I had been planning to write about the pros and cons of “Tweet Seats,” weighing the potential of technology to complement live entertainment against its potential for intrusion and distraction. Whatever your opinion may be, I will no longer seek to address it, because such debates could become irrelevant. The reason for that worries me and I hope we will all find consensus as I explain.

Earlier this week, having seen some of my prior tweets and blogs on the topic of Tweet Seats, a regional theatre company (that has asked not to be named) shared with me a letter and supporting documents from the Global IP Law Group in Chicago, in which the firm, representing its client Inselberg Interactive, claims that said theatre has violated patents owned by Inselberg. What had the theatre done? They had a Tweet Seat night last year. The law firm asserted that U.S. Patent 6,975,878 covers the provision of “interactive audience participation at live spectator events,” and indeed that quote is from the patent document itself, which you may review here.

I am not a patent attorney or an expert in the field of intellectual property, but I can read, and I have reviewed this patent; I urge you to do so as well. It refers to a “method” which, among other things,  involves “querying the spectators,” “processing the spectator data into results,” “transmitting the answers to a central processor,” and “broadcasting the results of the processing of spectator data.” It includes two line drawings, one which shows a device not unlike a Motorola flip phone from the 90s, and the other which shows three people using such device at a football game, with scoreboards that read “Answer A, B, C.” Although Tweet Seat events of which I’m aware do not show results on a commonly viewed screen, they are shared with anyone who cares to look at their device, both at the event and elsewhere, which the firm asserts is covered. Interestingly, the patent abstract notes that, “The method includes providing spectators with an interactive device”; while Tweet Seat events require people to use their own phones, but this doesn’t seem to have derailed the claim of infringement. It does seem a bit of extrapolation has taken place.

Deeper into the patent document you can also find what is referred to as a “Detailed Description of the Invention,” but in this case the invention is neither the device nor the software which would make such interaction possible. No, “the invention” is the idea of doing so. Nowhere does the patent suggest that Inselberg invented the smartphone or any of its underlying technology, nor does it make any claim to having invented Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn or any other program, website or application which easily and freely permits people to communicate with each other and with venues, presenters and producers on smartphones. They patented the concept of using such things at some point in the future when the technology became available, and now that it has, they seek to profit from it or restrict it.

So whether you like Tweet Seats or not at arts events, whether you think anything of their sort is entertaining at sporting events, the intent of Global IP Law Group is to either “license this patent portfolio,” or shut down such uses, theatre by theatre, stadium by stadium, on behalf of their client. Through this patent, they would seek to monetize methods of communication that have already swept the world, albeit they seek to do so in a particular set of locations. They would charge a toll for free speech in theatres.

In the blog post I planned to write, I was going to discuss the fact that social media is extremely new, and that while it has gained staggering traction in a very short span of time (Facebook was only opened to the public in 2006; Twitter debuted even later), it is still in its infancy. A few decades from now, its integration into our lives, our entertainment, and perhaps even our art will be vastly more sophisticated; interactive media 2012 will look like radio in the 1920s or television in the 1940s. It is possible that our current resistance to social media as part of the live entertainment experience will give way to something less intrusive and more organic (if such a word can be applied to the meshing of the innately human performing arts and the fundamentally technological nature of electronic communication). But should we pay in order to explore that possibility?

The performing arts, largely because of their budgetary constraints, tend to not be early adopters of new technology. However, Twitter, Facebook, Pinterest and so many other resources are available for free (although one still must acquire a computer or smartphone and pay for internet access). But we make an easy target for claims such as those made in the name of U.S. Patent 6,975,878 because the arts do not have the ready resources to fight them individually or even necessarily together, and we are likelier to cease and desist than to challenge and persist, yet avoidance or capitulation would be unfortunate. We are lucky that this incursion on our efforts at creative communication encompasses professional sports, since that field has vastly deeper pockets, and may help to confront the concerns I’m spelling out. However, the Global IP Law Group asserts in a cover letter to their claim that several stadiums and arenas, including the Target Center, Xcel Energy Center and the Hubert Humphrey Metrodome have in fact licensed the technology from Inselberg; if this is verified, then we are already on a slippery slope.

It is unfortunate that this comes to light through experimentation with Tweet Seats, which at this point are far from widespread or de rigeur, but do evoke great passion from their detractors; many would be delighted to see them ended, but again, now is not the time to argue their effects (though I ask you to recall, if you can, the vehement response once upon a time to supertitles at the opera). If Tweet Seats are what alert us all to this wide-ranging patent which could close off a means of communicating with our audiences, of connecting with them in our theatres – perhaps even pre- and post-show and during intermission, which perhaps many would find less offensive  – then I urge everyone to fly the flag of Tweet Seats as a right and a choice, rather than a service we must license.

I have kept the confidence of the theatre that shared this information with me because, sensibly, they do not wish to further draw the attention of the Global IP Law Group.  But I have been able to show you the patent which is public record and, if you are a venue which has already been contacted, I am willing to be the conduit through which you may find others. If you have already held a Tweet Seats event, I certainly understand why you would not wish to alert the Global IP Law Group of your efforts, but perhaps you might use an intermediary to query the firm about its claims, on the grounds of considering Tweet Seats or some other interactive venture. But remember, Google is available to everyone. For free. So these firms may well find you anyway.  They’ll probably find this post within minutes of my publishing it. However, I have spoken with another theatre which held a Tweet Seats event, and they had not been contacted with this claim.

Many people abhor when material that is considered offensive is defended under the principle of free speech, but certainly the arts have had to stand for their rights when they present material which some might find objectionable. In this case, the specificity of the usage to be defended, Tweet Seats, might be seen in and of itself as impinging upon creative work, or disrupting the experience of performance, and therefore an offense. However, commercially restricting the practice does raise issues of free speech using common modes of communication. Whether or not we employ Tweet Seats or something akin to them is a choice every organization should be allowed to experiment with and make on its own, as we work to use the very newest technology to connect with our audiences, in our own venues, and to maintain awareness and enthusiasm for our work when so many other options beckon and so many creative – and perhaps generally palatable – uses of technology have yet to be conceived.

Addendum: Late in the day that this post first appeared, the theatre that went unnamed as the recipient of the claim against their use of Tweet Seats reconsidered their request for anonymity and chose to waive it. The theatre in question is Goodspeed Musicals in East Haddam CT, where I was general manager from 1994 to 1998, and intermittently serve as a consultant.

March 28, 2012

Mr. Harvey Weinstein

The Weinstein Company

Dear Mr. Weinstein:

I have been reading of late about your struggle with the Motion Picture Association of America over the ‘R’ rating given to the film Bully, which you will now release, in two days, unrated. While doing so is normally box office poison, I have read that AMC Theaters have agreed to show the film despite its lack of MPAA sanction, recognizing the educational and social value of the film; hopefully all others will follow suit. Fortunately, the publicity surrounding your confrontation with the MPAA has no doubt added to public awareness of the film, building upon the growing awareness in the country of the insidious and escalating harm that bullying causes to our country’s children, and countering the negative marketplace effects that an unrated film can face.

From all of the advance press I’ve read, the filmmakers have produced a remarkable film, and you are to be applauded for buying the rights to it last summer. Indeed, you had to suffer through the initial round of press which sought to have fun at your expense, commenting repeatedly that there is an irony in someone so often portrayed as a bully championing an anti-bullying project. But you are no doubt strong enough to have weathered the brickbats, as you have before in the press, and you have worked on behalf of what is by all accounts a valuable and important film. Indeed, “bullying” seems too tame a term for the apparently systematic torture that many youths suffer for a variety of reasons, all of which must be brought to a stop.

But something is nagging at me, namely: where will the profits go on this film? I looked on the website, and while it describes the film as having been financed in part by foundations, and lists partnerships on both the film and The Bully Project behind it, I saw no message that profits from the film would be donated to anti-bullying efforts. I tried, but could not find it. I did find, with a bit of hunting, a page that allowed individuals to donate to the Creative Visions Foundation, a non-profit partner to the film.

I realize that your company is not a not-for-profit, but please, Mr. Weinstein, please tell me that you are not going to make a profit from this film. Please tell me that you will meet your acquisition, distribution and marketing costs and the rest of your profits will go entirely towards further efforts to combat this apparent epidemic. I would like to “like” the film on Facebook, I want people to see this film if it is as effective as people are saying, but I bridle at the thought that someone might be profiting from its release. Please tell me what is happening in that regard. Put the opportunity to donate to fight bulling right there on the film’s home page, along with a declaration of where the film’s revenues will go.

Frankly, you have an even broader opportunity, one that could be of even greater benefit to bullied children and teens everywhere, and which would also reflect your altruistic, rather than capitalistic, goals. Why not figure out how to make this movie available for free? Would the theatre owners consider this? Could you partner with a broadcast TV network (for greater access)? Could it be downloaded as free content online? If the point of the film is indeed the message, shouldn’t it be as broadly available as possible, without regard to the economic ability of those who might benefit to pay to see it? With a call to action at its end, even more money could be raised for anti-bullying efforts, whether through The Bully Project or other initiatives.

I realize that this seems a naive position, and no one would accuse me of being naive. But with a non-fiction film that is reportedly free of partisan political content, one which could literally mean life or death for untold numbers of youths, maybe this is the moment to aspire to something greater than box office returns. I can afford to pay to see your film, and I will, but I’m thinking of all of those who can’t – and should. You can truly elevate a movement here, not just release a film. I hope you will.

Sincerely,

Howard Sherman

once a target for bullies

There have been a wide variety of theatre gatherings in the last week: a NAMT conference in Seattle, an industry weekend at the Humana Festival, the traveling roadshow explicating the “New Beans” study, the New York City panel (prompted by the Mike Daisey flap) on truth in theatre. Having been unable to attend any of these, I have learned about them in the modern manner: via tweet, blog, livestream and archived video and audio. So without having sat at each and listened from beginning to end, without the opportunity to ask questions or make comment in real-time, these have all blended together for me.

What I take away from this stew of conversation and debate is an overriding desire for greater connection: between playwrights and theatres, between artists and audiences, between creative talents and administrators, between everyone and the truth. Though I didn’t particularly enjoy reading E.M. Forster’s Howards End, its epigram echoes, even if it has passed into the realm of cliché. Only connect.

This puts me in mind of one of my earlier musings, about how sporting events and civic gatherings unite everyone involved through the Pledge of Allegiance and the national anthem (baseball also reinforces this with the ritual singing of “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” during the seven inning-stretch). While I acknowledge that it’s not an easy task to find the right material for such a unifying act before the start of a theatrical production, and know of many people who would sooner leave than be forced into audience participation, I still ponder how the artists of a performance could be united with their audience even before the start of the show itself. Yes, a song before Ibsen could be jarring, and how could we unite given what I presume to be a general unfamiliarity with Norwegian folk tunes. But wouldn’t a mournful Irish ballad make a great preamble to many of the plays of O’Neill; what if we all followed the bouncing ball for several verses of “This Land is Your Land” before stories of immigrants, or of the dispossessed? Why must we wait until the end of a show, as with Hair, for the audience to dance together? Director Mark Lamos once had audiences dancing pre-show for a Twelfth Night, so that when the stage cleared and Orsino said, “If music be the food of love, play on,” his mournful plaint was felt by all who had participated in a party, not merely observed one.  Not to in any way discount the value of pre-show discussions, which grow more prevalent, but a unifying experience is emotional and active, not didactic.

Another means of connection is one I’ve also championed for many years, namely that each and every time the playwright, composer, director, choreographer and/or designers of a production – together or separately – are in the house for a performance of a show of theirs, they should be invited to take a bow.  On opening nights, it is not uncommon for the creative team to participate in the ovation, and while at times they can be awkwardly staged (in that they aren’t staged at all, and these unfamiliar people should be introduced), every performance can be an opportunity for the audience to see and respond to the full complement of creative artists who contributed to the production, not only the cast. While many of those artists might prefer anonymity, and of course many have moved on post-opening, they deserve recognition, an awareness of their presence only deepens the experience for the audience that has shared in their work. With better-known artists, the excitement can be palpable; Caryl Churchill’s presence merely as an audience member, not even a participating playwright, this past weekend at Actors Theater of Louisville yielded a rippling thrill across the Twitterverse, far beyond the theatre’s walls.

Most every theatre uses the first rehearsal/first reading as a day to introduce the company and the staff of a show, but in my experience, it’s incomplete. I recall being brought into rehearsal rooms, the staff circling the company, seated at tables, as one by one we did the Mouseketeer roll call of our names and titles. There might be a speech by the artistic director, and then by the production’s director (if different), perhaps a few words by the playwright, maybe a quick demonstration of the set model – and then we were sent back to our desks to go about our regular business. We were not invited to stay for the first reading, often told that it would make the company too self conscious; I wish that we had been required to stay and listen, that even at the most unformed step, every staffer should be made to be there at the birth of a new production, not just drop by for a wave and a bagel before things got messy. The same should probably hold true for that final rehearsal in the rehearsal hall; it further engages the staff in the creative process, and refamiliarizes the company with a staff that they may not have interacted with for some three weeks.  I have heard of some companies that even hold readings of plays long before first rehearsal, with the roles divvied up among the staff – what a marvelous way to connect the staff with what they’ll soon be working on, and to connect the staff with each other.

Some theatres have sought to engage their audiences by making use of the newest technology, with “tweet seats” a cascading topic on blogs and in the mainstream media ever since a USA Today story in the fall. Regardless of your opinion of the practice, which is worthy of separate discussion, it is an effort, however primitive, to actively connect audiences with the work on stage and simultaneously with their friends and followers not in the theatre; depending upon their stage time, members of the company can even participate during the show, and I know of one artist who followed her east coast show in real time while she was back with her family in Los Angeles. While execution may vary, in a field where we talk about breaking down the fourth wall, or even shattering the proscenium barrier, technology is showing ways for artists and audiences to interact with those not even at the performance, with results still to be assessed.

I recognize that this is a laundry list of ideas, practices and possibilities, not a carefully argued thesis, and I hope that you will indulge me one last anecdote/example. As I mentioned above, the divide between staff and performers can be wide; there is not, for example, any essential reason for say, the business office to know the actors unless there’s a payroll problem. As a manager, I learned from example that I would need to make an effort to build such a connection even for myself, even though my name was on the program’s title page, since my work hours mostly ended just as shows began. But I knew that if I was in the building at half-hour, I should walk through the dressing rooms, say hello, see how everyone was feeling, and do the same in the lighting and sound booth, the box office, and so on, depending upon the particular geography of each theatre. I had been urged to do so even before I was a manager; it is one of the responsibilities I have missed most in the past 12 years.

Those rounds were never perfunctory, but they were usually casual, save for one night when we were producing the original multi-theatre co-production of August Wilson’s Jitney at Geva Theatre in 1999, during my first season as managing director there. While professionally Geva was a terrific theatre and work opportunity, it had taken me from family and friends and, personally, it was the most profoundly lonely period in my life. Jitney, as it turned out, broke that loneliness to a degree, because there were several actors in the company with whom I’d worked before and so, itinerants all, we felt a bond, especially on a show that came to us fully rehearsed, further minimizing the connection between the staff and cast. One night, though I knew it was only minutes to curtain, I decided it wasn’t too late to do my dressing room walk-through, only to find that the cast was gathering for their own nightly ritual, a prayer circle. Upon seeing me, the actor Keith Randolph Smith grabbed me and dragged me into the circle, ignoring my protestations of intruding. Although I felt awkward, it would have been deeply disrespectful to truly resist; although the prayers were offered in Jesus’ name and I am a non-practicing Jew, I joined in their ‘amen’ and invested it with true meaning. I was so moved to have been taken into the circle – no other staff member had ever been or ever was, included, I was later told – that I remain deeply honored to this day. I recall it as the first time I felt at home in Rochester. In hindsight, I only wish that every person working the show has been similarly included, each and every night.

Pray. Sing. Dance. Tweet. Discuss. Debate. But foster connection any way you can at the theatre. We are apparently all yearning for it, in our art, our marketing, our lives. And tell us all what you do to foster that connection, and how it works. There’s always new ways, and more to learn.

If you stand on Seventh Avenue in Manhattan, at the corner of either 44^th or 45^th Streets, and look west, you see the iconic image of brightly illuminated Broadway marquees lining both sides of the street. 14 of Broadway’s 40 houses are in view on two streets.

If you stand on the corner of 42^nd Street and Ninth Avenue looking west, you may see only a few glints of light off of display windows or subtle marquees, but there are 11 theatres in the next block: Theatre Row (with five stages), Playwrights Horizons (two stages), the Little Shubert and the newly opened Signature Center (with three). Extend your gaze almost to Eleventh Avenue and make it an even dozen, by adding in Signature’s former home.

There’s no comparison in scale or capacity between the Broadway stages on 44^th and 45^th Streets and the Off-Broadway venues that line this stretch of 42^nd Street, where the largest theatre is 499 seats and the average is probably half that. But there’s no arguing that the range of theatrical production on 42^nd Street is at least as vital creatively, especially when you consider that the Broadway theatres may be home to long running shows, while the turnover at the smaller venues will yield many more new productions annually, even if they do play to a fraction of the Broadway audience.

The emergence of West 42^nd Street is emblematic of a growth spurt among New York’s subsidized companies, and it’s not restricted to 42^nd Street; there’s other recent or planned theatrical renovation and construction going on elsewhere. In The New York Times, Charles Isherwood took note of this expansion, expressing concern that companies might be driven by a need to fill this real estate in contravention of their artistic goals or capacities; he also commented shows’ journeys from these intimate spaces to Broadway, which he sometimes finds ill-advised.

I won’t weigh in on whether certain shows should – or shouldn’t have – transferred to Broadway’s commercial arena, but I will say that such a decision is rooted in one of the most significant conundrums in New York’s theatrical ecosystem: the diminished viability of commercial Off-Broadway production of new plays and musicals. While there are long-running entertainments in New York’s smaller commercial venues (Stomp, Blue Man Group, De La Guarda) and there have been some other hits (I Love You, You’re Perfect, Now Change; Love, Loss and What I Wore), plays like Freud’s Last Session and the just opened Tribes are relative rarities. Off-Broadway is even now home to one-time Broadway successes (Million Dollar Quartet, Rent and Avenue Q) sustaining their New York lives through reduced expectations.

But when it comes to a Off-Broadway success from a non-commercial company, the only option today seems to be Broadway or bust, as the cost of producing sustained runs in these small venues under a commercial contract proves impossible for most serious-minded fare (or even intelligent comedies) because of many factors, from the limited revenue to the high cost of advertising on a small budget. This is markedly different from 15 or 20 years ago, when the work of companies like Playwrights Horizons and Manhattan Theatre Club would transfer regularly to commercial engagements. A mainstay of Off-Broadway in the 80s and 90s, playwright A.R. Gurney, used to see his shows transfer from a non-profit to commercial run almost annually; now his plays, no matter the reception, get a six-week run at Lincoln Center Theatre, Primary Stages or The Flea and are over. He’s joined by most playwrights in this limiting atmosphere. Even when long-running Off-Broadway hits from the past are revived, they go to Broadway, as recently evidenced by Driving Miss Daisy and Wit.

The great irony is that the New York productions become loss leaders, garnering press attention and respect, but achieving larger audiences and multiple productions in the country’s regional theatres, where they generate healthier royalties for playwrights. Nowhere is that more evident than with Clybourne Park which, after a couple of months at Playwrights Horizons, went on to regional runs in Los Angeles, Chicago, Washington DC and almost every U.S. major city (as well as London) before finally coming to rest after copious acclaim, at last, on Broadway.

The Off-Broadway building boom is a boon to theatre both in New York and beyond. But to benefit more theatergoers here, the challenge is to restore a healthy middleground between Off-Broadway not-for-profit runs and Broadway berths, so that work can stay at its proper scale, achieve a modicum of financial success and stick around for as long as people want to see it, while always making room for yet more new work. It’s a puzzle, but one worth solving.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Unless you have been isolated from all news sources for the past few hours, you are likely aware that actor George Clooney was arrested this morning for his participation in a protest outside the Sudanese Embassy in Washington DC. I doubt you’ve missed it and, even if you have, you’re going to hear more about it, because it’s a story that unites a significant humanitarian crisis that has been relatively underreported with one of the true movie stars of our generation. This makes it catnip to everyone from TMZ to The News Hour, and it does what Clooney no doubt intended: shines a stunningly bright light on a vital story that hasn’t managed to get a foothold in the American consciousness (or conscience) to a significant degree.

A massive human tragedy cannot legitimately be equated with the issue of arts funding and arts education, and please don’t misunderstand my intention here. But I can’t help look to Clooney’s action today, and the media response. I wonder what effect such an action might have on declining arts support if someone of his stature were arrested at a rowdy protest against arts funding cuts.

After all, there are plenty of articles written weekly about the proven value of the arts, not simply as a quality of life issue, but as a tool in students’ development and creative thinking, as a magnet for economic development, and so on. These articles may fly about the internet among the faithful, but they don’t seem to be getting much broad-based traction at a time when political candidates campaign by declaring their intention to gut or eliminate the National Endowment for the Arts (among many other essential, and infinitesimally small parts of the Federal budget).

Some of us have, in varying degrees, been watching or fighting this fight for several decades, and it remains a worthy battle. There are certainly celebrities who have gone before Congressional hearings to make the case, and that manages to generate a bit of video or a few inches of print. But jailing someone famous (and I mean legitimately famously, worthily famous, not some reality TV freak of the week), that’s a game-changer, lifting the issue to whole other level.

Do I have suggestions? While he may well be willing, I have previously written about why Alec Baldwin doesn’t suit my purpose. There are stars who willingly leap into public fray, like Martin Sheen, who was regularly arrested at nuclear protests even before he became one of this country’s favorite fictional Presidents; unfortunately being a regular presence diminishes the impact. I believe we need someone who hasn’t staked out a position on another divisive political issue, and whose appeal cuts across racial, political and social lines.

We need to pick our moment, our place, our specific flash point – making sure we’re in a major media market – and marshal as large a group of artists, arts staffs, and arts supporters so that we’re not asking someone to front a bedraggled few dozen malcontents. Then we have to push Tom Hanks, or Julia Roberts, or Denzel Washington, or Beyonce, or Neil Patrick Harris, or Ellen Degeneres, or Jeremy Lin, or Sofia Vergara, or Justin Timberlake, to the front of the crowd with the express goal of having those plastic handcuffs tightened around their wrists and their heads protected as they’re thrust into a police conveyance.  My god, if they were up for it, imagine the press if Angela Lansbury or James Earl Jones led the civil disobedience on this topic.

When these famous and even beloved offenders are released, which they will surely quickly be, they have to be ready with the right speech – the perfect speech – to give to the phalanx of journalists who will be waiting eagerly for their emergence. Then maybe the arts agenda will rise in the public consciousness, then we can work from a higher plateau of awareness.

When people can’t get attention they desire, we hear them mutter, “I can’t even get arrested in this town.” Maybe the arts need to get arrested now and again, and must do whatever it takes for that to happen.

And of course, if Mr. Clooney wants to join us, we’ll take him too.

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.

P.S. [Smiley face]

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?