Archive for January, 2010

or,

An ongoing list of overheard theater fallacies

I’m incredibly fortunate – I actually make money in the arts. As the administrator for a community theater and a published playwright, my paychecks are directly related to all things theater. It’s a wonderful thing.

It also lends me a particular perspective. I hear from all types, including eager young actors, cynical techs, disillusioned writers, egocentric directors – and you can pretty much switch adjectives and objects at will. And so when certain clichés start to take form, I have the advantage of placing them in a certain context. Thus, I present to you an ever-expanding compendium of theater fallacies. Have you said, or believed, any of these pearls of wisdom? I know I have.

“It’ll Sell Itself!”

Usage: We need a hit, so let’s produce ‘The Sound of Annie of Oz Grease Superstar.’ No worries – it’ll itself!
The Reality: No. It won’t.

There are certain staples out there that community theaters know – just know – will be successful. We learn this from experience. JCS always seems to bring the crowds, right? And hell, the grandparents alone will pay back the exorbitant royalties of Annie or Wizard of Oz – so bring on the moppets! But it don’t always work out that way. Sure, parents and grandparents will come see their precious little snowflakes, and rock musicals tend to bring out the curious non-theater types. But hoping the name alone will entice the crowds is a big mistake. After all, once a title is part of the zeitgeist, it’s probably been turned into a movie and produced into the ground by every theater in a 30 mile radius…so much of your target audience has been there, done that. Your particular production might be the greatest thing since that bass solo in “You Can Call Me Al,” but the name alone won’t be enough to entice the crowds.

And here’s the trickier part – the people choosing theatrical seasons are, by definition, “theater people.” They possess a certain taste and insight that much of our target audience does not. You and I can name the musical that won the Tony last year – can they? When it becomes available, we theatergeeks will jump all over it, but we’re not the ones buying tickets, we’re the ones auditioning and finagling our way into free seats. Things like “Tony and Pulitzer winning” look great in marketing blurbs, but they don’t translate into sales. And I won’t even get into the production itself, except to say word-of-mouth is a powerful tool…few things can kill a show like a cast who discourages friends & family from coming to see it.

So what DOES sell a show? Damned if I know. Damned if anybody knows. Hell, look on Broadway, where it’s all movie tie-ins and celebrities – even Disney can’t tell a hit from a flop until it’s way too late. On a local scale, the only thing that really seems to work is the unadulterated enthusiasm of the production crew itself. Seems that if the cast & crew love what they’re doing, people will come.

“If the cast & crew love what they’re doing, people will come.”

Usage: See above entry.
The Reality: Not so much.

I’m not saying it hurts. I’m just saying that no amount of cast loveydovey is going to promote a show. If said loveydovey translates into grassroots promotion – poster hanging, phone calls, impromptu street performances – it helps. But I’ve seen many shows that faltered despite the genuine enthusiasm of the cast & crew. Sometimes, the audience just doesn’t feel the love (in simpler terms, the show ain’t as good as the cast thinks it is). But often, I think those producing the show begin to assume their love is contagious, and will spill out into the atmosphere, enticing viewers like the smell of a bone entices Tex Avery dogs. It doesn’t. I’m thrilled for those in theater who have a wonderful experience – that’s what it’s all about. Now go hang some posters, willya?

“It’s all politics.”

Usage: You know why no one will produce my play and/or cast me? I don’t know the right people. It’s all politics.
The Reality: Yes, but not quite like you think.

Theater people are notoriously…unique. Think about what we do – we devote much of our lives to either pretending we are someone else or enabling others to pretend. At some level, we are constantly auditioning, showing someone our most vulnerable side so that they may judge us and decide our fate. Or, worse yet, we ARE the judges, watching person after person (often our friends, but not at that moment) parade their talents so that we can decide whether or not they fit into our “vision.” Our level of personal security is…oh, let’s say “skewed.”

Therefore, when things don’t go our way, it is very easy to blame the politics of theater. No one will produce my script because I don’t know the right people. They won’t cast me because I don’t have a chummy relationship with the director. And there might be some truth to the matter.

However, there’s an inherent surrender in comments like these. The truth is, theater – local or otherwise – is a small business, as the awesome Gary Garrison will tell you. If you don’t have connections, MAKE THEM. Lord knows I knew nobody in the playwriting biz when I started, and I can now count many amazing and successful writers among my friends…and those friendships have led to opportunities I never imagined. And really, all I did was send emails, go to productions whenever I could, and generally make an effort to connect with my fellow writers, to learn from them, to listen to them, and (especially?) to drink with them. I’ve had the luck and fortune to be able to travel, to take classes and seminars, to visit – granted, not everyone has that luxury. But isn’t that (along with odd abbreviations and kitty pics) what the internets are for?

And as for you actors & directors – yep. All things being equal, a director will choose someone they know & love over working with an unproven entity. Again, though – theater is a small, small world, and your rep, good or bad, will get around. Trust me. No one wants to work with people they…don’t want to work with, whether the gig is paid or volunteer. So how ‘bout your connections? Take a good, honest look at yourself and your history. Did you spend time complaining about the production to your fellow castmates, people who were actually having – or trying to have – a good time? Did you talk smack about your fellow actors to your friends, leaving said friends wondering what you’re saying about them to others? Were you obnoxious during auditions? A frequent absentee during rehearsals? (Let me tell ya, folks – if you must have a vice, make sure it ISN’T being the guy who calls in sick all the time.) Trouble-makers come in all shapes and sizes, and “insecurity” is no excuse…we’re ALL insecure, brother. When it comes down to it, them what duz the castin’ are going to choose the nice, supportive person over the talented painintheass every time. Politics? Not really. Just common sense. Being at the helm is a hugely daunting task – every move gets second-guessed, not least by yourself. Those of us who do it want to make things as stress-free as possible, and that means keeping the nasties at bay.

Now, this doesn’t mean there aren’t back-scratchers out there, just like there are in every gig. And it doesn’t mean good actors & writers aren’t getting screwed out of great roles & shows because those in charge had their blinders on. But if they’d rather work with an old buddy over you, hey – it’s their loss. And probably a theatrical venture you’d rather not take. In the meantime, please remember that the best, most lasting connections start by being friendly and supportive, even (especially) behind backs.

More shattered illusions coming soon to a post near you…

or,

Why it’s Good to be Old.

Unless the Mayans were right (but their calculations were just a bit off), I will turn 40 this year. There was a time when ‘40’ = ‘OLD,’ and not just because I was a child…because 40-year-olds were grownups. They had careers, families, responsibilities, they talked about their cars and their mortgages and their lawns, they worked late and went to bed early. They wore fedoras, too, and not ironically. In fact, they dressed up a lot, and not just for funerals. They drank grownup-sounding drinks like Old Grandads, Rob Roys, Gin Gimlets, and Osteopolitans. They entertained themselves with “cocktail parties” and watched exotic shows like Laugh-In and Kojak. In short, they were mysterious, wizened creatures who did god-knows-what when 9:00 came and we were in bed.

But even though I’ve got the years, I’m not one of those creatures. I’m not 40 – I’m in my 23rd year of being 17. Seriously – have I really changed since then? Have any of us? I have the same fears and insecurities, the same interests, the same – well, I was going to say “wardrobe,” but that would be misleading, since my 1987 closet wasn’t exactly acid-wash or leather-tie free. But my taste in clothes is essentially the same – jeans, t’s and sweaters, the occasional crumply sport shirt or flannel. Maybe that’s symptomatic of my own personal Peter Pan Syndrome, but honestly, I don’t think it’s just me. Most of my friends-of-a-certain-age are simply aged teenagers, struggling to reconcile their grownupy responsibilities with their overwhelming urge to go play.

With that in mind, there are definitely advantages to being a crone, and they don’t just involve liquor. So here are a few great things about being a fogey.

Stay off my lawn.

1. I am never bored. Seriously – if I have a few hours to myself with nothing to do, I am blessed. I will browse the cooking shows, re-read Entertainment Weekly, or even sit silently. And I will treasure that break from my to-do list. Seriously, I pee on your boredom, son. (As long as my prostate isn’t acting up.)

2. I don’t need plans. Much of my teenage weekday energy was spent making sure I had something to do on Friday & Saturday night. That speaks more to my social status than my age, maybe, but still…the geeze in me has zero problem with a weekend on the couch.

3. I can do shit. Vague? Yeah, but still true. I can do shit right now, right away. Tattoo? Yep, I can go get one right now. New speakers? Done. I don’t have the money? I’ll wrack up debt (you know that line the grownups told you about how you’ll have to pay those credit cards eventually? It’s a lie, child! Buy tons & buy often). It’s not that I have no one to answer to, or no responsibilities. It’s that at some point, you realize you might not be quite as invincible as you once thought, and you stop thinking about doing stuff and you just…do it.

4. This IS my future. We’re always preparing for something. Preparing for the next school day, for your family, for your job, for your retirement. But again…it’s not until you’re in the middle of your life that you realize what you’ve been preparing for is RIGHT NOW. This might be a crushing disappointment to some, but still, the pressure of living day-to-day actually living isn’t nearly as daunting as the pressure of planning, of preparing, of trying to cover your bases.

And finally…

5. I don’t care. That’s a little misleading, but it’s catchier than the truth – I get to choose what I care about. In theory, I suppose we all do, but you youngins are constantly reminded that you must care about this, about that, about the world, the nation, disease & death, college, parents, friends, lovers, work, money money money…it’s tough, man. And the sad truth is, we don’t always have that much care in us. And somewhere around the time when our doubled age is deep into grandpa territory we realize that some things just need to drop from our care list. We don’t sweat it, either – someone else will pick them up. Someone else will worry about global warming (we’re all doomed, kids), Yemen, that friend who never calls, that increasingly large crack in the ceiling. This doesn’t mean we don’t worry – worry is a grain of fear in all of us, no matter how many years we’ve packed away. But there are few things as liberating as actually deciding NOT to care about something that was taking up room in yer heart. It’s a good thing, friends – that extra care gets refocused on the good stuff. You’ll see.

That’s it for now…I’ve gotta go do grownup stuff now, like buy something and shave places that really shouldn’t have hair. Peace out, whippersnappers.