What can we learn from the birth of the regional theatre movement? Which arts administrator has reached a mass-critical critical mass? Where did Verdi and Shakespeare work to support their writing habits? How many theatres are we going to have to occupy? Why do we call it play?

These are the stories we’ve been following at 2amt this week. This is Follow Friday.

Michael Kaiser criticizes the blogosphere
Mr. Kaiser is afraid of the rise of the citizen critic. As Adam Thurman points out , his fear is justified, even if we disagree with his conclusions. Goodness knows Travis Bedard, Jeremy Barker and Isaac Butler did. That’s why I’m reaching out to Mr. Kaiser while in DC this weekend.

Simone Scully on the vox populi
Of course, citizen criticism might be even more widespread than Mr. Kaiser thought. At the TCG website, a profile of Barrington Stage and their iCritic project. Walk out of the show, step into the booth & record your reactions to share with the world. What’s next for iCritic? What if it could travel from theatre to theatre? What if it were mobile?

Howard Sherman & Peter Marks, together again for the first time
Conveniently enough, all this talk of criticism in the age of Twitter comes to a head the week Arena Stage hosts Howard & Peter in the Kogod Cradle, talking about the role of critics, the use of Twitter and the brave new world of interaction & engagement. The event will also be streamed live at NewPlayTV and archived for later viewing. Right before the event, we’ll be hosting a 2amt meetup at Arena from 3pm until 5pm, so if you’re in the DC area, come on down and say hi. Stay for the event, maybe we’ll all critique it afterwards.

Diane Ragsdale on making a living
Another theme emerged this week, from Zelda Fichandler’s speech on the history of the regional theatre movement while giving an award to Blanka Zizka of the Wilma Theater, from Michael Dove of the Forum Theatre’s meditation on their words and his call to change “non-profit” into “social profit” to my own post on the idea of staff playwrights as opposed to resident playwrights. Naturally, Diane is right there with a few more “outlandish suggestions” on making a living as an artist in the regional theatres.

Ben Brantley occupies theatre
As the Occupy __________ (choose your nearest protest) movement grows and gathers support, Ben Brantley takes a look at the 99% in the world of theatre, from Willy Loman to Mike Daisey, all the way up to the Civilians’ latest production, inspired by interviews conducted at the Occupy Wall Street protest in Zuccotti Park.

Scott Stratten on being awesome
Archived video of the Livestream of Scott’s keynote address at the National Arts Marketing Project Conference this past weekend in Louisville, Kentucky. The main takeaway? People follow awesome. Be awesome. Stop marketing and start engaging. Is it really as simple as that? Watch and find out. Hint. There’s a reason his website is called UnMarketing.

Garry Wills sings of Verdi & Shakespeare
You might be surprised by some of the similarities between the two. “Both were supplying performances on a heavy schedule, to audiences with a voracious appetite for what they wrote. In a career of little over twenty years, Shakespeare turned out thirty-eight plays…Verdi had a longer career of fifty-four years…in which he created twenty-seven operas…” Wonder if being core members of their own companies had anything to with that. Makes you think.

Katherine Catmull on the uses of joy
There is a reason what we do is called “play.” The women of Conspire Theatre remind us of this in the amazing work they’re doing with the women of the Travis County Correctional Complex in Del Valle, Texas.

…and what it means for our future.

I was a lucky audience member for the Oct 26th SDC Zelda Fichandler Award presentation at Arena Stage (which was given, this year, to Blanka Zizka of Wilma Theater). I wanted to attend, in part, because I had just joined the stage directors and choreographers union a few weeks prior and, in part, to support Howard Shalwitz who was being recognized as the Distinguished Finalist. What I didn’t expect was an education in the significance of the early regional theatre movement and how its principals can guide the theatre of today in becoming a true force in our cultural landscape, once again.

As a DC theatre maker, Zelda’s influence on our local community certainly looms large. We know of her as the founder of Arena Stage. We think of her when we sit in the beautiful in-the-round space that bears her name. But for me, a 30 year old who only moved to DC in 2003, started a small theatre company, and has decided to make artistic direction my career, I now realize how little I appreciated the significance of that exodus out of New York and into the regions, over 60 years ago.

I am a member of a generation who have, perhaps, taken for granted the efforts of Zelda, Margo Jones, Tyrone Guthrie, and the countless others who blazed those first trails into the wilderness and forged the community that I so gratefully make a living in, today. For us, there has always been an Arena Stage. For us, Margo’s prophesy of “40 of these theatres all around America, that’s what we need to have” has not only been surpassed long before we were born, but has been met and exceeded in our very own geographic region. Professional theatres under the non-profit banner have always been a part of our lives.

Obviously, this has not always been the case. An argument had to be made to even allow theatres to be invited to the 501(c)(3) party “because [theatre] made a profit” (that comment nearly brought down the house at the event and reminded me of the joke “How do you make a small fortune as a theatrical producer? Well, you start with a large fortune…”). A case had to made that theatre could and should mean more than just financially profitable entertainment. The regional theatre movement had to reach back to the very foundations of our art and rediscover the community building, political-minded, and educational roots that our form of artistic expression is not only well suited for, but possibly best suited for bringing a populace together in public discourse.

Oskar Eustis points out that theatre has always been a social tool for practicing empathy and a forum for challenging perspectives. Starting with the earliest known work in our Western cannon, The Persians, theatre has always been intrinsically married to democracy and the effort of putting ourselves in someone else’s shoes to learn how to live better with one another. It’s apt that Oskar looks back to these early theatrical gods for inspiration for it’s important for today’s practitioners to look to our American Theatrical Founding Fathers and Mothers for guidance in how we move theatre forward for our contemporary audience and the generations to come.

We have lost sight of the founding traditions of our theatrical revolution. We see our non-profit statuses as means to an end. They allow us to solicit tax-deductable donations because this is how our government has decided to support the arts. And while we bemoan the always-shrinking amount of public funds available to our organizations, it’s important to realize how much freedom our United States not-for-profit system truly allots us. On a trip to Toronto a few years back, I found myself full of jealousy for the famous Canadian government funding support and enjoyed telling every theatre artist I met there about “how hard it was” for us, in America and how their government clearly valued the arts more than ours. I pulled out this attitude time and time again until one producer came back with “yes, but the projects we pursue funding for must go though a bureaucratic process that sometimes dilutes and censors the work because it has to go through a series of gateways.” As American non-profits, we have more freedom to do what we want so long as we find the support to make it happen.

Listening to Zelda, I thought about my own theatre, Forum Theatre, and wondered if we were living up to the service organization label we purport to be known by. Are we doing enough to justify our not-for-profit status?

Perhaps the name of our system is partially at fault. Have we unknowingly bought into the negative, profit-less connotation of the term “non-profit.” a term that inspires (if that’s the right word) low expectations with its very word ingredients. If our titled goal is to not make a financial profit, then what are we trying to achieve?

A campaign to replace the term “non-profit” with “social profit” has arisen over the past few years and I wonder if it’s a cause that theatres should take up as a galvanizing force for our industry. A stated intention of exactly what our organizations hope to return to our investors could refocus our missions beyond the needed language to gain 501(c)(3) status and towards a greater good. A social-profit would yield not financial profit but benefits to society. South Africa even has a “Social Investment Exchange” for tracking such organizations.

I firmly believe that a renewed focus on the core values devised by those early pioneers at Arena, the Guthrie, Theatre ’47, and others, is a key component to how we can not only strengthen our field but grow our industry in terms of higher risk and therefore higher investment return. As Zelda said in her speech when talking about dwindling audience numbers, “If that is so, I ask this question: could it be, in part, that the imaginative scale of our work is bowing to meet the budget’s needs?”

As my generation and the one coming up just behind us look to build the theatrical landscape of tomorrow, we would do well to learn from those who waged so many battles before us and forge onwards to a theatre of even greater value.

Over the weekend, @NewPlayTV streamed three interesting, presumably unrelated talks. The first was from Steppenwolf’s First Look Festival, titled How to engage 21st Century Audiences for New Plays, followed an hour later by one from the PlayFest at Orlando Shakespeare Theater on How to Make a Living as a Playwright? Monday night’s was from New Dramatists in NYC, titled Beyond the Culture Wars: Arts Funding in America. (The links lead to the archived videos of the talks; some of them are in multiple parts, just so’s you know.)

On the surface, there are connections–they’re all about theatre and they all feature playwrights as panelists. But one common thread leapt out at me and reminded me of conversations we’ve had on the #2amt stream on Twitter. It began with Robert O’Hara and Marisa Wegrzyn on the Steppenwolf panel talking about how they as playwrights had been welcomed into the marketing process at various theatres and, in Marisa’s case, more deeply involved as a partner and co-founder of Theatre Seven. I’ve done much the same for Riverrun Theatre as a founder and co-producer, largely for the same reasons–we enjoy it.

The next panel, from PlayFest, began with the question, “What’s a playwright got to do to make a living?” Panelist Charlie Bethel answered first. “Everything but playwriting.” He was only half-joking–he went on to list all the occupations he’s had in order to support his writing. Gloria Bond Clunie noted that “Not sleeping is really essential in holding two jobs…” And, “if you identify yourself as a writer, then you have to decide what else has to fall away so you can focus on that.”

Minutes later, Jason Loewith, executive director of the National New Play Network, asked a question we’ve been asking for a while now.

“Why don’t theatre companies with budgets of more than $2.5 million have a playwright on staff?”

Steve Yockey countered with, “Why not $1 million?”

Finally, Monday’s wish-list post by Gwydion Suilebhan and that night’s debate from New Dramatists echoed and continued these thoughts. Gwydion offered the wish that more playwrights should be on staff. At the debate, economist Eric Helland asked, “Why is the Playwright the only person in the production not on salary?” (I know several designers who’d argue with that. But let’s stick with the seven-figure-budget theatres for now.)

Several months ago, Kristoffer Diaz and I went back and forth on Twitter (both on and off #2amt) about the idea of a staff playwright and what that would entail. We agreed that it meant more than a residency or a commission, more than the ability to use office equipment and have steady health insurance. It meant more than simply putting words on paper for people to speak aloud on stage. It means, first and foremost, being there, being part of the heart of the company.

Fine. But what would a staff playwright do?

What if you had someone who could shape your social media experiences, someone trained in the art of dialogue, the craft of story? We all agree that social media works best as interaction and engagement, not as a one-way broadcast for ticket info. We’ve seen several variations on storytelling-via-Twitter–I did it in 2008 tied to an original show, Such Tweet Sorrow did it last year, Bill Corbett’s presenting a novel one tweet at a time as we speak, the list goes on.

How would this work? Let’s take a real life example. The Goodman did something like this last winter, letting Ebenezer Scrooge hijack their Twitter feed. Did it work? The idea was cute, but the execution left me cold. For one thing, the character was a little too quippy and playful, which didn’t gibe with the character in the play or the book. There was no guarantee anyone would interact or engage with him. Beyond that, because the production ran beyond Christmas Day, the character had to “go back to normal” for a few days past Christmas, which contradicted the story. Worst of all, by hijacking the primary Twitter feed, it blocked out people genuinely looking for information about the theatre. After a week of watching, I used Muuter.com to hide the Goodman account in my regular day-in, day-out Twitter stream until after the show closed. I visited their page to see keep tabs on how it was going, but avoided it otherwise.

If I’d been planning that, I would have created a second, specialized Twitter account, perhaps GoodmanScrooge–that’s funny right there. I would have pointed people to that account and given them the option of following it instead of forcing it on them. And I would have had the two accounts interact with each other, effectively doubling the amount of attention paid to the theatre and the show. This would also allow each account to pull others into the conversation, whether staff or patrons, by showing that it was okay to play. But that’s because I see these things through the prism of storytelling, crafting a narrative, even if only something as silly and ephemeral as a box office and a classic fictional character bantering for a couple of weeks.

So okay, you’ve got your playwright tap-dancing on Twitter. What else?

What if you could create games and events themed to your productions? Online, mobile games using nothing more complicated than SCVNGR and Foursquare and other mobile apps? A good game needs a good storyline, and it needs possibilities. It’s got to be more than “check in here, get 3 points.” We know story.

What if you wanted to host 360 Storytelling events throughout your season? Your playwright could act as host and occasional storyteller. Strawdog Theatre in Chicago has been trying weekly 360 events of late, hosted by–you guessed it–a playwright. (Full disclosure, I would go just about anywhere to listen to Hank Boland tell stories. And if you don’t know him or his stories, you should fix that.)

In both cases, your playwright becomes another face for the theatre, another contact point for your community. And your playwright could–and should–be out in the community as well, doing outreach and educational programs as well. They would also become a liaison between visiting playwrights and the local community. At the same time, you’re not just cultivating an audience for your theatre, you’re cultivating an audience for your playwright. You’re giving the audience a stake in the work, a deeper sense of connection. It’s not just a visiting artist visiting a neighborhood, this is someone who’s part of the warp and weft of the community.

What if you wanted to design season brochures and media with a message beyond, “Hey, these are the plays we’re doing! Buy a subscription!”? There are too many theatres I could call out for awful, easy-to-ignore season brochures. The worst I’ve seen try to create a mood or theme that has no connection to the plays in the season. Maybe worse is the generic, static brochure that barely changes from year to year, changing only the photos and the blurbs. By contrast, Steppenwolf has been finding themes among their plays each season and working from there. Woolly Mammoth has been doing a great job of connecting the shows to a theme that lends itself to a clever design. Just look at Woolly’s season brochure this year–it’s eye-catching, it’s engaging, and best of all, it makes sense. Best of all, such creativity–and thematic integration–fits with Woolly’s mission. Win-win.

A great many playwrights work by day in marketing and communications already. On the PlayFest panel, Tim Bauer pointed out how that training had helped him, and how being freelance allowed him to travel as needed for productions of his plays. Marisa Wegrzyn talked about creating Theatre Seven marketing materials as well as videos for other companies that produce her plays. I work in advertising by day and naturally applied that experience to my own small theatre company. Then there’s the lovely team at Marshall Creative in Chicago, an advertising firm riddled with Neo-Futurists, New Leaf Theatre people Improvised Shakespeare and probably carny folk, for all I know. Their mission?

We believe in building brands and connecting people through storytelling and technology.

Unquote. Still, much of our work is outside theatre, and I don’t just mean the client list itself–it’s also about hustling for clients, finding people and businesses looking for that kind of creativity. What if we were all working in-house for theatre companies?

Oh yeah, we could write plays, too.

Let’s work off the template presented by the New Play Institute at Arena Stage. Maybe you commit to producing 1 play by the staff playwright every two years, for instance. At the same time, you help to workshop whatever else the playwright might be working on. Not full workshops per se, but maybe some table reads with acting apprentices or company members, a lighter version of the traditional development process to get plays on their feet. If the script winds up being produced in-house, great. If it’s produced elsewhere, that elsewhere knows the script’s already been put through its paces to an extent. Maybe you take a smaller percentage in subsidiary rights to plays developed in-house, because you’re not committing to a full-scale development process, and you’re not commissioning a one-time event from a short-term visitor–you’re supporting a staff member and getting their creativity in other departments in return. That’s just one way to do this, we’ve got more…

Can every playwright do this? No. But there are plenty who could. Look around, we’re out here.

Can every theatre do this? It depends on your budget, your mission, your willingness to change the formula. I do think every theatre whose mission goes beyond remounting classics should have a playwright-in-residence, even if it’s an unpaid position outside of actual productions. Even then, I think classics-based theatres could benefit from having staff playwrights for all of the above reasons, right down to helping the playwright develop scripts. You may not produce them, but there’s no reason why you can’t read them aloud a few times. And if you’re a company whose budget is seven figures or more, then you really have no excuse not to try this. The larger the institution, the more important the need for faces, consistent personalities and contact points within your community.

Woolly Mammoth is already doing this, expanding their definition of company members beyond actors to include playwrights and designers. As if that weren’t enough, they provide a home base for the National New Play Network. They’re well established in both their local community and in the national scheme of new play development, and yet they’re willing to shake things up.

Why do we want be on staff? Morgan Allen from New Dramatists asked yesterday, “Is it the idea of a living wage/benefits with no expectations you seek or connection to an institution?” Kristoffer Diaz replied, “I’m looking for a connection. I want to play a role in the artistic life of a company.” I’m looking for both, somewhat. I’d like enough of a wage that I wouldn’t have to worry about outside work–which is not necessarily the same as a living wage, mind you–but what interests me most is the thought of helping to shape the narrative of a company, to tell the stories of a community, or even multiple communities within a given region. I’d like the security and freedom to focus all my creativity on the world of theatre.

In short, I’d like to drop the “Everything but” in exchange for the “playwriting.”

Dear @Resident Theatre Company or @Individual Show:

You know I love you and so I’m sorry to do this impersonally. But we have to talk. I know it’s hard to hear those words, because they always lead to the same thing. And to be perfectly honest, this time, it’s not me, it is you.

When we started this relationship on Twitter, it was filled with the blush of first love. For the first time, you could talk to me and I could talk to you. You would know my innermost theatergoing thoughts and I would always know what you were up to, where I might see you, how I could learn more about all of the great things you’re doing. Those were heady days back in 2009, made all the more exciting by the fact that we didn’t have to be exclusive to each other; we were part of something bigger than ourselves, freed from the usual strictures that society and technology had placed upon us.

But instead of growing together, I’m feeling let down by you.

There’s a group of you that’s very shy. While that’s enticing at first, I don’t know why you’re in this game if I never hear from you. Sure, you may read about me, but I don’t know what’s going on in your world. At some point, you just have to get past your uncertainty and meet me halfway. I can’t take the silence, the lurking.

On the other hand, more of you are unbelievably self-obsessed. I understood there would be inevitable narcissism, so I don’t resent that. In fact, I want to read articles about you; I want to know when you’re on TV, on radio, on blogs – that’s why I got into this. That allowed me to break up with Google and its random, sometimes meaningless flings in search of a single shred of information. With you and Twitter (and Facebook and perhaps even Google+), I could keep abreast of what’s going on at each stage of your life, while remaining open to others.

But now you just keep flaunting others at me. You retweet this stray person who liked your show and that nameless egg-head who liked your performance; every night between 10 and 11 pm, or first thing in the morning when you rise, it’s the same thing. You’re cool, you’re mind-blowing, I’ve got to run and see what you’re doing. It’s boring. And let me let you in on a little secret: I know you’re being selective and if I feel like it, I can find all of those negative tweets you never seem to mention. How do you feel about that, huh? The same goes for reviews, and while I appreciate the opportunity to read thoughtful, in-depth appraisals of your work, I can go back to my ex, Google News, and find all of the reviews as well, not just the cosmetically chosen ones that play up your best features. You’re not fooling anyone.

Plus, let’s face it, I know you’re a person behind a façade. You shield yourself with a company name or show name. But I sussed out a long time ago there’s not a whole company pushing the buttons, just one person. Just like me. You need to remember that too, because I find it hard to believe that your façade is out drinking with friends – it’s just not that mobile. And surely you’re not so gauche as to root for particular sports teams under a broad pseudonym, at the risk of sharing stuff that some of us really don’t want to know.

So I have to ask myself, should I keep following you if our relationship is so unrewarding? Not to throw others in your face, but Woolly Mammoth Theatre Company tantalized me with messages about its audiences’ deepest fantasies during their run of In The Next Room. Next to Normal snuggled up to me (and a million others) by letting me contribute to a new song related to the show. The New Victory is letting me assemble a video of things we have to look forward to together, with our kids (how can you forget the kids) and displaying them for all the world to see on YouTube. 2amtheatre constantly offers me something both attractive and profound to chew on. A few of you have even dropped the curtain that often separates us and I can hear directly what your leader is thinking, like the newbie Robert Falls of the Goodman or Kwami Kwei Armah of Centerstage. For my part, when you let slip an interesting bit of insight into what makes you tick, or even what simply interests you, I retweet you with abandon, sometimes four, five, six times in an hour. It’s tiring, but worth it.

This thing we’re in – it’s called social media. It can’t be one sided and you can’t constantly remind me that all you really care about is filling your seats. That’s awfully crude and while it may be good for you, it’s unsatisfying to me.  I want more of you, but all facets of you. Don’t reduce what we have to a transaction-based thing, like I was someone to whom you merely want to advertise your wares. It makes me feel cheap.

Oh, wait. No, stop. Don’t cry. I hate that.

You say you can change? I’m willing to give you another chance. Calm down – I won’t drop you, even though I can do it anytime with the merest press of my finger. I’m sorry, that was cruel.

So I’ll hear more from you? You’ll give me real insight, not just blurbs (not that I don’t enjoy a good blurbing every so often)? I won’t have to endure the clutter of your various partners telling me how wonderful you are every night? O.K. then, so we’ll stay mutual followers. I really want this to work, for you, me and our thousands of partners.

You’re blushing. Now that’s endearing. Come here and let me give you a digital hug.

Love,

@hesherman

This afternoon, Florida Stage announced that it was filling for chapter 7 bankruptcy and closing its doors forever.

Florida Stage was the largest theatre company producing only new work in the United States. They were also the largest theatre company in the South Florida Theatre Region. Unfortunately, they had 1.5 million dollars in debt and could not sustain operations.

The South Florida Theatre Community is grieving right now. All day I’ve been having phone calls where with clipped conversations and long periods of silence, reminding me of the awkward conversations at a funeral. After any major arts organization fails, you need to have difficult conversations  – but right now we need to grieve.

And a part of grieving is celebration – and there is so much to celebrate in the twenty four year history of Florida Stage.

I first worked at Florida Stage in 2006. I had just moved from Chicago, and I went very quickly to feeling at home at the theatre near the beach in Manalapan. I went from being a box office employee to being a box office employee/dramaturg/lighting technician.

From the beginning, I was welcomed into a larger family. Family was always at the heart of Florida Stage; they opened up their hearts right away. If you didn’t have a place for Thanksgiving, you were always welcome to the Florida Stage Thanksgiving at Nan’s house. Birthdays were a big deal, even for part time box office employees. While there were the normal politics that can happen in any workplace, employees were treated like family. On facebook, it feels like most status updates are about mourning that loss that sense of community.

But Florida Stage was also very mission driven. They only produced new work, and instead of allowing plays to live in development hell; they were focused on production. Florida Stage was a founding member of the National New Play Network, and dedicated to not only first, but second and third productions of work that had not been seen in New York. They developed an audience that thirsted for unknown plays by unknown playwrights. South Florida still has some theatres dedicated to new work, but will no longer have any theatres solely dedicated to that purpose.

And what I will miss the most about Florida Stage is their 1^st Stage New Play Festival. I’ve dramaturged all five of the Festivals, and it was one of the two things I looked forward to the most every year. It was always a liminal experience – Florida Stage brought down six playwrights each year to workshop and read a new piece. The first 1^st Stage was a bacchanalia of new ideas and excitement about the field of new play development. I met some wonderful playwrights from that Festival, and some wonderful work first was read there. The exchange of ideas at the constant flow of parties caused Steven Dietz to quip, “Florida Stage, more parties than plays” – but it was the equivalent what 2amt has become for me off the internet. A bunch of smart, dedicated people in a room, talking about what’s next for new plays, over wine and delicious food. It pains me that there won’t be another 1^st Stage.

This loss is really weighing heavily on me and my community. I know that we need to band together and work to ensure that the rest of the community won’t suffer. As the executive director of the South Florida Theatre League, I’m going to do what I can to maintain that sense of family in this community. But for now we need to grieve and share our stories and love for this theatre company that has played such a large role in the South Florida Theatre community.

The Follow Friday posts are back!

We look at communities remembering their own stories and pulling together to give to the arts, philanthropy from donors and from theatre companies themselves, playwrights living in towns small and large. We also look at theatre companies working together and, well, working at all. And we check into the New York Public Library for some fun and games. These are the stories we’ve been following at 2amt this week.

Kris Vire on location, location, location
A look at Theatre Seven’s Chicago Landmark Project, a collection of short plays inspired by specific locations. The shows have their first previews tonight. Instead of inspiring future productions of this work, their hope is to inspire other places, other communities, to put together their own landmark projects. So let’s get on that.

Laura Axelrod on her town
Do you have to live in a city to be a playwright? Laura Axelrod asks and answers that question by sharing her own experiences. She continues by highlighting the benefits, the changes and the disadvantages of working from a small town. Finally, other thoughts and considerations. An excellent series of posts.

Howard Sherman on taking a break
Taking a break from the American Theatre Wing blog, Howard Sherman writes for the New York Times, suggesting that we stop and smell the roses. Is seeing too much theatre a bad thing? Do we spend too much time in the dark? Mark Shenton responds from across the ocean.

Euan Kerr on a free for all
In Minneapolis, Mixed Blood Theatre has decided to stop charging admission for mainstage productions. AD Jack Reuler calls it “radical hospitality.” Admission will be first-come, first-served. What some of the recent “are they crazy?” conversations online have missed is the fact that patrons don’t have to gamble on that–they’ll be able to reserve seats for $15. Are they crazy? Maybe. Like foxes.

Sasha Hnatkovich does the math
Can we do less, but better, with the same amount of funding? Sasha Hnatkovich of the Marin Theatre Company tries to follow the logic of Ralph Remington of the NEA and John McGuirk of the Hewlett Foundation as presented at the 2011 Theatre Bay Area Annual Conference. He’s not sure their numbers add up.

Aaron Andersen makes a federal case
Over at Createquity, Aaron walks us through the “sausage factory of government spending,” pointing out why it’s important to understand how and why it works. He also reminds us that we need to pay attention to more than questions of funding for the arts.

Bill Zlatos on Pittsburgh’s giving
Earlier this month, the Greater Pittsburgh Arts Council and The Heinz Endowments initiated the Arts Day of Giving, sponsored by The Pittsburgh Foundation.. This was a 24-hour long, online campaign, a challenge to raise money against matching grants. Did it work? They raised $1,410,617.00, with a final matching percentage of 34%. Let’s see how many other cities and communities take up the larger challenge of trying an Arts Day.

Stephanie Orma on adding dimensions
A lovely profile of the work Alfalfa Studio has been designing for Amphibian Productions. Do your marketing materials and posters pop? If not, why not?

Jonah Lehrer on unconventional wisdom
When does the bounty of information and the solicitation of opinions become too much? Jonah Lehrer looks at the wisdom of crowds and the independence of individual thought.

James Still on remembering the future
In his keynote address at the Cohen New Works Festival at the University of Texas at Austin, James Still stops to take in the world, and takes us with him in the process. Creativity, individuality, observation and, in the end, connection.

Maxine Kern on women in theatre
From literary manager to artistic director, producer to dramaturg, Maxine Kern has had an amazing career. Here, she talks about the difference between working on new works and revivals, as well as her hopes for women in the current and future world of theatre.

Joanna Harmon on working together
As part of TCG’s What If…? series of blog posts, Joanna Harmon asks, “What if small companies and loose collectives of theatre artists were enabled by a single group of administrators, rather than each company reinventing its administrative wheel?” How would this work? It already is working in a few places. J. C. Lee responds, asking why we create our own companies to begin with, and why it’s important for artists to have a firm understanding of the business side of things.

James Fritz on the dearth of young male playwrights
In the Guardian, James Fritz panics at the thought that young male playwrights aren’t being adequately represented on the British stage. Meanwhile, Kimberly Lew picks his article apart, noting that the status quo is in no danger. Instead of focusing on what a wider, more diverse pool of writers takes away from one group, why not celebrate what they add to the art as a whole?

Charles McGrath on a literary shuffle
This is why we love the Elevator Repair Service. Having adapted and performed the totality of The Great Gatsby and The Sun Also Rises as well as the first chapter of The Sound and the Fury, they devised a mashup of the three–to be performed in 22 minutes–and presented their Shuffle at the New York Public Library. You know you want to see this.

Elizabeth Keim on a flash mob in blank verse
Jane McGonigal devised a game as part of the New York Public Library’s anniversary celebration, Find the Future. Elizabeth went along for the challenge, a 24-hour sleepover at the library that, ideally, would end with a 600-page, group-written epic aided by–and tasked with unlocking–the secrets of the NYPL. Did it work?

So you’re at the Humana Festival of New American Plays and you’ve got a few minutes. You’ve seen the art, you’ve looked at the gifts, you’ve had a beer. Maybe you’re in the mood to play a game.

Maybe you’re looking for something to engage audiences at your own theatre company.

Take the 2amt challenge.

First, download the SCVNGR app on your smartphone. Don’t worry, it’s free.

Sign in and create an account if you don’t already have one. Then, let it locate you at Actors Theatre of Louisville. You’ll see a list of four simple tasks that will earn a possible 13 points in total. These are simple things like taking a picture of the Press Table in the main lobby, finding me in the crowd, et cetera.

I’d tell you what the tasks are here, but then you’d have no reason to get the app and play along…

One task will ask you to also download the Broadcastr app as well. It’s free, too.

With this app, the challenge will ask you to record a quick audio message. Just introduce yourself, tell us where you’re from and what you’ve enjoyed at the Festival so far. The audio file is automatically tagged to the location–in this case, Actors Theatre–and anyone will be able to listen to it using the Broadcastr app or the Broadcastr website.

Each of these tasks is simple, part of a “game layer” on top of the real world, as the SCVNGR folks like to say. For the theatre world, it’s a fun way to engage your audience with more specific tasks and challenges themed to your current productions or festivals. It’s also a way to drive patrons into your sponsors’ places of business–the bonus round in the 2amt challenge will take you down the street to the 21c Museum Hotel to take a picture. While you’re there, maybe you’ll look around, get a drink at their bar, check out the menu.

Ideally, audiences would engage not just with the challenges and the production but with the sponsors’ business as well. Of course, tasks at sponsors’ locations can be more involved if you’d like, we’re keeping it simple this time for demonstration purposes.

Best of all, this game layer can be activated at any time–you can create these “treks” filled with challenges ahead of time and let audiences complete them as their schedule permits. Use them to build awareness for upcoming shows. You can make it a real live contest, first person to X number of points wins two tickets to the next production, or the tenth person, fiftieth, etc.

Which reminds me. First person to 13 points gets a drink on me.

See you at the Humana Festival!

Last weekend, I saw approximately half of the shows at the Humana Festival of New American Plays at Actors Theatre of Louisville. I’m heading back this weekend for the rest, but I wanted to write about the themes and connections between those first three shows. I saw this combination by chance, but all three have strong thematic ties. I can’t help but wonder how much of that is coincidence and how much is careful planning.

First, a quick description of the plays from the Actors Theatre site.

Bob by Peter Sinn Nachtreib Bob was born and abandoned in a White Castle bathroom in Louisville, Kentucky. The ensuing rags-to-riches-to-fame-to-fall-to-legacy-to-the-love-of-living-life tale follows Bob on an epic journey in just five acts. Nachtrieb returns to Actors Theatre with a hilarious and poignant story of one man’s dream. A dream of greatness. The greatness of Bob.

Edith Can Shoot Things and Hit Them by A. Rey Pamatmat Sixteen-year-old Kenny and his little sister Edith are all but abandoned on a remote farm in Middle America. But when Kenny’s friend Benji starts encroaching on their makeshift family—and Edith shoots something she really shouldn’t shoot—the outside world comes barging in. Edith takes aim at growing up, staying young, falling in love and facing the consequences . . . then fires away.

Elemeno Pea by Molly Smith Metzler When Devon visits Simone for an end-of-summer sibs fest on Martha’s Vineyard, she finds her little sister changed beyond recognition. As personal assistant to wealthy and demanding trophy wife Michaela Kell, Simone enjoys a lavish beachfront lifestyle that these girls never could have imagined growing up in blue-collar Buffalo—but is all this luxury really free of cost? Worlds collide and sisters square off in this keenly-observed comedy about ambition, regret and the choices that shape who we become.

On the surface, each of these plays is about family.

Bob is a man apparently destined for greatness. We follow him on a picaresque journey from birth to old age, back and forth across the country, as he finds and loses everything and everyone important to him. Nachtreib shakes us awake from what’s become an American Nightmare and, reconfiguring the idea of what makes a person great, finds a new dream to strive for in the end. With one actor as Bob and a chorus of four as everyone else in Bob’s life, presented in a “poor theatre” style, this is the most dreamlike and fantastic of the three.

Edith focuses on three teenagers over the course of several weeks–well, okay, Edith’s 12, but old beyond her years. Edith and Kenny are siblings living essentially on their own. Benji is a classmate of Kenny’s. Spoiler alert: the two fall in love, and as a result, Benji is eventually kicked out by his mother. He comes to stay with Edith and Kenny, creating a new family unit for the moment. The relationships between the characters and their parents create most of the conflict in the play. Pamatmat looks at how families interact for better or worse, and how sometimes, the standard nuclear model isn’t the ideal.

Elemeno Pea has a tighter timeframe than the other two plays–it runs in real time in a single act–and has multiple families and relationships woven in and out of one another. Set on Martha’s Vineyard, Metzler illustrates how the class struggle can splinter and reshape relationships even between blood relatives. Sympathies tilt and shift throughout this script, the most classically constructed of the three, no pun intended.

All three plays challenge our idea of what makes a family. Interestingly enough, in the end, all three subvert the typical “happy ending” cliche we’ve come to expect.

But these three plays are also tied together with themes of perception versus reality, of striving for something better beyond oneself.

Stick with me here.

Also, bear in mind, I’ll try to keep the spoilers to a minimum, but there will be spoilers from here on. To quote the Incomparable! podcast–which is always worth a listen–I’m going to “blow the spoiler horn.”

Nachtreib puts it right out there, his story is an examination of the so-called American Dream. What constitutes a great man (or woman) today? Is it through what they know, what they achieve? Or is it simply having enough money to build a monument and put their name on a plaque? Can Bob–who is largely a Candide-ian innocent observing the world–understand what those monuments truly mean? By the time he truly puts himself to work achieving greatness, he’s been through several different lifetimes’ worth of tragedy and joy, but all he’s learned is how long it takes to make a monument. It’s not the carving that makes one great, it’s the life lived that made others think the carving worth making at all. This point is driven home beautifully in the last moments of the play, an idea echoed by (and echoing) the set design. Suddenly, what we perceive as the overproduction of a “poor theatre” piece on the mainstage of Actors Theatre becomes wholly intentional and transcendent as the lights fade.

It’s also a damn funny play.

Similarly, in Edith Can Shoot, Edith, Kenny and Benji are all leading what look like the lives of typical teenagers in the early 90′s. That’s the surface. Kenny works to keep up appearances, pretending to the outside world that his and Edith’s father is more involved in their daily lives, pretending to Edith that their late mother was a larger part of their lives before she died. Edith imagines herself a space alien being tested in preparation for the final invasion. Kenny and Benji discover a mutual attraction and fall in love, but keep their relationship hidden from everyone, even Edith. Nothing and no one is quite what they seem.

As the various storylines converge, secrets are revealed, families splinter and shift, and all seems lost. Kenny and Benji are kept apart, Edith is sent away and forced to act like a girl. But reality reasserts itself in the end, and the healthier makeshift familial bonds will out over the traditional model. Moving past a perceived but false reality, the characters are able to survive.

It’s also a damn funny play.

Of course, Elemeno Pea takes these themes to the extreme and beautifully so. It’s not merely that Metzler focuses on the class struggle, it’s that it’s set in the home of an obscenely wealthy advertising executive. His wife’s personal assistant has the run of the house and is spending it with her blue-collar older sister. Right from the start, we have an undercurrent of perception versus reality, brought home quite literally as the woman of the house reappears to dominate her assistant’s time. Over the course of the next ninety minutes, all the masks–and gloves–come off. We discover to what extent the ad exec wants to reshape reality, and we learn how others pay the price for succumbing to the fantasy. The scales fall from our eyes, if not all of the characters’.

It’s also, yes, a damn funny play.

So. Perception versus reality. Families, communities, support systems and how they form. Work and action versus empty monuments and trophies.

As someone who’s lived nearby and gone to many Humana Festivals in the past, I can already say this is the strongest lineup of scripts in years. I can’t wait to see the rest of them and how–or if–they fit with these three.

Stay tuned…

Up here in the Northwest, the crisis du jour has been all about Intiman Theatre’s recent public cry for help… they need about $1 mil by summertime or they are going to need to close their doors.

Suddenly, Rocco Landesman’s provocative statements about the American theater being oversupplied had a poster child/test case. Was Intiman, in fact, one of the companies that should be allowed to fail in order to re-allocate their artistic and audience assets to other, suddenly better-resourced arts organizations? What was lost if Intiman were to fail? And what, exactly were the replacement costs?

Provocative questions. Particularly considering that there’s nothing hypothetical about it. Real, living, breathing artists and administrators would lose their livelihoods. A real living, breathing audience would lose its artistic home. But in theory the audience would relocate; the donors would give the same amount, just to another organization; and funders would be able to allocate their resources in larger (or at least different) chunks to other Seattle area organizations. The best of the administrators would land on their feet at other organizations that could use their skills. Some might decide to pursue other lines of work.

Plus, there is a strong economic argument to be made that the dot com boom of the nineties encouraged a non-profit bubble in Seattle… all that new Microsoft money looking for tax shelters and a place to do something meaningful with their wealth pushed all sorts of nascent arts organizations from hungry to huge, practically overnight. Back then there was a sense that there was just money, you know, lying around.

A lot of that money evaporated when the boom went bust. The young rich microsofties who remained started having kids, changing hometowns and generally using their wealth in different ways and in different geographic regions. When bubbles burst in any market there are casualties. Perhaps Intiman was just a decade late in feeling the effects of that *pop*.

Then there’s the issue of reputation. As someone who lives in the NW but not in Seattle, my knowledge of Intiman as a theater company is as much a function of the industry rumour mill as it is their official communications (or even the analysis of the official press). And through that rumour mill, I must admit, I had gotten the impression that Intiman has been helmed, for some time, by Artistic Directors of high quality who were, perhaps, a little cavalier in their relationship with their own Seattle-based audience. The story went that their eyes were on tonier climes, and Intiman was simply a wet mossy stepping stone on the march to Broadway, or at least Steppenwolf. I have no idea how accurate this last assessment is, and I feel absolutely un-qualified to assess its accuracy myself. But the fact remains that this has been said about Intiman. Many times. By many people. Of varying levels of credibility . In marketing terms, what many people “know” about your company is part of your brand, whether it is actually accurate or not. And this notion, that Intiman has not connected with Seattle well because of too much focus on the national scene, has been bandied as a key reason for its current troubles and a chief justification for allowing it to fail.

The argument from some Seattle artists circles has been, “They don’t care about us. Why should we care about them?”

So should they be allowed to fail? What (if anything) is ultimately lost if they do? Perhaps a Seattle without Intiman would have the space to organically grow a better arts institution that was more responsive to its own audience?

In search of my answer to that question, I find myself stepping away from the facts and figures of institutional economics and instead recalling a conversation I had with David Loehr on #2amt a year or so ago. We were discussing the barriers that new plays have to overcome in order to be read, produced, and ultimately shared with the world. Set aside quality, for a moment, which every play needs. Let’s assume we have two plays of equal quality. What factors determine whether a play gets produced and has a life in the American Theater?

These three came to the top in our reckoning:

1. Visibility (people had to have heard of it)
2. Recommendation (it needed to be recommended by someone of trusted reputation)
3. Relationship (a personal relationship the playwright has with the institution)

All three fell under the umbrella idea of “legitimacy.” A new theatrical work must be in some way legitimized if it has a chance to make it to first production and beyond. It’s an absolutely critical resource, and the trajectory of any new work can be measured by the legitimizing influences that speed it along its path. Have I heard of it? Do I know someone who recommends it? Do I know the creator him or herself? What other orgs have done the piece? Are they of the same quality as us?

Perhaps you can see where I am going with this.

Intiman, the Tony -Award winning regional theater with artistic directors who went on to direct on Broadway and a stellar reputation for stewarding plays and productions that have gone on to national prominence, is a hugely legitimizing force in the Northwest theatrical scene. It has arguably been a legitimizing force for the national scene, when you look at the plays (like Lynn Nottage’s Ruined) that have started there and gone on to national prominence. The relationships its artistic directors have cultivated, and the brand it has built for successful new work development are a critical resource for both the regional and national arts ecology.

And the tricky part about legitimacy as a resource is that it is not tranferrable like other organizational assets. Once a company is dissolved, the value of its advocacy on behalf of the art it champions can’t be passed down to new, smaller organizations (although any individual organization might ultimately claw its way up to the level of legitimizing influence that Intiman enjoyed). That lost legitimacy could take decades to recoup. In the mean time, both regional and national artists lose the visibility, resources, and access to national relationships that the Intiman has historically provided.

Plus, the failure of one legitimizer has unintended consequences for the whole field.  Intiman’s reputation helped burnish the reputation of the entire arts community in Seattle. It helped make the Pacific Northwest a more viable place to make a living in the arts. And its loss would potentially shake the confidence of the entire Seattle arts community; and the artists, funders and audiences it serves.

Let me tell you from personal experience what happens when an organization like Intiman reaches the brink of failure: the press and the public go digging under the floorboards of every other arts non-profit in the area, looking for bodies. If a Tony Award winning theater can fail, the thinking goes, then perhaps all of our arts organizations are more vulnerable than we imagined.

So quibble all you want over the hows and whys of the Intiman’s current precarious situation. But when you ask whether or not an organization like Intiman should be saved, be sure you are looking at the whole costs.

Ironically, the complaint that makes some resistant to assisting the Intiman in its time of need (that it has been more focused on national relationships and reputations than on cultivating its relationship with its own community) is paradoxically the exact reason it should ultimately be saved. Those national connections, that stellar reputation, are priceless intangible resources that Seattle can ill afford to lose.

Could those resources be put to better use in service of the community it calls home? Absolutely.

But you have to conserve those resources to be able to re-direct them effectively.

Don’t worry though: Any company that goes through a “dark night of the soul” like the Intiman is currently experiencing (and lives to tell the tale) steps into the future keenly aware of the deep debt it owes to audiences and community that helped to save it.

Indulge me in a little rhetorical drama, I have, on occasion, so indulged many of you.

The USA needs theatre.

We are a potentially free and democratic people, but when the citizens become disenchanted and politically disengaged, we disenfranchise ourselves and cede leadership to those who can tolerate swimming in a political cesspool.

Theatre makes me a better citizen, both by directly confronting me with political and philosophical content and by reminding me of the diverse and powerful ways to be human.

That’s why when I hear Rocco taking declining theatre audiences as an inevitable fact I worry, and when I see a room full of theatre professionals accepting it I get confused. A declining audience means you get to improve fewer people.

By mid day on Thursday, I was angry that we were talking about ANYTHING except how to recruit new audience members. So many of the problems people were raising were driven by tight resources, resources that are only going to get tighter if audiences continue to shrink. I was distracting myself from what should have been an engrossing discussion of new theatrical forms. I saw the need to console myself, and like any man of faith, I took comfort in scripture.

Michael Kaiser describes a four stroke heart beat of arts institutional thriving. 1) Make great art. 2) Market it well. 3) Attract a family of followers and supporters. 4) Accept money from them in order to make more and better art. Repeat.

As you were all talking about improving relationships between artists and institutions, about bringing greater diversity into our workplaces and onto our stages, about exploring new ways to invent theater, on into yesterday talking about partnerships between organizations and technologies to help people find each other to form such partnerships, especially when you were just getting ideas from each other or discovering things you might work on together – through all of that you moving towards making greater art, working on step one, which is crucial and which is your primary role in the whole scheme.

But all of us who love the theater need to devote some of our time, and I know this is much easier for me than for most of you but I can’t let you off the hook, to direct efforts to grow the family. I’ll give you a few ideas:

First, know your audience, I don’t mean broadly and demographically and I don’t mean all of them, I mean some of them face to face by name. Ask them why they came. Ask them why they value the experience. Beg them to recruit more people into the audience. By the way, you’re likely to hear very nice things about your work and yourself during this process, and most of you could use that.

Second, force your way into the marketing of your plays and productions. Make it more likely that what people learn about your play before arriving gets them ready to have the most powerful experience of the art they can have.

Third, some of you and your colleagues write for film and TV on the side. Write some scenes in which characters attend and enjoy a play. Be self serving – write some scenes in which characters attend and enjoy one of your plays. Characters in mass art are role models. Make them model behaviors we need.

Fourth, invent and act on a thousand additional ideas that an amateur like me can’t think of, but get more people into theaters. Pull playmaking and playgoing back to the center of political life, where it belongs in a democracy.

We are here talking about new plays, but those new plays rely on a traditional art form with roots that go back thousands of years. I refuse to believe that we’re going to let it die on our watch.

We all have regrets. We have the shows we almost saw, the times when we didn’t quite make it out the door, didn’t cross town, and then the show we wanted to see existed on Earth no more. It happened without us. We so wanted to go. We were tired, or we were distracted, or the cost was too high, or a combination of all of these, and that was that.  Missed it.

A while ago, in Minneapolis, Prince would regularly do last-minute, low-key shows and donate the proceeds to local charities. A friend was going to one of these and invited me along. 50 dollars. To see Prince play for a few hours—solo, on electric guitar, if I remember right—in a small nightclub, for an audience of a hundred people, a few sets, late into the night. For 50 dollars. For only 50 dollars. Going to a non-profit charity, on top of that. 

I was doing temp work at the time, but of course I could have gone.

In early 2004, a friend invited me to an after-work mixer at HotHouse, a small, dapper not-for-profit nightclub in Chicago, now closed. 10 bucks. A little fundraiser for a guy running for Senate. In retrospect, if the ticket had instead been 100 bucks, would it have been worth it to spend happy hour in a small room with Barack Obama? Take a guess.

When the Guardian, admirably covering online arts articles, reported last week on the online debate about ticket pricing at not-for-profit theaters, it got an essential fact wrong. Chris Wilkinson wrote, and it still appears incorrectly in the online article, that “Arena [Stage] is currently charging a minimum of $95 (approx £60) for tickets to its new season.” 

Does it matter that, in fact, one show in Arena Stage’s season is carrying the $95-$115 ticket price, not the whole season? And that the $95 show is a new play in Arena’s smallest venue, while two other shows—Oklahoma! and Anna Devere Smith’s Let Me Down Easy—are running at the same time, for a substantially lower ticket price? I think it needs to be at the crux of the debate. Not: can Arena “raise” its ticket price to $95? But: can a theater hold an exclusive event in a smaller venue and call it something other than a fundraiser? And if an organization with theaters of several sizes is going to have a potential pre-Broadway tryout, is there wisdom—for artistic reasons—in putting on the show in its smallest space instead of its largest?

The articles I’ve read about Arena and ticket pricing have neglected to talk about the art, the particulars of this show. Every Tongue Confess features Phylicia Rashad, is directed by Kenny Leon, and is being staged in a  theater with only 200 seats.

Stadium concerts have never been my thing.  $100 for Dave Matthews? $250 for the Rolling Stones? Not my thing. $100 for Shrek? Or for a Broadway show?  Pass.

But put, say, Mike Nichols directing Robin Williams, Steve Martin, and Bill Irwin in a 299-seat theater doing Waiting for Godot? An arm and a leg, gladly—because it will happen, and then it will never exist again. Or [insert here the name of your favorite living musician], playing a small room? Sure. Or [insert here Phylicia Rashad, a new gospel-inspired play, and a show that might end up on Broadway, running during the holidays] in an intimate space?  Yeah, especially assuming that the show is appropriate for a small venue.

We’ve certainly had a century of the opposite: from Tennesee Williams to August Wilson, many plays come to life in an intimate venue, but those outsized tenement living rooms and workplaces become exaggerated when adjusted to fill a wide, high, deep LORT mainstage or Broadway stage.

Does the largest space always need to be the highest priced ticket? Instead of the new play in the small space for the low price, can the old play in the big space be more moderately priced, and the new show in the jewel box be the exclusive ticket?

These shows are not designed to be part of a regular diet of $100-a-ticket shows, any more than LVMH expects its consumers to buy its products every week, or a wedding ring is designed to be a regular purchase. Arena is audaciously offering a once-in-a-lifetime experience, and if they can deliver on that, then it’s worth the price.

Who can afford Every Tongue Confess? The question is not who can afford Every Tongue Confess every week, or who can afford a season ticket at $95 per show. It’s not a country club or a university. The question is: who wants to make this show their rare, special occasion?  Is this going to be an “elite” audience, or simply an audience of patrons excited enough to see this show?

What first struck me about Arena’s choices with Every Tongue Confess is that they put their most expensive show in their smallest venue—and that the play is a new play. The most dressed-up audience, the audience that has spent the most and has invested the most monetarily in the evening, the audience in possession of the so-called hottest ticket in town, is the one showing up for a new play in a small space. This is a thoroughly different model than putting the warhorse or star vehicle on the mainstage for a high price, while consigning a new play by a resident writer to the cheapest ticket.

If Steppenwolf were to put John Malkovich in its 100-seat Garage Theater, and charge a high ticket price, would it provide an inclusive experience by providing an exclusive one?  Would it be an effective way to launch, say, a new Randall Colburn or Brett Neveu play into production?

Should a not-for-profit be in the luxury business? Is it justifiable in opera, where ticket prices top $100 because fundamental production requirements haven’t changed in a century? Should a fundraiser be the only excusable exclusive event? Can a special occasion carry the value of a hundred dollars and not be a luxury experience, in the way that a diamond ring or a honeymoon hotel isn’t a luxury? These are questions worth raising—but, first, the occasion, and the facts of the occasion, need to be factored into the equation of the reasoning.

Monday night, here in Vancouver, we celebrated The 28th Annual Jessie Richardson Theatre Awards.

For those of you who aren’t familiar with the Vancouver cultural landscape, The Jessies are our answer to Toronto’s Doras or Broadway’s Tony Awards. They honour theatre excellence over the past year.

You can say what you like about awards shows: that they don’t really mean anything, that they are shallow, that the same people are nominated and win every year.

But what I witnessed Monday night was none of those things.

What I witnessed was unbelievable support for each other, and rallying in the face of some really, really dark and difficult times. I saw a lot of love. I saw a note of glamor in our otherwise “I wear Stage Manager’s blacks” lives. I saw us not take ourselves too seriously.

@SMLois and I clean up pretty good!

Let’s face it, since the first round of arts cuts in August last year, our community has been reeling. A conversation I had with Bill Millerd, Artistic Managing Director of The Arts Club, indicated that they may need to turn to programming smaller shows: 2-3 handers, instead of the bigger-cast, bigger-budget stuff they have been doing. Deb Pickman of the Shameless Hussies joked (seriously) that they can only afford to do one-woman shows from here in, and Ruby Slippers Theatre has put a list of shows that have been canceled on their blog.

But if there’s one thing I’ve learned this year from these arts cuts, it’s that we have the ability to come together and make a lot of noise as a community. Our whole is indeed greater than the sum of our parts. And part of what the Jessies are about are celebrating that community and the strength we have when we get together.

We only really get to do this once a year. All the other times, we see each other in our shows, on stage, or at openings or workshops. But this one night of the year, we get to come together and not work and hang out and laugh and celebrate.

For me, the acceptance speech of the night belonged to Anthony F. Ingram, for Shameless Hussy’s Frozen. “I’d like to dedicate this to my dad Gary who fought so hard for me not to do this, and over the last few years has become one of my biggest supporters. He thanked me for showing him that theatre can open your eyes to the world.” He added, “This is not a community–it’s an industry. Maybe if we start calling it an industry, the government will listen to us.”

The full list of the nights winners can be found on the Jessie Awards website.

I’d like to especially congratulate the producers of the shows I got to work on: Touchstone Theatre, Presentation House, and Leaky Heaven Circus.

You can read a Miss604′s LiveBlog of the event here.

Rebecca Coleman is a Vancouver, BC-based theatre publicist, social media marketer, and blogger.

Or more precisely, just listen, as this is just the audio from Michael Kaiser’s appearance at Portland Center Stage last week.

Whether you agree or disagree with his advice and observations, it’s worth a listen. Some of his advice applies more towards the large, institutional theatres and, in many ways, echoes some of the idea we’ve been shouting at those very same theatres ourselves. What do you think?

Thanks to Portland Center Stage for hosting Mr. Kaiser and for making his talk available through Vimeo.

If Rocco Landesman claims that artists are entrepreneurs, I think it is important to look at other entrepreneurial models, outside the theater world, to see what they are saying about the work they do, and how their work connects to customers and community. On person I follow pretty closely is Gary Vanyerchuck. His is very theatrical, and one that would fit well in the theater community. His passion comes from wanting to connect with people and bring back a Thank You Economy.

People have underestimated the value of a thank you and you’re welcome. I show people comments, on lets say Twitter, where people say “mmm, I just tried this product and it was delicious” and then watching these brand people look at me and say “Well, what do you do with that?”, you say thank you or you say you’re welcome.

You Can Not Scale Caring
Lets stick with Twitter. As the E is for Effort post explains in detail, I think many theater organizations are not using Twitter in a way that puts the customer or audience members first. Theater companies have a twitter profile, but it is usually run by an anonymous individual in the marketing department. Twitter, at its core, is about conversation and last time I checked I can have a conversation with a theater company or a business, but I can have a conversation with an individual. Instead of one Twitter profile for Theater X, why not have multiple professional twitter profiles for various staff members within Theater X.

The goal for the marketing department should be not only to use Twitter, but show/convince the other members of the staff why it would be important for them to use it. I hear all the time about theater companies polling their audience members to get data and insight on various aspects about the theater season, patron services, etc. While that is important, if one wants to see real time data, jump on search.twitter.com and see what people are saying about the show that is currently running. If an audience member posted that they enjoyed the show they saw that night, and the Artistic Director sends them a tweet the next day saying thank you, the audience member feels they have a personal connection to not only the theater, but the people that work at the theater.

Well, what if not enough of our audience members are using twitter to make it worth it? Tell them to use it, promote that staff members are using it and want to hear from them.

What if they bash the show or the organization? Even Better! That can lead to a conversation and relationship. Ask what they did not like, or what needs improvement. Offer them a free ticket to the next show. Show them that you care about them and value their relationship.

Experience Has Value And Content Is Cheap
I delete emails sent to me by theaters promoting their shows. I don’t read press releases. “Maybe” is the new no on Facebook. Content is cheap. I will go to a show if someone I trust posts a message on twitter saying that the show is good or worth my money and time. I am hearing on Twitter and Facebook that Bloody, Bloody Andrew Jackson at the Public Theater in New York, is great show. It’s on my list to see. A good experience trumps any content a theater sends me.

Experience can by synonymous with relationship. If someone I know is working on the project, that will get me to the theater. There are many #2amt people on Twitter that I have never met, but if I am ever in Chicago, Portland, or Kentucky I will make it a priority to meet them and see their show. Theater staff members should get to know their audience personally through the use of social media, and in turn audience members will get to know the theater staff members. If audience members know the staff, they start caring about them, and if they care they will go see the work that is being created. It has always been about relationships. Unlike the past where one could only interact with the people they saw through out their day, social media provides an avenue to have genuine conversation, and build a community, with people you don’t see on a regular basis.

Dennis Baker lives the ultimate freelance life as an actor, teaching artist, fight director and also working in web design, web development and search engine optimization. You can follow him on Twitter: @dennisbaker

Not just any bookstore, but specifically this bookstore: Montague Bookmill in Montague, Massachusetts. Seth Godin sums it up well when he stated:

This is the bookstore of the future, because it’s not a business trying to maximize growth and ROI. No, it’s a place, an attitude, an approach to an afternoon. They don’t sell every book, they don’t even pretend to. Just as vinyl records persist, an object of joy for some listeners and a profitable cottage business for some sellers, bookstores are going to become like gift stores. The goal isn’t a commodity transaction with maximum selection at minimum price, the goal is an experience worth seeking out and paying for.

One look at the photo tour and it is easy to see that this place has charm, personality and gives everyone an experience that is not like any other bookstore. This bookstore shares the space with a café, a restaurant, an artist’s studio, and an antiques store. This creates a community of experience for tourists, and through the bringing in of guest artists, something the local community can return to frequently. This business becomes integrated into people’s lifestyle because it is based on experience.

In the April 2010 issue of American Theatre magazine, Michael Rohd, Artistic Director of Sojourn Theatre, encourages us to rethink the relationship of theater and community, “One thing that gets said a lot about theatre is that a bunch of people come into a room and they laugh and they cry together in the dark, and that builds community. But I’m starting to think that’s bullshit: People crave something that involves more than sitting and watching.”

Theater can no longer have people sit in their seats for two hours and then call it community if they hope to have the yonder generations as audience members. Much like Montague Bookmill has the other venues on the premises, a theater organization, that has multiple spaces, can provide opportunities for performances by the other theater companies in the area, especially theater companies that are not doing the work that is being done by the larger organization. People crave an experience where they can participate and be in the mix. Granted, for some people participation means sitting and watching, and space should be given for that, but for others, sitting in a dark theater for two hours does not define connecting with people. How can a theater make room for both these experiences? What new models can be explored to begin to ask how audience members can be involved more than simply sitting and watching? How can we break down the fourth wall that has been built under the mantle of American realism?

Dennis Baker lives the ultimate freelance life as an actor, teaching artist, fight director and also working in web design, web development and search engine optimization. You can follow him on Twitter: @dennisbaker

I have talked time and again over at the Cambiare Productions blog about relationships and trust metrics and “street cred” and…. yes I’m as surprised as you are that anyone reads… but I’m going to restate it here because it needs restating.

Ask a theatre artist what they don’t have, wind them up, and go get dinner. They will just chatter on for lifetimes abut the things they don’t have and that goes from the minute the start until the day the pick up their Kennedy Center Honor. The resources a person or company manage to accrue become precious and in need of defending.

So when a small company begins an interrogatory sentence of any kind in the presence of a larger entity is it quickly shot down … not least because so many of those sentences end in “give me money / space / time”. But we need to take a moment, because we’re not all greedy little pedants who don’t value the fact that someone had to earn everything you and your institution have and earning isn’t a naughty word.

As part of the Outrageous Fortune event presented by Wooly Mammoth and the American Voices New Play Institute yesterday a question David Loehr and I had been batting back and forth got asked:

Can larger theatres adopt smaller companies as a junior varsity to meet new artists & auds? Why not?

This was answered with a flurry of “We don’t have the spacetimeresources… partnering across theatre size is the hardest partnership to to difference in focus… blahblahblahblah

First: Larger theatres and I don’t have a different focus. We have the SAME focus. That’s the magic of all of this. Every institution is made up of people, and those people all share my focus. I have yet to run into the mythical “officious bean counting robber baron looking to slash everything at the expense of art”. So let’s stop peddling that line. Larger institutions have different limitations than I do. That’s different having a different focus and we need to say what we mean.

Second: We don’t have a development system in American theatre. We sometimes talk as though we do, but we don’t. So let’s get cracking on creating something. When creating something? Start with your friends.

Every convening I’ve witnessed or been part of has boiled down to: We need morebetterlonger relationships with Real Partners.

So let’s do it.

Major Institutions: You don’t need to produce my show. You don’t need to cast it. You don’t need to do anything other than bless it. A major problem for theatre-goers is that audiences don’t know what’s or who’s good, and “what’s good” isn’t easily discernable from the outside. You, Mr. or Ms. Institution can help me by using your credibility as a purveyor of Good Theatre to let potential audiences and artists know that you approve of us. You have worked with us or seen our work and lo, it was good.

Here in Austin my favorite example of this is what Ken Webster is doing with his Hyde Park Theatre. Hyde Park Theatre is becoming a clubhouse both for a style of theater and a coterie of producing companies and folks that Mr. Webster likes and trusts. People may rent Hyde Park Theatre, but more often than not what’s in the space reflects a relationship with the theatre and with Ken. If you like the dark comedy like Ken does you more likely than not will like the work he blesses. Just like Netflix.

Now, Mr. or Ms. Institution let’s be clear: No company is going to turn down a grant or space to do a show. If you want to bring in Orestes I’ll get the band back together and sharpen the daggers. But even if you can’t or you’re a small company with no resources except your good name: lend a small company your Good Theatre Making Seal of Approval.

Full disclosure. I am by trade a playwright. I may be an artist-in-residence, producer, sound designer, graphic designer, voiceover artist and marketing department for my own theatre company, which, yes, I co-founded. Those are things I do and can do. But I identify myself as a writer.

With that in mind, you’ll understand why I spent Tuesday afternoon watching, reading and jousting with the Outrageous Fortune discussion hosted by Arena Stage.

If you’re reading this post, I shouldn’t have to explain Outrageous Fortune to you. Odds are, you’re familiar with it from any one of a number of the blogs listed below. In short, it sucks to be a playwright. Also, it sucks to be a major regional theatre. That does lose some of the nuance, but why sugarcoat it? If you’d like a good general overview of the book and its findings–and a rough approximation of the type of conversation–check out Paul Mullin’s coverage of the Seattle stop on their tour.

Before I go on, I would like to point out a pleasing irony. At the start, the authors gave shout outs to various blogs and websites that have been active in discussing and debating the Outrageous Fortune study, including 2amtheatre.com. As the talk continued and people wondered aloud why the theatre world is so slow to adopt new technologies, I couldn’t help but note that 2amtheatre and the #2amt tag didn’t even exist when they started on the book tour, let alone when they started the study.

And what is 2amt about?

2amt is a gathering place for ideas.

Genuine ideas seemed to be in short supply. We heard talk of maybe more open rehearsals or more mass mailings to draw people into theatres. We were told that there were no “one size fits all” solutions that would work. We playwrights were told that instead of letting cost and cast size dictate our stories, we should “write the play we need to write,” no matter how large. We were reminded that bigger is better sometimes, remembering the days of shows with 67 cast members for a straight dramatic play. We kept hearing how the theatre world has been slow to adapt to or understand new technologies and new ways of connecting and communicating. We were told that artistic directors have trouble finding new work and new playwrights.

Me, I need to write plays that will be produced. It’s that simple.

Do I mind a smaller cast size? Not at all. I like the creative challenge of keeping my casts small and my stories economical. Does that mean I skimp on the story? Well, last year at Riverrun, we produced a show that used five people to give a “rough guide to the underworld.” There were approximately 24 characters woven through storylines ranging from the tragic loss of a son to the pitching of a film based on Dante, from a marketing plan for Hell as a vacation spot to the soul of Clara Clemens searching all these years for her father, Samuel. There was a new understanding of Schrodinger’s Cat as well as a love story spanning much of time and space.

That’s only a fraction of the story. Doesn’t sound like cast or cost made much difference, does it?

Process this.

How about more open rehearsals and more mass mailings. “Maybe we should budget for four extra days of rehearsal.” No. Really. Not if the idea is for open rehearsals in that time. And mailings? Just no.

You may find it hard to believe, but most people don’t really want to watch us rehearse. I’ve been to plenty of open rehearsals. The last one I watched was during last year’s Humana Festival. People showed up to visit in the bar, to meet the playwright, to chat with each other. How many? Maybe fifteen. When it was time to go into the theatre, of that fifteen only three people went in, myself included. The other two left within half an hour.

I might be interested in that part of the process, but I come at it with a professional interest, both as a playwright and a producer. Most people see unfinished work, out of context, repeated ad nauseum. They’ll be able to do the lines with the actors when they come back to see the show. If they come back to see the show. That’s not a given. And from the other side, as a playwright, I don’t want an audience to see the work out of context; if I did, I would have written it differently. I want the audience to see the work as it’s intended to be presented. And that’s not even considering how the actors feel about it.

Yes, involve audiences in “the process,” but show them the process of making theatre in general. You can do that easily without damaging the impact of a play or disrupting a working rehearsal. Have craft events where you demonstrate costuming and prop fabrication. Tour the shops. Hold a 360 Storytelling event, which doesn’t just show them the process, it lets them BE the process.

All of these are more interactive, and all of them give the audience members a reason to do more than come to your building and sit. Best of all, the 360 can attract new audience members, depending on where you hold the event.

And yes, that’s a one-size-fits-all idea.

Size doesn’t matter.

We also heard about how we need to go bigger. Okay. How? Why?

Bigger is not the word.

More.

More is what you want to do, what you need to do. More is what your audiences want. More events, more affordable tickets, more things to do and see. We’ve talked a lot here about the importance of becoming a part of your community. Here is that idea in its most basic form.

Your theatre needs to be a central, social space in your community. Period.

Think about it. How often does your average audience member come through your door? Once or twice a month? Once every six weeks? Is it a matter of price or a matter of scheduling? Wouldn’t it be wonderful to get that person more often, to bring them through the door regularly? What if they just dropped by to see what was happening that day?

If I’m only coming through your door once every six to eight weeks, your theatre is not a part of my life.

Only connect.

The theatre world is slow to adapt. Whether it’s new technology, new social media, what have you. This is what we were told.

Tell that to the range of theatres that weren’t big enough to be covered in the study. That may be true of a lot of theatres–and I know plenty of theatres who are several years behind the curve on social media–but it certainly isn’t true at every level. We’ve adapted not because we’ve had to, but because we can. Because it’s easy. Because, in many cases, it’s free.

Resorting to old ideas and trying them again and again, that’s why “we’re” slow.

At the Q&A portion, I asked why they thought theatre was so slow to adapt, pointing out the number of theatres that have adapted but weren’t part of the survey. They didn’t answer the question so much as illustrate it. At that, they were amused by the idea of getting questions from “Twitter,” as if it were some clever robot creature formulating theatre-related questions. They dismissed one question briefly as being “too twittered to answer” just yet.

E.M. Forster said, “Only connect.” That’s easier today than ever before.

This website is proof of that.

So how do we get to more?

One person suggested that major regional theatres have plenty of money in endowments and grants, so they could take risks and lose money. The authors then took up that line of thought, and said no, “there is no room to fail.” You heard that right. “There is no room to fail.”

Two disconnects don’t make a right.

Yes, endowments and grants give major theatres a cushion. But you won’t get anywhere suggesting that it’s all right to lose money. We shouldn’t be talking in terms of “losing money” and “failing.” Instead, we should think about “spending money wisely.”

Right about then, on Twitter, Bilal Dardai posted this quote from Beckett:

If there is no room to fail, then there is no room to try.

What if you could boost your attendance and add more offerings without doing much damage to your bottom line? Better yet, what if those offerings drew different audiences, newer audiences, younger audiences into your building? And what if those offerings led you to new discoveries, new artists, new work?

Put me in, Coach.

I also asked a question about larger companies adopting smaller companies. They’d already noted that in this economy, the companies that are thriving most are the smaller theatres. My suggestion was that larger regional theatres might consider adopting and hosting smaller theatre companies in their auxiliary spaces as a sort of “junior varsity.” This would be a way for audiences to have more choice. It would be a way for the larger theatre to discover new playwrights and new work. It would also, in many cases, be a way to attract new and different–and younger–audiences into their building. So why not try that?

Well, theatres might not be looking for collaborators, and the smaller companies might not produce at the same level of quality expected in the larger theatre. Or they may have quality but not the same kind of vitality as the larger theatre.

I didn’t say anything about collaboration. I also didn’t imply anything about the relative quality of either company. I simply asked, why not host smaller companies? Some theatres already do–Arena, the Public, Steppenwolf, A.C. T. in Seattle. The Late Seating at Actors Theatre of Louisville does this to a limited extent.

Consider this. You’re a major regional theatre. You’ve cut your budget, which means cutting shows, programs, etc. But you still have a black box. Invite some local professional quality companies to play there. Don’t charge them rent, but take a small percentage of the box office. Advertise them along with your season–making a clear distinction between who produces what. Allow them to advertise freely to their current audiences.

What does that do? It supports theatre artists living and working in your community, it allows them to thrive. It gives more people more reason to come through your doors. It puts more events on your calendar. It allows for lower production costs and, depending, lower ticket prices which in turn attracts more people. It lets you get to know new playwrights and new work, and it gives that work a certain seal of approval for other theatre companies to take seriously. You’re a partner, not a parent.

Cooperation, not collaboration.

Yes, you’ll want a say in what’s produced in your building, and that’s only fair. Join the smaller company’s board, let them know you have a stake in their success. But beyond that, let the smaller company run free.

Look at the Steppenwolf Garage. You could have that kind of excitement in your space. You really could.

There’s your more. There’s your space as the beating heart of your community.

The tip of the iceberg.

I’ve heard that running a major regional theatre is like steering a large ship. You keep your hand on the wheel, and you keep it steady. Which is a lovely image. But a large ship is hard to steer, and some of us who think analogies through can see icebergs ahead.

Given the so-called 3-5 year process of developing a play, you’d think they’d have time to steer.

This little collection of ideas is only the tip of the iceberg. Better yet, after suffering the slings and arrows of Outrageous Fortune, think of them as arms against a sea of troubles.

And yes, 3-5 years is the time frame we heard about today. This is why some theatre is less relevant to today’s audiences. That’s a longer lag time than animation. It’s also, again, why some theatres appear to be slow.

The audience is out there. They’re not looking for transparency and a look at our precious process.

A window is transparent. A door is open.

Let’s welcome them in.

This week is all about the Devised Work convening hosted by the Arena Stage doing their level best to truly be a center for new American play development.

They scooped up a raftload of folks not frightened off by DC’s recent uncharacteristic winter weather event and we will be discussing the ins and outs of the Devised Work in this theatremaking environment beginning on Friday..

The intrepid Mr. Dower has outlined the discussions that have already taken place around devised work, his goals for this weekend, and some questions for the creators of devised work to jump start the thinking for this weekend.

Let’s zoom out from that specific set of questions to some general questions for a group of folks who may not be devised work creators themselves.

Starter Questions:

What does the term “Devised Work” mean to you?

Have you ever seen a devised work show?

Have you ever taken part in a devised work process?

What do you like most about devised work? (Process or performance)?

What do you find most challenging about it?

What production problems can a devised work process alleviate?

What production problems can a devised work process create?

In what ways is a devised work process better than  a single voice process?

In what ways is it more difficult than a single voice process?

What are your general thoughts about devised work?

What questions do you have for the convenors even this far out?

These #newplay convenings are capital I Important because you take part; Because of the broader discussion that takes place around the room not just what happens in the room. So let’s ramp up early and really knock the doors off of this. This is a topic that begins in collaboration so let’s not sit back and just watch.

One nice tradition on Twitter is the “follow Friday” hashtag, where you pick out a few of the people you follow and suggest them to the rest of your followers. It’s an easy way to meet new people and make new connections.

So we’re going to pay homage to our roots with our own version. These are some of the stories, posts and people we’ve been following this week…

Dan Granata on the difference between Small Ball & Long Ball.
Here’s the pitch: what kind of theatre are you? Are you trying to knock it out of the park every time you’re at the plate, or are you trying to build and grow naturally, playing to the strengths of your team? Sports, once again, provides an apt metaphor.

Tony Adams on a different form of color blindness.
A comment in response to an article by Chicago Tribune theatre critic Chris Jones, where Tony Adams, artistic director of Chicago’s Halcyon Theatre takes a closer look at the color-blindness of casting and theatre coverage. It’s a comment that probably won’t get published on the Tribune site. Which is a shame.

Paul Mullin suffers some more slings & arrows.
His focus is on Seattle, but his message resonates with any theatre company that has a board. You do have a board, right? How well do you know them? More to the point, how well do they know you and what you do? Instead of sitting down to sulk about the conclusions of the book, Outrageous Fortune, do as he suggests and invite your board members to any of the stops on the book tour. Show them the lay of the land and ask them what they’re really doing to help bring theatre to life.

Andrew Taylor on the cumulative value of stories.
So you’re on the interwebs, tweeting to Facebook, Digg’ing your Friendfeed, letting everyone know you’ve ousted your wife as the mayor of the coffee shop on Foursquare. That’s still a connection, no matter how tenuous or ephemeral. Clearly, you love knowing where your friends might be, where they’ve gone and what they liked. What if you could do the same with a theatre seat? How many people have sat in seat 13, row G? What did they see, how did they like it, did they come back?

Charles McNulty on the lessons of Pasadena’s loss.
Why does a theatre close? Where did the audience go? We tried to give them what they wanted. McNulty suggests that if we give our community what they need, they will come.

Steve Julian wants your opinion. Is theatre dying?
This follows up on and develops the theme from McNulty’s post, especially in this comment by Jay McAdam, co-founder and executive director of the 24th Street Theatre in Los Angeles.

Scott Walters displays some TACT.
We were already reading his Theatre Ideas blog, but now Scott Walters and his colleague, Tom Loughlin, have created a new blog, Theatre Arts Curriculum Transformation. They’re rational enough–or insane enough–to suggest a new, realistic approach to theatre education.

Arena Stage gets Devisive.
No, that’s not a typo. The New Play Institute at Arena Stage is getting ready for their next #newplay convening, this time around the theme of Devised Work. You’ll want to watch the #newplay hashtag on Twitter, or down in our scrolling widget below, on February 19 and 20 to follow the conversation even at a distance and, at times, join in with questions and comments. You’ll even get to see some of the #newplay conversation live.

Lindsay Anne Black asks an excellent question.
We’ve all been reviewed. Some were good, some were maybe not so good. And when you read the reviews–if you read the reviews–it’s easy to tell whether or not the critic understood what you were trying to do. Click on the link to see her question and, if you’re on Twitter, you can give her your answer. Or you can comment right here…