When I first heard it, it sounded strange to my ear. I wondered whether Charlie Rose had just misread his teleprompter, whether some young segment producer had written an introduction without being sufficiently steeped in theatre terminology, or whether it was simply a typo. But as my initial surprise wore off, I found I rather liked the word, and wonder whether it could brought into common usage in the arts.

Allow me to set the scene before going forward.

Having a moderate degree of interest in this week’s barrage of stunts by television’s network morning programs, I was doing a bit of channel surfing to see how the Katie Couric (ABC) vs. Sarah Palin (NBC) counterprogramming might be working, and whether CBS had anything up its sleeve as well. At one precise point, to give you a picture of the ethos of the three programs, Good Morning America had a interview with Camille Grammer directly opposite The Today Show’s visit with Tori Spelling, while CBS This Morning had a feature on what the 1940 U.S. Census reveals. In this particular atmosphere, I didn’t expect to find anything that might make me think deeply about theatre.

So when Charlie Rose, on the CBS program, began introducing an interview with Candice Bergen in conjunction with her role in Broadway’s The Best Man, it was jarring to hear the production described as, “a renewal.” Not revival, not revisal, not reinvention, not revisitation, not refurbishment. Renewal.

I’ve decided I like it.

Now there’s an argument that could be made for avoiding any of these qualifiers about plays or musicals, but there seems to be a deep desire to distinguish new work from that which dates back over some period of time, so I’ll leave that alone for today. Revival is the default mode; musicals which have been altered, whether in part or substantially from their original texts may be called revisals. The other “re’s” I’ve cited above are used on occasion, but they’re not standard terminology, in conversation or in marketing.

Yet whenever I’ve spoken to a director about staging a work which previously received a substantial production or productions some time ago, be it a decade or a century or more, they all say some variation of the same thing when asked about their work with it: “I treat it like it’s new.” Whether the creator(s) are alive or long dead, directors talk about working with the authors, collaborating with them, be it Shepard or Shakespeare. Yet the word revival carries with it, to me, a whiff of the grave, more resurrection or resuscitation of something dead than reinvigoration of something awaiting only light and air.  Yes, I’m parsing these words closely, perhaps pedantically, and through my own associations, but in a field that trades in words, their meaning and their implied or inferred (if not intended) message is tremendously important; I’m quick to challenge obfuscation or misdirection.

So I find renewal a very optimistic word, because while acknowledging history, it seems very forward looking, and indeed may reflect precisely what theatre artists hope to achieve when they look to past work for today’s repertory. It may even be goal setting: that when such works are undertaken, they should be renewed for both the participating artists and audiences, so that they are more than mere replication of something from the past, but are instead made relevant.

Do I expect this to fall readily into common parlance among our peers? No, that optimistic I’m not; it would require endless repetition. But having inveighed against the “er vs re” debate regarding the very name of our field, here’s an “re” usage I’d like to think we can all get behind when the opportunity presents itself or necessity arises.

So whether this morning’s usage was intentional, ill-informed or simply a slip, I salute Charlie Rose and his team. Renewal is refreshing.

I should note that I have not yet seen The Best Man and that nothing in this post should be construed as any comment upon that production.

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.

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

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

1. Life-affirming = someone dies.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You use protection, you understand the dangers, but even a tiny pinprick can breach the most reliable barrier in this day and age. And once it’s out, there’s not a whole lot you can do about it, except ponder the consequences.

I am referring, of course, to information in our present day media saturated world, where Facebook has reduced the six degrees of separation theory to only 4.7 degrees, and where one tweet in a never-ending emission can, if it hits the right target, multiply and grow with unplanned repercussions. We are all progenitors of fact, and of gossip, and ironically, great success is now considered to be when said information goes viral, infecting as many as it can.

I’m torturing this metaphor at the moment because, over the past 12 hours or so, I have watched a simple bit of information, of relatively narrow interest, couple with some unintended partners. I’m not speaking of something salacious, some celebrity “sext,” but rather a humble casting notice.

Said notice was issued by a theatre, picked up by a popular website, where it was noticed by the playwright of the work being cast. He then tweeted his excitement, sharing the online article, where it attracted the attention not only of the publicist for said theatre – which had not yet announced the production in question – as well as the chief drama critic for the city’s major newspaper. Cat’s out of the bag, wouldn’t you say?

Based on the tweet trail surrounding this, everyone is taking it in the proper spirit: the critic doesn’t feel he was intentionally overlooked, the playwright realizes he might have kept his powder dry. The publicist may well be having a few words with the theatre’s artistic staff about the situation, but that would appear to be taking place offline.

I wrote six months ago about how the practice of press embargoes may be disintegrating, and scoops now are measured in minutes (via electronic media) as opposed to hourly or even daily news cycles. But in an age when everyone can be a broadcaster vis Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr and so on, the veil of privacy at any organization is perpetually at risk. Yes, employees can sign policy statements regarding their use of such media, but here’s a case where the initial release of information, thought to reach only a defined constituency, flashed quickly to other audiences, catching more than a few people by surprise.

An aside: on a few occasions in the past, I caused some of my fellow employees to be severely reprimanded by our bosses for speaking to a newspaper without my approval (such as the morning when a member of our artistic staff was on the front page of our major newspaper saying he’d rather wash his socks than watch the Super Bowl, a snobby statement I felt made us look elitist). Now the best I could hope for now would be to educate the staff about what they might be saying and when, rather than curtailing their media access for fear of jeopardizing their jobs.

Last night’s breach is certainly not the end of the world. Sustaining my motif, the information accidentally broadcast wasn’t news about an unwanted artistic baby, merely an early birth announcement. But it brings home the fact that control and timing, once so highly desired by organizations and hammered into their public representatives, will rarely remain under lock and key, no matter how hard we try. A drop of information, once released through any means and by anyone, can become a flood. Maybe we should just be happy that people care and that news of our work can still find welcoming homes.

P.S. Why have I been so coy about the plays and players herein? Because maybe you didn’t see the tweets I’ve mentioned, and I believe that ultimately, this is the organization’s news to share, not mine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

12.  Annual tradition = it pays the bills.

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

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

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

16.  Heart-warming = tear-jerking.

17.  Brechtian = not heart-warming.

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

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

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

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

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

23.  Current = people swear.

24. Daring = people swear a lot.

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

26.  Family friendly = no one swears.

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

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

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

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

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

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

33.  Newcomer = just graduated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Anyone recall the phrase “on hiatus”?

It was a very popular euphemism in the television industry for shows that were taken off the air shortly after their debuts (in most cases), and likely never to be seen again (in all but a few instances). I haven’t heard the “on hiatus” spin in a while in regards to television; now shows are merely “yanked” off the schedule and everyone quickly admits they’re cancelled (except, oddly enough, for Rules of Engagement, which keeps getting resuscitated). It’s harsh, perhaps, but it’s accurate, and doesn’t leave the folks associated with the series tied up contractually and anxious or unduly hopeful about their fate.

I was pondering “on hiatus” because theatre seems to have developed its own euphemism: “indefinitely postponed.” In the past week or so, it has appeared in connection with two productions that were announced, then yanked. I’m speaking of the new Edward Albee play Laying An Egg at Signature Theatre Company and the revival of Funny Girl. Now I bear none of the artists or producers involved with these shows any ill will. There are any number of factors which may have derailed these shows, all valid. Producer Bob Boyett spoke openly with The New York Times about the Funny Girl decision, and perhaps Edward Albee was simply at work on a play that he decided wasn’t ready for prime time. Theatre requires both artistic and business decisions and, difficult as they are to make, the better part of valor is to pull the plug rather than waste people’s time and money.

But what of “indefinitely postponed”? “Postponed” on its own means delayed, and usually carries the implication that whatever has been put off will eventually occur. This can be reinforced with “postponed until” which can be date specific, season specific, or an amorphous “the future.” But “indefinitely postponed” seems a cop out, especially when there’s no language associated with it to give hope.

Now it may well be that Mr. Albee will continue to work on Laying An Egg and will sustain his lengthy relationship with Signature by insuring it premieres there. It’s likely that Bob Boyett retains the first-class production rights to Funny Girl for some period of time and that if there’s to be a production, it will be under his auspices.  But the funny thing is, no rhetoric suggesting those scenarios was employed, and none has leaked out.

That the press is adopting the spin of “indefinitely postponed” is rather startling to me, since this language has inspired a more than healthy skepticism in anyone with whom I’ve discussed it. The sad truth is that these shows are off, likely not to be seen in any time period that we would accept as part of a postponement. Might they eventually reach the stage? Well surely someone will revive Funny Girl at some point and, if Mr. Albee completes a play entitled Laying An Egg, it will surely be produced. But for now, who’s buying this phrasing?

But having written just yesterday about the value of emotional truth on our stages and in our marketing, I can only recommend the same in our public relations. We are not dissembling politicians, whose actions are often derisively labeled as theatre. The creation of art, under commercial or not-for-profit auspices, requires risk, and there really is no shame if things don’t come off – especially when people are smart enough to put on the brakes before things go too far.  For smaller companies, for younger artists, for students – it’s not such a bad thing to learn that theatre is unpredictable and at times goes awry. So perhaps it’s time to put “indefinitely postponed” on hiatus.