Sondheim spoke of the changes, and more to the point, from online articles based on that story which extracted out the specifics of the pending changes without the full context of the original report, which regrettably is behind The New Yorker’s paywall. Therefore it’s the secondhand reportage which seems to have reached the widest audience and sparked a healthy flurry of unhappiness.
I for one would like to state that I’m shocked – shocked, I say – to find that the creative and commercial forces behind the film adaptation of a stage work have mandated changes in the original material (for those immune to written sarcasm, I mean to say that I’m not remotely shocked). The litany of stage material (or for that matter books, true life stories and even prior films) that has been slightly altered or radically reworked for movie consumption is endless. But even minor changes become the fodder for endless online investigation, interpretation and instantaneous outrage, the currency of so much digital derision by the faithful. And it’s not even an online phenomenon – I remember the furor that arose when Tim Burton had the temerity to cast Michael Keaton as Batman in the 80s, even for what was a major reworking of material that had been reduced to camp 20 years earlier on television.
That Disney might want to homogenize some of the spikier elements of Into The Woods should have come as no surprise to anyone familiar with the company’s brand, which has a long history of altering fairytale stories, from Snow White and Sleeping Beauty to Once Upon A Time and Maleficent. Yes, I am one of the many who revere Sondheim’s work, and the man, but just as the removal of “The Ballad of Sweeney Todd” from that film adaptation didn’t ruin the story on screen, I’m at least willing to wait to see Into The Woods before I critique its choices, whatever the rationale. And let’s face it, after almost 30 years, it’s not as if film companies were fighting for the right to bring the material to the screen.
What frustrates me much more in this scenario is the way in which the details of changes have been excised from their context in The New Yorker. Sondheim’s revelation came out of a conversation with high school teachers which touched upon some of the problems they face in trying to produce challenging work at their schools, by Sondheim and others. While reporter Larissa MacFarquhar is glib about opposition to Sweeney Todd (“the teachers were smut and gore idealists”), she does report on the portion of the conversation specific to Into The Woods. In particular, she relates how the teachers told stories of opposition to elements of infidelity and sexuality in the Sondheim-Lapine piece, and how Sondheim compared the attitudes of school administrators to those of Disney executives. (I asked the organization that arranged the conversation, the Academy for Teachers, whether a recording of the full session had been created, but founder Sam Swope said they had none, that the New Yorker account was accurate and that the censorship discussion was only a small part of a wider-ranging talk.)
When a teacher explains that she must always present bowdlerized versions of musicals (please look up that odd word if you don’t know it), the article reports:
“Can you let them read the original and then discuss why, say, Rapunzel is not allowed to die in the adulterated version?” Sondheim asked.
“We do that, but they just get angry. They feel censored–they don’t feel trusted.”
“And they’re right,” Sondheim said. “But you have to explain to them that censorship is part of our puritanical ethics, and it’s something that they’re going to have to deal with. There has to be a point at which you don’t compromise anymore, but that may mean you won’t get anyone to sell your painting or perform your musical. You have to deal with reality.”
Now I’m not entirely comfortable with Sondheim’s conflation of censorship with marketplace realities, since censorship is performed unilaterally by people in power against those without influence, whereas creative alteration in a commercial setting results from negotiation – and money is at the root of the decisions on all sides. Into The Woods wasn’t taken unwillingly from Sondheim – he sold it. I trust that he has safeguarded the essence of the show. But I agree that the impulse to homogenize for the marketplace does indeed come from a puritan ethic, as does school censorship, both cases where adults take a patronizing view of what young people can handle – though in the case of a Disney film, they’re trying to reach audiences much younger than the participants in high school theatre programs in a big tent effort.
It is the stage alteration in schools that perpetually worries me. In cases when creators or rights holders have authorized “junior”or “school” versions of stage works, they are active participants in the excision of “challenging” material,” and while perhaps that’s also a market-driven decision, I like to think that it also occurs in the best interests of allowing to students to take on work which would otherwise be wholly off-limits in a school setting. Regardless, I worry about the academic gatekeepers who mandate these changes, which may vary from school to school or state to state, and in far too many cases are done at the school level without any approval from the licensing house or creator. That’s where censorship is truly taking place and insidious. It’s where the idea that anyone can alter a stage text at will is born, much to the consternation of authors, and their representatives at the Dramatists Guild, in the U.S.
As Sondheim notes in the New Yorker piece, “If you look at most plays, it’s like the sonata form in music–if you screw around with that, you’re taking your life in your hands.”
It is clear in the article that Sondheim is an active participant in the film of Into The Woods, whether his resulting choices are grudgingly mercenary or willingly collaborative is hard to assess. Regarding the removal of the Baker’s Wife’s liaison and the song “Any Moment,” the article reports one educator’s distress and Sondheim’s acquiescence.
“Stick up for that song!” a teacher called out.
“I did, I did,” Sondheim said. “But Disney said, we don’t want Rapunzel to die, so we replotted it. I won’t tell you what happens now, but we wrote a new song to cover it.”
As with any adaptation of a prior work, changes are inevitable. Fortunately, the new version doesn’t change the source, and in the case of Into The Woods, Disney’s film won’t yield a whole new stage text. I do worry that schools will interpret the screen revisions as permission to alter their own productions, which is in fact illegal; I’ve been struck by how often opposition to Sweeney Todd has arisen from the film’s gouts of bloods, which suggest that gore is essential to the show, when even John Doyle’s Broadway revival dispensed with obvious blood-letting, so the films do suggest a template to the public. What is very likely to occur from the Into The Woods film is that people beyond the core fan base for musicals will be introduced to the genius of Sondheim and, perhaps, that even more schools will do the show – according to the approved text.
It may be fun join in online outrage, but it’s an impotent act in a case like this. The film will be what Disney wants it to be. Why not put those efforts to better use, and direct them to supporting live theatre and making sure that the teachers whose genuine concerns sparked this kerfuffle have the opportunity to tackle brilliant and challenging work with their students, their schools and their communities. That’s where your voice can make a difference, in advancing the cause of arts education and in the battle against true censorship whenever it arises.
Addendum, June 23, 2014: One week after The New Yorker article came out and five days after the online furor began, Stephen Sondheim released the following statement about changes to Into The Woods, which largely negates the cuts he said would be happening. It reads:
An article in The New Yorker misreporting my “Master Class” conversation about censorship in our schools with seventeen teachers from the Academy for Teachers a couple of weeks ago has created some false impressions about my collaboration with the Disney Studio on the film version of Into the Woods. The fact is that James (Lapine, who wrote both the show and the movie) and I worked out every change from stage to screen with the producers and with Rob Marshall, the director. Despite what the New Yorker article may convey, the collaboration was genuinely collaborative and always productive.
When the conversation with the teachers occurred, I had not yet seen a full rough cut of the movie. Coincidentally, I saw it immediately after leaving the meeting and, having now seen it a couple of times, I can happily report that it is not only a faithful adaptation of the show, it is a first-rate movie.
And for those who care, as the teachers did, the Prince’s dalliance is still in the movie, and so is “Any Moment.”
As I prepared to go to Trumbull CT last month to see the high school’s production of Rent, many people asked, or wrote me to ask, if I would be writing about it. My consistent reply, “I doubt it,” was met with surprise by one and all, who asked, ‘Why not?’
I had been very vocal in my support for the show when it was canceled back in the fall, and I know that I played some role in helping to turn the tide back in favor of the production, though it was the students and adults in the community who really carried the day. But in anticipation of the show, I had no idea what might move me to write. After all, I was already “in the bag” for the production – delighted that it was happening, loving it even before I saw it. What, I wondered, would I have to say other than that it was great? It was great, incidentally, to the degree that I watched with even a shred of objectivity.
The night, however, had an entirely unexpected effect on me. It all happened after the final curtain call.
* * *
I drove up to Trumbull with Jonathan Larson’s father Al and sister Julie, who I have known since, during my tenure, the American Theatre Wing negotiated for and ultimately took over the responsibility of giving The Jonathan Larson Grants. Though I didn’t consult the Larsons or ask for their support as I undertook my advocacy in Trumbull in the late fall, I did keep them posted. The day the show was put back on the schedule, they said they would come in from Los Angeles to see the production and we made plans to go together, several months hence.
The only people who knew that the Larsons were coming to that first of four performances were Jessica Spillane, the teacher who runs the drama program in Trumbull, and Larissa Mark, the student president of the Thespian Troupe. It seems they really know how to keep a secret. After the performance, Ms. Spillane instructed the students not to rush to take off their costumes, but to gather in a corridor directly behind the stage. She did not tell them why.
So when she introduced Al and Julie, the reaction from the cast and crew was stunning. The most extraordinary mixture of shock, joy and tears erupted in equal measure, as some 60 or so students realized that they had just performed for the family of the late composer who died before most of them were born.
Julie, following my own tendency in such situations, withdrew to the sidelines, though she graciously spoke with anyone who approached her; I stood by her with the extra barrier of my camera, as I tried in vain to capture the entirety of the scene. Al, however, was immediately surrounded, as one by one students came up to thank him, to shake his hand, and most remarkably, ask if they could hug him.
I understood yet marveled at their compulsion to commune with the father of the writer they would only know through his words and music. This was as close as they could possibly come to Jonathan, and this kindly gentleman in his late 80s, who I have no doubt couldn’t hear a great deal of what was said to him, gave them each a turn, as crying teens tentatively stepped up, and then boldly embraced a man who was a stranger only minutes before.
I have never discussed the experience of Jonathan’s death with the Larsons in the years I’ve known them. It is a sad tale well known to anyone who knew about theatre in the mid-90s and there was no reason for me to inquire after details. That said, in bringing the grants to the Theatre Wing, I felt a great responsibility for Jonathan’s legacy and it brought me close this family that endured a terrible loss even as they saw Rent triumph. Seeing those students so raw with emotion, so desirous of connection, so profoundly moved to try to convey their own sense of loss was perhaps the only way in which I have ever participated so emotionally with Jonathan, with his family, and with Rent.
* * *
Eventually, it became time to pull Al away from the students, who would have surely kept him there all night. It was getting late, we had to drive back to Manhattan, the whole experience of the day had to be as exhausting for Al and Julie as it was for me. We made it out of the corridor into the larger school hallway, but Al and Julie proceeded by inches while I moved unfettered. A few parents who spotted me offered their thanks; one or two revealed themselves to be siblings or spouses of people I had gone to high school with, 34 years ago and a few miles away.
As I casually leaned against a wall, a young man approached me, and asked if I was Howard Sherman. Recognizing him as a Facebook friend, I quickly offered up, “And you must be…” and indeed I was correct. But this young man, who I’d not met before, was not some random social media connection.
I had gone to high school with the young man’s uncle and his aunt; I had first met his father, who is several years younger than me, when the father was perhaps no more than 8 and I was a much older 13. Most important though, is that I knew his grandfather, who was my scoutmaster in my Boy Scout days.
Boy Scouting, by and large, is not a vivid memory for me. I was not driven to achieve a top rank, I don’t have close friends today who I knew from the activity. But there is one aspect that I will never forget: the day that this young man’s grandfather died of a heart attack on a camping trip, when I was 17 years old and a senior leader in the scout ranks.
I wasn’t on the trip. I had skipped it in favor of performing Abbott and Costello’s “Who’s On First?” at my school’s annual Pops Concert, although that was accidental; another friend had been grounded and couldn’t fulfill the commitment, so I stepped in. I learned of my scoutmaster’s death only a few hours before the performance and I actually followed the dictum of “the show must go on,” performing a comedy routine while in sorrow, even though it could have easily been excised from the performance.
I have always felt pangs of guilt over not having been on the trip. Not because I believe I could have done anything to help medically, but because there were so many younger scouts who were there when this sudden passing took place. I should have been there to support them. Who knows whether I would have been able to do so. I will always wonder.
I skipped the cast party and remember sitting at the kitchen table late into the night talking about this death with my parents. I remember saying to them how sad I was that I never got to tell my scoutmaster that I loved him. Wisely, they explained that such occasions didn’t arise under everyday circumstances, but that surely he knew from my loyalty that I cared for him and that surely it was mutual. It was the night I resolved to always try to let the people I care for know it at all times, in action and in words.
So here I was standing with a grandson who never knew his grandfather, a man whose loss I’ve never forgotten. Via Facebook, I knew that the young man was in a show at his own high school nearby: Carousel. As he is a senior, I asked the standard adult question, “Do you know where you’re going to college yet?” He replied that he was still working it out.
Jokingly, I said, “You don’t plan to go into theatre, do you?” I regretted my jest as soon as he said he was. I immediately said that he should call me any time for advice or help, and I meant it sincerely. I hope he takes me up on it. It’s the very least I can do.
When he stepped away, I began sobbing. It would be easy to say it was just the late hour, or a release of emotions from what I had witnessed earlier in the corridor. But I knew that I had been thrust back into that Saturday night in 1979 when a commitment to perform both took me away from somewhere I perhaps should have been, even as it placed me where I belonged, and where I’d spend my life.
* * *
That one night at Trumbull was a roller coaster (a ride I studiously avoid). I had stirrings of pride in something I felt very separate from when it actually happened, since my role had ended back in December. My perception of theatre was bound up with grief that night, through this young man – who I hope to know better – and his family, as well as through the members of the Larson family, both present and absent, and also through the Trumbull thespians, so profoundly in touch with their emotions so openly and so suddenly.
Many will be quick to tell you that part of how we experience the arts has a great deal to do with what we bring to that experience. I unwittingly brought a lot to Trumbull that night and I came away with more. It may be too soon know exactly how much. I may never know. But whether in high school auditoriums or Broadway houses, I’ll keep seeking. Who knows what I’ll find, where I’ve already found so much in the darkness and embrace of the theatre.
What is the purpose of putting on shows in high school? Is it educational? Recreational? Is it community relations? Is it a family activity?
I’ve always thought that high school theatre was for the benefit of the students putting on the show – for the education, the team-building, the exploration of talent and so on. That parents, siblings, relatives, friends and neighbors come to see these productions – whether academic in origin or extracurricular – is a byproduct, not a purpose. Although, to be fair, in many schools, the drama programs have to be self-supporting, so a certain amount of general audience development may be necessary, which can mean throwing a wide net.
Nonetheless, the recent cancelation of a high school production of The Laramie Project in Ottumwa, Iowa caught me by surprise. Not because I’m unfamiliar with educational administrators being uncomfortable with Laramie, but because the principal there has said “the play is too adult for a high school production but it does preach a great message.” If the message is great, where’s the problem? What makes it too adult? That it’s about a murder? Murder is in movies, books, plays, and TV shows consumed by much younger kids. Is it that the murder victim was gay? Sadly, homophobia remains everywhere, but it’s worth noting that marriage equality has been the law in Iowa since 2009.
According to reports in The Ottumwa Courier and Heartland Connection, both the principal and superintendent are pleased that arrangements have been made for the production to be done by the students elsewhere in the community. So why exactly don’t they want it in their own backyard or, more accurately, auditorium?
The reason cited is because they feel what the school offers should be family entertainment for all ages, and that the admirable but adult themes of Laramie don’t fit that criteria. So the question is whether this is a long-standing, publicly stated policy, or one introduced only to block the production of this particular play, which is taken from verbatim accounts of the death of Matthew Shepard in Wyoming more than a decade ago.
I spoke with Moisés Kaufman, the artistic director of Tectonic Theatre Project, the company that created The Laramie Project and its companion piece The Laramie Project: 10 Years Later, since he has the best perspective on the play’s production history. Referring to Laramie as one of the most produced plays in America – professionally, amateur, college and high school – Kaufman acknowledged that productions are also challenged or canceled with some regularity, saying it happens in high schools two or three times annually. Based on my general awareness of theatre news nationally, I was surprised: I thought it was more frequent, but the play’s popularity in high schools is confirmed by Dramatics magazine.
“Invariably,” Kaufman observed about cancelations of Laramie, “it has the opposite effect of what the administration is trying to do – it emboldens the students to be artists and social activists. Students realize that art is an incredible weapon and they have a responsibility and opportunity that comes from being an art maker.”
Kaufman said that, comparable to the figures often associated with marriage equality issue, there’s a big divide in the thinking between people over 50 and those under 50. “Students are very ready for this conversation, they’re living it,” said Kaufman. “It’s adults who are having a hard time with it.” Describing the typical conflict over high school productions of Laramie, Kaufman said, “First, it’s a disconnect in ideology and preparedness to deal with contemporary ideas, and secondly, that they’re listening to outside voices that have nothing to do with the education of the students.”
In Ottumwa, if the administration freely acknowledges the value of the piece and expresses support for the students doing it, but off school grounds, it seems that what’s at stake is a fear of outside pressure, an avoidance of potential challenges, with “family friendly” as a smokescreen for conflict avoidance. It’s a shame that the administration can’t back up their own sentiments and advocate for Laramie within the school, rather than harboring school resources and insulating themselves from any personal and professional risk instead of standing up for what they believe in. What kind of example and lesson is that?
The assertion that high school shows should be for all ages is not a new argument to me; I heard it voiced at a Board of Education meeting at my alma mater, Amity High School in Woodbridge CT, when a handful of community members registered their displeasure with a pending production of Sweeney Todd. It suggests that because so many parents and administrators were raised on the anodyne – albeit wonderful and classic – musicals of the 40s, 50s and 60s, that those shows remain exemplars of the only appropriate repertoire.
I think that perspective is deeply flawed. Would we choose to teach students from textbooks that were written with 1960s sensibility? Would we protect our athletes with the insufficient equipment of that era, or even from the 80s? Would literature and music be comparably circumscribed? I doubt it, especially in any district that wants to prepare students educationally, socially and emotionally for the world they’ll soon face, out from under the protective wings of parents and schools. High school theatre may still be thought of by many as a charming and even quaint activity for kids, and an easily expendable one at that, but it can instill great lessons and even save lives, if the students are permitted to engage with the full range of dramatic work, be it classic, new or even original.
The lessons of The Laramie Project are obvious to anyone who knows the piece or even just the facts surrounding Matthew Shepard’s death. High school teachers and administrators should be proud that students want to perform it and should be proud to have it, and other socially conscious, emotionally charged works on their stages.
As someone who had to make do in high school with Don’t Drink The Water and Bye Bye Birdie, I admire and envy every student who has had the chance to engage with material as challenging and important as The Laramie Project and other equally important, thoughtful and moving pieces of theatre. And if some pre-teens have to miss seeing their big siblings in a show, well surely that’s not the only time they haven’t been allowed to tag along. What’s done in their elementary or middle school is for them, and what’s done in high school is for bigger kids – and for every adult in town. Maybe there’s still time for Ottumwa High School to teach the right lesson.
MA’s Everett High School, where content complaints morphed into budget woes.
Follow this with me, will you?
“The plays bothered a lot of us,” says a school superintendent, referring to works presented by a high school drama group. “The plays had references to sex and drinking.” In one instance, a male student reportedly doffed his pants, revealing shorts.
Subsequently, the school system, citing an influx of students (reports a news article) announces that all drama classes are terminated, with the superintendent saying (as paraphrased in the article), “The school can no longer afford to offer the classes as enrollment grows.”
Did everyone notice the sudden turn in there?
This is no hypothetical, but a scenario played out at the high school in Everett MA and reported by The Boston Globe. While the school superintendent, Frederick Foresteire, wraps himself in the protective shroud of marshaling resources in challenging economic times (unquestionably a legitimate concern in every public school in the country), targeting a drama program for eradication after registering his personal disapproval of said program smacks of retribution.
The article seems riddled with mixed messages. If there has been the demand for multiple sections of drama up until now, how does increased enrollment warrant elimination of a course of study? It is impossible to determine from the article whether any other academic area was treated comparably, though that would seem germane.
If the school has been content to have a single teacher take responsibility for drama education for six years, why does the superintendent note that “there will not be four or five sections taught by one teacher” if drama classes return in the future? Supposedly this action is not in response to the teacher’s qualifications to teach drama. One teacher with expertise would seem the economically and pedagogically prudent solution down the line, full or part-time.
And while a school system is well within its rights to post teachers based upon need, why would Everett High’s principal make the decision to reassign the drama teacher (who also teaches science) to a K through 8 school? If the high school’s enrollment is an issue, sending teachers elsewhere wouldn’t seem to solve the problem (unless this was some sort of trade) and this teacher could certainly go back to more science courses. And surely where that teacher was sent to address the district’s needs wasn’t the principal’s decision, but that of someone higher up, with a more global view. Like, say, a superintendent.
While drama will remain at Everett High as an extracurricular activity, the article also notes that the school’s new principal, Erick Naumann, “will have more authority over the drama club,” and the drama coach “will have to submit a description of props and, if possible, stage directions, at least two months in advance.”
Does anyone still think this situation has anything to do with budgets?
In the past, I’ve acknowledged that schools and school districts have the right to decide what material is appropriate for their drama groups, academic or extracurricular, but I believe those decisions should be made in the best interests of the students, not the school system. I lobby for the widest range of material possible, but I admit am not charged with the creation of educational standards. When content issues arise, it is usually because administrators have paid scant attention to drama courses or clubs for years and only take an interest when something of “questionable” propriety is brought to their attention, often late in the game, or because of personal biases by administrators. But prop lists? Stage directions? At least two months in advance? That smacks of Big Brother and is impractical if not impossible, as anyone with a basic understanding of how theatre is made would know. It would be interesting to learn by what criteria such a submission would be either challenged or approved.
Also pertinent at Everett High is that some of the “offending” material that drew Mr. Foresteire’s ire was written by the students. Well, you know what? If kids are writing about their lives, topics like sex and alcohol are going to come up. Hiding them from view only serves to deny the opportunity for dialogue and learning — and it’s censorship of the students’ voices in an educational setting. Will Mr. Naumann also be determining which student essays and stories may be read aloud in English classes in his school? I doubt it. But I bet original student dramas won’t soon be seen again in those parts, so long as they need to be approved every step along the way, killing any possibility of creativity, spontaneity or truth.
When high school theatre initiatives are threatened or cut, attention to the issue is predominantly local and discrete, as if each was unique and only of interest to the specific school and town. That the Globe wrote about the situation in Everett is commendable, though it appears to have emanated from a local news bureau; read online, it’s impossible to discern whether it was in a regional edition or in the full run of the print version. The Everett High School drama decision deserves even more attention and investigation, as inconsistencies abound.
Even though the final verdict will occur every time at the local level when school arts programs are threatened over content, funding or both, these challenges to drama and indeed all of the arts need to be taken up nationally in each and every case as ongoing evidence of a continuing trend. That’s why as a Connecticut native and a New York resident, I’m worried about what has taken place in Everett MA, because I know it’s not an isolated incident. It’s just another in a long line of school administrations afraid to allow students to grapple with and learn about the world through art, under the guise of protecting them. Perhaps it’s even something more.
Oh, and by the way Mr. Foresteire: I dropped trou onstage, revealing boxer shorts, in a high school production back in 1977. The offensive material? Neil Simon’s The Odd Couple.
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Click here to sign a petition in support of the restoration of drama education at Everett High School.
