We’re the kids in America #1: Interview with Eliza Bent

Posted on November 12, 2010 | 5 Comments

At last! An interview. In case you’re just now tuning in, I’ve had a hankering to start interviewing my friends, because I’m always up for new ideas and hearing what they have to say. Because they’re brilliant. Which brings me to Eliza Bent: one of the few individuals who comes to mind when I actually think of the word “brilliant.” She’s cheeky, folks, just so you know, but we wouldn’t want her any other way. And even if you don’t read this interview, be assured that you will hear her name soon, because this gal is going big places.

Liz M: E-liza, tell the people about yourself! What are you into?

Eliza Bent: My name is Eliza Bent. I am of average height but superlative strangeness. Just kidding. I’m very regular. I grew up in Brookline, Massachusetts. I went to school there. Then I lived in Italy for a bit and now I live in New York and work at a theatre magazine. We are a niche publication… (but then, isn’t theatre a niche art?) I also do theatre projects here and there. I hesitate to call myself an “actor”—I do not have “training”—and my stage antics are too populist and rag-tag for such a moniker. Rather, I am a performer. I do a bunch of stuff with a group called Half Straddle. And I have a fake company called Thinking Person’s Theater.

LM: Yo momma is a group called Half Straddle. Ok, so, to the meat. I think about the pros and cons of graduate degrees daily, and I know we’ve talked a little bit about this before. What drove the decision to enter your MFA program?

EB: Ooh right. I am a bit of a playwright too. I am in playwriting school at Brooklyn College. It is very part-time and the vibe is very opposite of my undergraduate education… But you ask about my motivations for why I applied and I will tell you. In 2007 I read this great little short story (“Magda Mandela”) in The New Yorker by Hari Kunzru and I thought—‘This has to be adapted to the stage!’ I showed the story to a few people who politely nodded and didn’t do diddly. I realized I had to do it myself. But I’m a busy person and kept putting it off. Then one day, the internet was out at my job (big surprise in not-for-profit magazine land!) and I thought, ‘just as an exercise, I will take a stab at adapting the short story.’ A few months later, I had a mini read-through among intimate friends and they gave me feedback, some was ignored and some was digested. Then I heard a friend had a piece in the undergroundzero festival in NYC and I thought, ‘Gosh darnit, so should I!’ (Most often it is an unexplainable jealous/competitive streak that motivates me to do anything.) So I got in touch with the curator of the festival and the author of the short story and voilà. The play, She of the Voice, was made. I produced it and tinkered with the script and a whole gaggle of pals performed in it. And the funny thing was, it was immensely terrifying and satisfying. I had the distinct sensation that my artistic compass had shifted. (I know, barf!) But it is the truth. Various friends and acquaintances said, ‘So, now you are a playwright!’

LM: Cool. Yeah, I have many thoughts, good and bad, about MFAs. (Although admittedly a playwriting MFA would be awesome, but isn’t available where I live.) What’s your take on the infamous MFA?

EB: Yeah about MFAs. I always thought MFAs were a little sad and for lame-os. For a while I was dying to go to acting graduate school but couldn’t justify the cost and never could muster the courage to audition. How mortifying. Anyway, I knew a bunch of people who’d been in the Brooklyn College program (helmed by Mac Wellman and Erin Courtney). So I had a chat with Mr. Wellman, to sort of dip half of a foot into the pool. And it was invigorating and I got excited about the idea of entering into an MFA endeavor. Being as busy as I am, I realized I wanted/needed a structure with deadlines that would help me make more plays. (And, since I studied philosophy during my undergraduate days, I wanted to study in a slightly more formalized setting.) Not that the Brooklyn College program is formal per say. We just meet every Tuesday. Plus, tuition is super cheapy. I can go even on my not-for-profit salary. Ooh and I also applied to Julliard, which is free, but that place seemed a bit more corporate scary. Although, I’d probably be saying Brooklyn College is bohemian barfy had the reverse happened. So yeah. Sorry to be so long-winded. But deciding to enter an MFA is complex! And I didn’t even commit to it until I showed up for that first class, you know? I still consider it all a hobby.

LM: It’s probably more useful to ask this of a non-theater-person, but I’m curious to ask anyway. When you think of “the American theatre,” what comes to mind?

EB: Well… first a very strange and jankity publication comes to mind. Heh. So does a lot of “good intentions” and “attempts.” Quoi d’autre? Ooh the “regional theatre movement” …. Eek! I am not even sure what that is. Psychological realism, Tennessee Williams and a great experimentalism comes to mind—both the annoying and not-so-annoying kinds of experimentalism. I think about improv and music concerts and musical theatre. I think about how musical theatre is really fun to make. And I think how it would be cool to make a new kind of theatre with music (and moves) in it but a kind that is not “cheesy” in the way that many musicals are. I also think about the plethora of university programs for young actors and how it’s sort of a shame that most people can’t make money from being a full-time artiste. I mean, I am a full-time dreamer but I don’t get paid for that. Heh.

LM: Tee hee, aren’t we all. Ok, as you know, NY’s dominance is something I continue to mull over a lot. What do you think works really well about the NY scene? What makes it unique?

EB: If you are serious about theatre, then at some point you consider a move to New York City. That is both good and bad because I generally don’t like serious people! Still, there are good serious people and less good ones everywhere you go. I think what is good about the NY world of theatre is that it’s so big and that it can offer something for all kinds of theatre enthusiasts/makers/professionals. On any given night there are a trillion different things to see/do. That can be overwhelming and also freeing.

A few weeks ago I saw an old pal I’d been in a play with in Boston a few years ago and there were other Boston theatre people who I’d never met before. When I told them about my involvement with theatre (where I work, shows I’m involved with, and how I’m in school) a little glaze of haze and confusion fell over their faces. They did Broadway, and regional tours of The Wizard of Oz, and voiceover work. It wasn’t a mean haze, just one of mild curiosity. It was nice to learn and talk with them about their experiences, which are so vastly different from mine. For example, I don’t really ever “audition” for things—so it was interesting to hear about how people actually do that. And a bit hard to explain that the stuff I am involved with is not audition-centric. (For better or worse) I don’t know how well I explained “downtown” stuff to them, and I feel pretentious to say that, but it was good to try. It’s always good to articulate what world you play a part in. Also, there are companies in NYC that are much more akin to “community theatre” and that’s great. There really is something for everyone in this Big Bad Apple, and that’s what makes it unique. What I like best is that usually when I see a show, I run into someone I know and that makes me feel good and kind of cool, especially when I take a non-theatre friend. I suppose that goes to show how lame I am.

LM: Gah! There aren’t enough hours in the day to discuss NY and downtown theater for me. I get pretty weird about it. I guess part of me wishes I had had the desire to stay, because it’s still where the bigwig theater people live. But I do believe strongly in decentralization … and being near trees. Moving on. I’d like to know: what would you change about the theater-universe if you could?

EB: Dios mio! What kind of a question is this? I am all about the Platonic forms but it’s almost too maddening to think about what I would change when it comes to theatre… and for that matter… Theatre. From my own experience, I would make everyone have the same schedule. I would make non-theatre friends understand how dumb and crazy the theatre world is so that they comprehend just how much time/energy/effort rehearsal takes. I would make free rehearsal space for everyone! And so long as this is Ideal I would pay everyone One Million Dollars to make their theatre. I would get rid of “Obligation Theatre” – people would only go to the shows they want to attend. “No more obligation theatre!” would be the slogan of Eliza Theatre Universe. Ooh I would make theatre/er spelled just one way! And all theatre would be amazing, because there’s nothing that’s much worse than bad theatre.

LM: Yeah Miz Amerika! Maybe we can just spell it “theatrer” and call it a day. And speaking of “The Theatre”-with-a-capital-T, what compels you to stick with it?

EB: Another fine, if slightly maddening, question. Quite simply, there is nothing else that gives me such a thrill as to perform. I really feel quite alive when I do that. I get nervous and delighted when I see theatre. I turn a shade of magenta when I hear my own work read out loud. I stick with theatre because it’s really fucking fun.

Hey look! It’s Eliza doing theater! And singing!

 

 

 

Look, here she is doing more theater! I like her hat.

→ 5 Comments

Posted in Artists, NY

One Voice in the Cosmic Fugue

Posted on November 8, 2010 | Leave a comment

We cannot hope to thrive if our deepest intentions are on preserving our theatres and our institutions as we know them today. We must be willing to seize and embrace the change that is sure to come. Just as the not–for–profit theater field of 50 years ago—a field of a mere two dozen professional theatres—bears scant resemblance to the field we know today, the field of 50 years from now will look different, will act different, will be different than the one we know today.                                         
                                                                            -Ben Cameron

I sure as hell hope you’re right, Ben. (I believe he is.) What this brave new world will look like, though, is anyone’s guess. The light of the twentieth century theater is fading, and I can’t help but wonder if I’ll miss it at all. There was a time that this notion made me sad, but the older and more aware of our deep-seated problems I become, the more I wish for drastic change. And the more I see leaders and managers thinking outside the box and producing work that speaks to me, the more hopeful I become. The next ten, fifteen years are going to be so interesting in our field. The funding structure is changing, audiences are changing, the Boomers are getting closer to retirement. Will there be chaos? An artistic Great Schism? Will we see a lull in all of the performing arts?

To say that theater is dying, as is so often said, is probably inaccurate. Theater has been around since the dawn of civilization (thank you for teaching us about this, Oscar Brockett, may he rest in peace), and logically isn’t going anywhere. Our theater is dying. We know this deep down; we see that it has already begun, most recently by way of Reagan, non-profit surges and surpluses, an amputated NEA, seas of white hair in our houses, the mindless drudgery of “outreach” reporting forms, stifling bureaucracies, Legally Blonde the Musical. Some acknowledge this death, and some do not because they rely on the status quo and love it in its current form. But like it or not, theater is undergoing the process of evolution as are all creatures and movements on Earth. Nature is creating a next generation of animals that are equipped to thrive in their environments—here’s hoping I and my friends are cockroaches, not polar bears.

It’s full circle. A few decades ago, we in turn came about through natural selection: as the arts went under attack and funding appeared and disappeared and reappeared, we got good at our jobs. We learned how to run businesses, throw big parties, squeeze the box office, and somehow make commercial theater in the name of art and charity. We started to make money. Oh, by the way, I didn’t make this up—Oskar Eustis said it. I listened to his lecture from the same stage that opened A Chorus Line, which put well over $50 million in the bank for the Public. What were the consequences of the Public getting good at business? They survived and were able to afford to produce riskier work. What were the consequences for the many companies that tried to replicate this? How did this type of adaptation change the whole field? Getting business-savvy and obtaining 501s with ease may have overall reduced the artist in us and raised the businessperson. It made what we do a competitive sport. But we’re still standing, and we wouldn’t be if we hadn’t adapted. Now we take what we learned and continue to morph.

Personally, I’ve always felt like too much of an outcast (or mutant) to be worried that the volcanoes are erupting. I feel more of a sad bafflement, nostalgia and dull sadness for theater as I once knew it—magic everywhere, the smell of paint and sawdust, the way it feels to stand in the warmest darkness on earth, the pleasure of making something out of nothing. I still feel these spiritual things from time to time, but I can’t remember when I last felt completely pure about theater. My guess would be it was before I got so involved, got into fundraising, before I got a desk job, and before I realized how every-man-for-himself this business is, no matter how often we collaborate. Some days, I want everything to be normal and safe. I want everyone to be ok. On other days, though, I can’t help but hope for something to bottom out, some seismic rumble to come and shake us all up off our feet, because the downward spiral of bickering and competition and jealousy and anxiety, too common in our community, isn’t worth anything and has nothing to do with making art.

→ Leave a comment

Posted in Change, Wisdom

Focus Group

Posted on October 11, 2010 | 5 Comments

I’ve been trying to organize my thoughts enough to write a coherent, fresh blog piece based on the marketing strategies of recent shows I’ve been seeing. Two weeks and three pages of notes later, I give up. I have trouble discussing things rationally when I’m moody and confused, and it’s time I surrendered the ghost on this one. Marketing might be more complicated than I’m able to speak to, so I’ll just share my thoughts/frustrations instead. Then you can tell me I’m an ill-informed plebeian.

I went to Round House Theatre’s The Talented Mr. Ripley dragging my heels—my friend Marc, an actor in the show, asked me to go and provided comps, so I went. Round House isn’t a theater I used to consider myself invited to, so to speak. When I think of Round House, my brain returns images of vanilla shows, old rich people and Bethesda. And yet there I was in the audience, gasping with glee and sweating in anticipation. You could’ve knocked me over with a feather: Ripley was the best show I’ve seen in DC in the last two years I’ve been back in town, and by a big margin I might add. Almost everything about the show was remarkably done, detailed, and oozing with intelligence. Where did those negative images about Round House come from? What planted that seed?

I knew Ripley was playing all along. I saw the press. And I almost missed a much-needed night of exciting and inspiring theater, in part because the information I received was both misleading and lacking. The initial press I saw back in September unfortunately turned me off to the production entirely—the article was more a loving profile on “the star,” Karl Miller, than anything else, and gave a lot of lip service to his transition to NY, which of course made me annoyed (personal thing). The only information on the theater’s website was a short synopsis of the play, and both the press and the site featured this photo:

Not only is this completely misrepresentative of the play’s character and style, it looks … goofy, fake, dinner-theatery. It tells me, “Don’t go to this show. You will pluck out your eyes.” In one swift blow, I’m taken down a false path. Karl’s deeply troubled Tom Ripley never once looks like that in the show. Nowhere on the website or in its press am I given a true sense of the play’s eeriness and darkness, the strength of its ensemble, its breathtaking design concept, or sharp direction. As another example, take a look at this poster from a show I saw recently (also comped by my friend Daniel, an actor in the show), All’s Well That Ends Well at Shakespeare Theatre:


I saw this many times on ads and banners near my office, and by the looks of it, again concluded I would never, ever see this show. This photo looks like it’s for a production of The Music Man or some silly nonsense; in reality, it was a lovely, polished production of, yes, a relatively dull play, but one good to watch nonetheless. All’s Well was very grown-up: art nouveau finery backlit by a smoldering sunset, solid and confident performances from most, careful direction, and comedic bits that added meat to the show instead of providing “relief.”

Makes me wonder, how many people make buying decisions based on seemingly small aspects of a theater’s marketing concept, such as a press photo?

They certainly had a big impression on me. I also know, for myself, the appearance of a theater’s website is the primary place where I gather my basic notions about the company. I’m not saying any of this needs to be fancy. Take for example dog & pony dc‘s site. This tells me everything I need to know about the company. It’s indie, it’s in-your-face, it’s woman-centric; the mission is right up top, company news is visible, there are photos, the company’s voice is “heard” through the screen. Look at the Kennedy Center’s site: heavily text-based, older and very standard design, inconsistent standard fonts, requires digging for information. Says to me, it’s an institution, it’s been around for a while and has an old-guard feel, and there’s a lot of variety so you’ll have to find your niche. Contrast with BAM’s website. Modern, consistent and thoughtful design; horizontal scrolling pictures, video and information for each show; easily navigable and concise. Says to me, it’s also an institution, but they do edgy work, if you like one event you’ll probably like another, they cater to young people.

* * *

What if Marc wasn’t in Ripley? An exciting and inspiring night would have passed me by, and I wouldn’t be looking forward to Round House’s upcoming shows, which now I am. Turns out, they also have $10 tickets to any show if you’re under 30, so now I know I can go whether I have a friend in the production or not. How many people know about this?

I say all this still not knowing if “blame” is to be placed. Maybe it’s just misfortune. Or am I just not looking hard enough? Is it my duty as an artist and practitioner to seek out information? Maybe it’s my duty to take more gambles with my money. Is it the theater’s job to push information out to me, the consumer?

Who is responsible, as it were, to be the advocate for a new piece of theater?

I could stand to do more digging myself, but theaters should also know that there may be more interest out there than they think. Most show information I get comes from listservs and email chains, word-of-mouth, and local blogs like BrightestYoungThings and DCist. Represent yourself well, and don’t be shy about getting the word out.

→ 5 Comments

Posted in Lamentations

New York City: Land of Dreams, Phase II

Posted on September 26, 2010 | Leave a comment

It’s easy to complain and hard to take action, or at least it is for me, because I’m so easily overwhelmed and paralyzed by Big Ideas. I’ve decided to start asking questions of my smart friends in interview form.

The impetus for this mini-assignment comes from a comment Andy Horwitz made on my escape-from-NY entry. He said:

What distinguishes NYC is not the sheer volume of work being done – a lot of it is bad- but the rigor and sophistication that characterizes the best of the work that is done … We need to build networks that will encourage non-NYC artists to adapt some of the best practices of New York…

Two of his words really struck me: rigor and sophistication. These are two things I know I could use more of in my own work-life, and I wonder how they play into the work of others. I wrote SOPHISTICATION. RIGOR. on an index card and posted it above my desk. If Andy’s right about NYC, I want to figure out what really makes the Epicenter stand out.

Stay tuned for some Qs and As!!

→ Leave a comment

Posted in NY, Wisdom

Technology is THE DEVIL!

Posted on September 20, 2010 | 2 Comments

“Well, Steve Norris is clearly a giant cunt.” Oh, you cheeky National Theatre! The tweet heard ’round the art world stirred up quite a few conversations last week about social media and how theaters use it (or don’t use it) to connect with their audiences. As you may imagine, I loved this particular tweet and am disappointed National Theatre both deleted and denied it. Our world is politically correct to a fault, easily offended (I wonder would the reaction have been the same if the tweeter had said ‘douche’ or ‘tool’ or even ‘meanie’?) and falsely apologetic, which only results in inaction and mistrust. But controversial or not, the internet spreads words like wildfire, so you’d better know what you’re doing and what you stand for.

First thing’s first: It’s important to realize that social media platforms, computer programs and Web platforms are languages, both literally and figuratively. If you didn’t grow up speaking the language, you have to learn it. I’ve worked with a lot of smart people—Ph.Ds, powerful SVPs, CEOs—who are not computer literate at all. Are they stupid because they can’t use Excel or navigate a directory? No, they simply have the misfortune of not being born in the ’80s (hold the jokes, please). My family got a computer when I was around 7 years old, so I grew up playing and learning in DOS. In the ’90s, we got a Windows-based computer (seriously one of the most exciting moments of my childhood) and a Prodigy account. Social networking appeared when I was just entering college. I don’t take any of this for granted, and I can’t imagine how difficult it must be to try to learn and understand how the digital world works from scratch. But if you’re going to use technology—social media in particular—just learning what each button does isn’t going to cut it. You have to understand and be able to connect patterns. Like language, spend time with people who speak it already. Got a teenager? Make the little snot earn its keep.

I’ve attended “social media how-to’s for arts managers!”-type workshops, which are usually a total joke. It’s like taking a class on “how to be fun.” You can’t teach so-called strategies/best practices for something unique, personal, and totally reliant on your peers. What they should be telling people in these workshops is the following:

Facebook is NOT a marketing tool. Telling theater leaders they can reach more new audiences (and sell more tickets) by using Facebook is a massive lie. Facebook exists for entertainment purposes and was originally developed to network a bunch of Harvard kids so they could vote on one another’s hotness-or-notness, not sell products. If you want to use Facebook to make your company more interesting and relevant, then be more interesting and relevant, and be so while living in an online community. People will like you.

What is Facebook? Facebook is an online social network in which each user creates a personal profile to represent himself as he connects with other users.

What can I do on Facebook? Represent yourself, send private and public messages, share information, see what other people are doing and invite people to real-world events. Unlike MySpace et al, Facebook has risen to popularity because it is the most tailorable, personal social network available—you get to pick your friends and customize your feed and security to your comfort level. Treating Facebook like free-for-all ad space is obnoxious. No one wants to be bombarded with invites, updates and suggestions, and will probably either de-friend you or adjust their settings to block information from you. Or at least they should.

What should I do if I’m brand-new to social media? Create a personal account for yourself and use it regularly for a few months before you create a profile for your theater company. Think about your company and how you would be best and most accurately represented. Who knows, you might discover that Facebook isn’t really something your company can use.

What should I do if my theater company already has a page? First of all, limit the number of people who have access to the page (one is best; definitely don’t use interns or newbies) and make sure the person is the right and best person to be the public mouthpiece of the company. Then reveal the human behind the page. Companies don’t have ideas, people do, so make clear the person or persons who contribute to the page. Introduce yourself as an individual and include a photo. Try not to emulate other people’s pages—what they’re doing might not be working anyway. Don’t rely on status updates alone—use plenty of photos, video/multimedia and repostings. Be “friends” with people who are actually your friends and neighbors, and take note of the people who are adding your page to their profiles.

Ok, Twitter.

I’ll refrain from talking about Twitter too much because it’s pretty straightforward—just think of it as you would your Facebook status updates and use common sense:

  • Don’t over-tweet. A couple of tweets per week is plenty.
  • Don’t follow anyone and everyone—how can you pay attention to your community if you’re following 57,035 people?
  • Use hashtags to categorize your posts.
  • Be an interested member of society, not a salesman.

And just a friendly reminder: As a theater, you don’t need to talk about theater all the time. Like, really.

→ 2 Comments

Posted in Change, Wisdom

New York City: Land of Dreams

Posted on September 13, 2010 | 7 Comments

I seem to wind up in emotional conversations and arguments over the significance of New York rather frequently. Theater people are very sensitive about their hometowns, and I can see why. New York is #1 among theater towns—and by a colossal gap.

When I gave up my NY address, I knew I was losing a major chunk of credibility—never mind how utterly absurd this is. For some reason, performance credits—no matter how small, dumb or unprofessional—are more valuable if they took place in NY. This is the place where the most vital art in the country is happening, so I guess it’s … all vital? Yeah, I don’t know.

I suppose there are reasons for this attitude—NY is the center of art, fashion and finance in our nation, it houses the bulk of important theatrical activity, is home to most major players in the theater world, and requires a certain kind of cultural intelligence from its inhabitants. However, while all of these things are true, they’re inconsequential and irrelevant: The ’20s, ’50s and ’70s are way, way over. New York is no longer affordable for or friendly to the common man; heck, it’s safe. Think Disney. Think Whole Foods on the Bowery. All it really takes to live there is money and a bus ticket.  The artistic roads were paved a long time ago, and we just keep walking them while Jamba Juice moves in downstairs and the rent goes up.

The dangerous thing here (and the thing no one seems to be willing to admit) is that our industry not only operates under these falsehoods, it relies on them. The lie: anyone in theater who lives outside NY is second-rate. (I was told this word-for-word as a kid when I started out.) Truth is, anyone can be part of the theater community in NY and very few will ever stand out. It’s beyond me that one’s address is often taken into higher regard than one’s abilities and experience, as though a place somehow makes you more talented, hireable, or serious. It’s easier to participate in theater in NY—it has more collaborators, more venues, more grants to win, more classes and support groups, and more audience members. And when it comes to actors, I think we all know that an apartment in NY and/or an Equity card doesn’t amount to a hill of beans when it comes to talent or professionalism. Why haven’t artistic directors, directors, and executives figured this out? Am I somehow less dedicated, less worthy now than I was in 2008? I’ve always been told that we should suffer for our art and “do what it takes” but I’ve never been told why.

Beyond these personal matters lies the issue of our very serious state of artistic emergency.  In order to have a healthy national theater scene, knowledgeable, working artists need to leave NY and return to their communities, and artists who thrive in their communities must stay and thrive. There’s no question that NY’s theater scene is “better” than everywhere else, just by virtue of the quality and originality that exists there, but it has the same problems as the rest of us. They’re just harder to see. And what is the benefit of such a high concentration of quality? More great artists in NY go unnoticed and fewer non-NY cities beget great artists.

So artists, if you’re unsatisfied with what you’re doing, if you want to work hard and pave new roads, get in your covered wagon and leave NY. Funders, if you want to change the face of art in the U.S., plant seeds where there are none. Artistic directors, if you want to save (lots of!) money and create a truly American regional theater movement, hire people in your own cities.

None of this will be easy, not by a long shot. The infrastructure for this doesn’t exist in many places. It requires the squashing of the ego. I still wistfully think of all the action I’m missing and the great possibility the place offers. But as I continue to find things in my own town, the less I think about it and the more I remember what really matters to me. Hey, just think about Times Square and Sex & the City–you might suddenly find yourself wanting out too.  :)

≈ ≈ ≈

Just for fun … Street Level Initiative, a Brooklyn-based art collaborative that works to create livable cities for artists, conducts “exit interviews” with artists who choose to leave NY. These Artist Exit Interviews are published on their website in blog form. Here’s mine:

What brought you to NYC?
The need for adventure, mostly, and the desire for NY theater experience. I also thought that moving would change or somehow fix my decadent and dead-end post-college lifestyle. I had an internship and a free place to crash at my cousin’s, so I went.

Why are you leaving NYC?
I started to feel pretty jaded, like even if I could find a place to belong, the theater scene was hopeless and dying anyway. I saw my Grandpa through the last years of his life there, and after he died, realized my last reasons for staying had dissolved.

Where are you moving to?
Washington, DC, by way of Burlington, VT.

Why did you choose that location?
My friends in Burlington had been offering me a summer up there for a long time. I wanted to decompress in nature and silence, with loving friends, and not think about the arts for a while. DC is home to many people I love, and having lived there before, is a place of familiarity and comfort. Even though it’s small, there are lots of work opportunities and a big theater scene.

What will you miss LEAST about NYC?
The smell of the Gowanus coming in my window every day, everything in and about Midtown, feeling alone among millions, seeing human shit on the sidewalk, getting rejected by hipster boys, the roaches in my apartment, the roaches in my office building, never experiencing complete silence or darkness ever.

What will you miss MOST about NYC?
The city’s quirks, food, energy, power, architecture and design, variety. Places like Red Hook, Roosevelt Island, City Hall Park, Prospect Park, Prospect Heights, Bay Ridge, Park Slope, the Hudson. Metro North and the Subway. Access to the best theater in the country. And I will miss working in NY, because it’s the most amazing feeling of belonging.

→ 7 Comments

Posted in Artists, Change, NY

“Give me badass or give me bored.”

Posted on September 8, 2010 | 1 Comment

I’ve so enjoyed the Twitversation spectacle on #2amt in response to “Holy Sh*t Theatre: An Urgent Age of Badassery,” playwright Lauren Gunderson’s Huffington Post article about the joys of non-traditionalist theater. The conversation bounced and spiraled around topics such as labeling, audience reactions, personal preference, expectations, and a few other threads that were too imprecise to describe. Arguments and disagreements were had among the theater intellectuals—what about I’m not totally sure. I could take a few guesses, but if I had to pick the deepest subterranean thought-stream of the day, I’d say that there seems to be disagreement about what makes theater “good.”

Is good theater completely subjective? Or are good genres the issue here? Gunderson defines Holy Sh*t Theatre as “an electric collaboration of quality, artistry, and intelligence.” This is great, but probably what every single theater and every single show in the universe both believes itself to be and strives to achieve. Your average dinner theater, avant garde theater, regional and Shakespeare-All-The-Time theater all work to meet these goals. However, she doesn’t stop there. This definition of good is all about personal preference, or at least it is if you make theater that meet “racy, terrifying, shocking, surprising, bizarre … riveting, engaging, and high quality” standards Gunderson praises in her article. I happen to believe that her lists of adjectives describe good theater, not a “Holy Shit” niche genre, but plain quality. But I’m just one person. Gunderson goes on to say:

You will feel this theatre. You will sense the performance. It might make you laugh or gasp, but it will make you do it. You’ll see something unusual, risky, bold, wild. The boldness will be in the acting, directing, design, music as well as the text … It needn’t be expensive or highly technical. It is no place for irony or nonchalance. It must make you say, think, or yawp: “Holy sh*t, that was awesome.”

I aspire to this. Many do not; in fact, many people—both audiences and theatermakers—find this idea distasteful or downright offensive. Likewise, Gunderson’s examples of contrasting “Holy Theatre” such as over-performed works of Shakespeare and A Christmas Carol are “offensive” to me. I find straight-scripted/four-wall/living room plays pointless, boring and unsuitable for live performance.

But so what?! Why must we all be one unified thought-bubble, fighting for our tastes as though we have to choose The Way for the American Theatre? Our field is isolated, scared, and is made up of many different people with widely varying taste levels. We should honor that and build on it, not bicker about it or try to convert people. The take-away importance of Gunderson’s article is less for the playwright and more for the company leader. As a playwright you can label, embrace, do homework, market and incorporate gimmicks until the cows come home, but what matters in the long-run (and for gaining a fan following) is your producing company’s brand and the decisions they make. A new play (or reenvisioning) is going to be a complete gamble for the audience member no matter what genre tag it has, so companies, be companies that can be trusted to make the kind of theater you say you make. Not all theater needs to be either badass or boring—it can be beautiful and peaceful, glittery and gaudy, familiar and worn-in—it just has to be genuine.

→ 1 Comment

Posted in Artists, Wisdom

Crumbs from the Table of Joy (pun intended)

Posted on September 2, 2010 | Leave a comment

Loneliness has gotten the better of me. It seems ridiculous to complain about dissatisfaction when we live in such a violent, desperate world, but here I go nonetheless. This blog was not intended to be a personal diary, but I’m admitting to theater-related loneliness. Allowable.

My frustration stems from the fact that, on paper, I shouldn’t be lonely for art-friends at all. Over the past year or so, I’ve been hearing a fair amount of hype on the growing size and prestige of DC’s theater scene—we’ve got 90+ companies, we’ve taken Chicago’s place as second city, Arena Stage is in the national spotlight, Capitol Fringe rivals cities many times DC’s size, etc etc. I am proud and excited, but my praise is cautious. Stats, while a very helpful research tool, are merely static answers to a series of questions asked one moment in time and shouldn’t be taken at face value. They’re a two-dimensional slice of a very large three-dimensional pie. DC’s growing numbers don’t give us a sense of what kinds of theater companies make up our community, what types of shows they do and who does them. More importantly, stats can’t quantify the unquantifiable: How is our cultural health? How does our current state of affairs relate to our past and future? Why are our audiences growing? What is the quality of our work?

For me, DC’s growth means next to nothing. Young actors are fortunate enough to have cattle calls, agencies and classes at their disposal (although God help you if your cell number starts with 202). If you’re a director or playwright under 35, good luck finding any stable and accessible resources. I’m lucky to know the folks I do–and what options would I have otherwise? Amazing people pass through town and run local companies, but the doors seem to be closed to the populace, the opportunities to share knowledge passed by. Where is the trickle-down effect? Where are the mentorship and training opportunities? When it comes to the nurturing of the community as a whole, other places have us beat—and not just New York, Minneapolis and Chicago. Young theater practitioners who choose (gasp!) to live here are not reaping the benefits of being in the “largest” regional theater town because we remain an outpost, a community whose success is propped on the shoulders of long-suffering, savvy theater leaders and a very wealthy citizenship as opposed to more standard young and poor artists. As an oddly apt mirror to our country, Washingtonians consume outside theatrical “products” more than we produce our own. It’s unnecessary artistic outsourcing. Besides, touting our collective greatness as a city whilst disregarding the people in it is to toot an undeserved horn.

My dream is to have a social circle of writer and/or director friends who truly belong to DC. (I <3 all y’all actors out there, but I’m not talking about you today.) This is a transient town—it probably always will be—but many, many artists are here to stay. The town is changing, and my hope is that our leaders will recognize and embrace this change. DC is an arts town when it comes to music and visual art, so why can’t it be so when it comes to theater, too? Perhaps it’s because our self-image is dented or because we so rarely talk to each other. This community disconnect happens on all levels—I feel isolated not only from the established higher-ups, but from other people who share my interests and age group as well. I’m not all that unique—surely there must be people my own age interested in new work somewhere in the District. Where are you? Who are you? We can’t learn and grow in our separate bubbles, and, Powers-That-Be, we can’t contribute to the conversation if we’re not invited.

→ Leave a comment

Posted in Artists, Lamentations

Good to Great: Chapter 3

Posted on August 27, 2010 | Leave a comment

I’m having some difficulty with Chapter 3 of Good to Great. This chapter is about putting together your team: the second step to achieving “Disciplined People” and the first phase of a company’s buildup/breakthrough transition. So far, the book’s general concepts have been easily applicable to theater, but with Chapter 3 being all about getting and keeping the best people, I’m a bit stuck.

Stuck Issue 1: Getting. The “First Who … Then What” MO sounds difficult when placed in the context of the theater world–a world in which no one gets paid for performing essentially full-time jobs, work comes sporadically and is case-specific, individual egos are strong, and when you get down to brass tacks is dog-eat-dog. The best people aren’t always accessible or available, or are–if you live in a city with a disjointed community–unbeknownst. Stuck Issue 2: Keeping. If you managed to get a group together, it’d probably be difficult to keep motivation high without a specific common goal. By nature of this business, we tend to place focus on the end result: a well-received production. (And I hear a fair amount of “don’t wait! make a show!” advice as well.) Also, the good-to-great companies were able to do what they did because they began with massive capital–even struggling companies fronted the money necessary to assemble the right teams. Artists are not going to turn down paying work elsewhere in order to stay exclusive to your group for nothing, so I’m not sold that this part of the equation translates well. I’ll have to keep thinking about it.     

But for the sake of exploring the chapter, let’s assume that you’re already surrounded by a group of like-minded artists focused on a common objective, whether that be a strong mission statement or show idea. Now you’re in business. If everyone in your group is on the same page and is interested in the success of the company over their own, the work will flow naturally. G2G lists three truths that the leaders understood and employed:

1) If you begin with ‘who’ rather than ‘what,’ you can more easily adapt to a changing world

2) If you have the right people on the bus, the problem of how to motivate and manage people largely goes away

3) If you have the wrong people, it doesn’t matter whether you discover the right direction; you still won’t have a great company

Recognizing whether or not you have the right people is a very difficult, scary and highly political row to hoe, because suddenly things get personal. It’s easier to just not ask these questions of yourself or your company–the results may be too much to handle. We are in the industry of the individual; our bodies are our instruments, art-making is deeply personal and theater cannot be made on one’s own. A good leader can successfully restructure his/her company–or decide to close its doors–but it won’t make for popularity in a field where popularity truly matters.  Collins says, “It might take time to know for certain if someone is simply in the wrong seat or whether he needs to get off the bus altogether. Nonetheless, when the good-to-great leaders knew they had to make a people change, they would act.” Has this ever happened at a theater company? I’m not sure, but would be interested to know. An intuative leader should be able to sense if they have the right people in the right seats, but here are some questions I might ask myself to tighten up the process:

Of a particular person:
–Does this person’s ideas fit our mission?
–How does the company fit into the person’s life and dreams?
–What role does the person play in the company?
–How does his/her role contribute to the company?
–Is the person happy?

Of the group:
–If asked separately, would each person descibe the company the same way?
–Do people have overlapping roles? Are they working together or locking horns?
–What, if anything, is missing from the group?
–What are some ways I can build, encourage and strengthen the group?

→ Leave a comment

Posted in Management, Wisdom

True. *Crawls back into cave*

Posted on August 26, 2010 | Leave a comment

Don’t fall into the trap of feeling entitled to career success solely on account of your talent. There’s a huge market for mediocre art, and the less-talented wipe the floor with the more-talented every day.

–Young Jean Lee, from an interview on Adam Szymkowicz’s blog, 8/26/10

But hey. This is much, much scarier.

→ Leave a comment

Posted in Lamentations