Mecca

I’m on the plane, coming home from the closing weekend of the 2009 Humana Festival at Actor’s Theatre of Louisville. Seven shows, two panel discussions, four sleepless nights, one festival gala, and a three mint julep cocktail party that I really wish had been a two mint julep cocktail party. I’m totally exhausted. And I think anyone interested in the health of the American theater should try it sometime. The Humana formula is simple: choose a diverse range of plays, put them all up at once, and then offer plenty of coffee, alcohol and places for people to hang out between shows and talk about what they just saw. If you think it’s not possible—or worthwhile—to produce new plays at a large regional theater, or if you’ve ever doubted that people really can see some plays they don’t particularly care for and still have a great time, 72 hours at the Humana Festival will change your mind. My play, Slasher, was one of the seven shows produced at this year’s Humana. It’s my second trip to the festival with a full-length play in it, and my fourth time attending the festival during one of the two “big weekends”—also known as Theatre Professionals Weekend and Special Visitors Weekend. Each time I go to Louisville—whether as a writer or visitor—I come away with a deeper appreciation for the festival and the vibrant culture of new work that it models and promotes. Conventional wisdom says that producing one new play is risky for a theater. For 33 years, Actor’s Theatre of Louisville has produced seven of them. At the same time. I’m not talking about seven readings or seven workshops. I’m talking seven full productions, plus an evening of 10-minute plays to boot. Humana is such a unique undertaking that each year, 1,000+ theater professionals from around the country (plus a handful of film and TV-types) get on planes, book hotel rooms, and spend a weekend in Louisville seeing brand new plays.

Relationship-building

Theatre Professionals Weekend, sometimes referred to as “Little Big Weekend,” is the more laid back of the two weekends. This year, it drew roughly 300 professionals, including lots of artistic directors and literary managers from the mid-sized regional theaters that produce the most new work by early to mid-career playwrights. Special Visitors Weekend, or “Big Weekend,” attracts 700 or so people from around the country, including several commercial producers and reps from many off-Broadway houses. Like a lot of writers, I have some social anxiety. I tell myself that meeting people isn’t “schmoozing,” it’s “relationship-building.” At the Humana Festival, it actually feels like relationship-building. What makes it so easy to connect with people from around the country are the plays themselves. At Humana, you will be asked, “What did you think of that play?” twenty times a day. And unlike so many other small-talk soft-balls, it’s a question that actually stands a chance of provoking a meaningful—or even passionate—exchange. When you see a play as part of a date, or a night out with friends, you think you have to be polite. It’s often simpler to just say you liked the show, because someone bought those tickets, and you don’t want to spoil the evening. At Humana, you can’t spoil the evening, because the plays are the reason you’re there. The chances of one person loving all seven plays is zero. So when you ask someone, “What did you think of that play?” you’ll likely get an answer that differs from your own. Even if you initially agree (“I hated it.” “Me too!”), probe a little further, and you’ll discover that you each hated (or loved) it for a different reason. Every time I go to Humana, I find myself defining and redefining what I believe creates engaging theater—for myself, and with others, in conversations that start standing in line at the bar, or outside of Starbucks. Seeing so many plays in such a short span of time throws your likes and dislikes into high relief. These conversations—parsing out why you found a particular play incredibly moving, while the person sitting next to you thought it was overly sentimental—can be one of the greatest pleasures of going to the theater. And, I would argue, these same conversations are vital to creating a culture of new work.

Letting go of expectations

When we let go of the expectation that we’re supposed to love every play we see, something interesting starts to happen. We start to talk about the stories and characters, and why they confounded or annoyed us, made us laugh, broke our hearts. We start to talk about the kinds of storytelling we find most exciting, or the issues that compel us the most. We start to talk about politics and family and relationships and the meaning of life. In the context of these conversations, the total value of a theatrical experience ceases to be judged by the question, “Did I like it?” Instead, seeing a play becomes a way of exploring questions like, “Why do people hurt each other?” Or, “Do you have the right to tell another person’s story?” Or, “Why are most victims in horror movies still sexed-up young women?” These kinds of questions can lead us to check out brand new plays by writers we’ve never heard of—or plays that seem outside our comfort zone in whatever way. That’s the culture of new work that I’m talking about, and it’s crucial that we nurture it for theater to thrive. There are no moderated “talk backs” at Humana. The theater does not attempt to “contextualize the plays,” or explain to the audience why a particular play or playwright is “important.” There are no quotes from reviewers in bold font on the posters to assure you that you’ll like it, because there are no reviews until after the plays close. You’re presented an unmediated theatrical experience, and then encouraged to linger and hash out what you just saw with your fellow audience members. This year, I met three artistic directors from regional theaters who brought board members with them to Humana. How cool is that? Slasher will be produced at one of these theaters as a direct result of the fact that several board members saw the play and got excited about it. But beyond that, I strongly suspect that those boards will now be less likely to pressure their artistic directors to replace the “risky” new play in their season with Neil Simon. So consider this invitation: Next spring, when you’re picking your NCAA bracket, pick one of the big weekends and come to the Humana Festival too. You won’t love everything, but that’s not the point. See a bunch of plays that nobody’s produced before, introduce yourself to the people around you, and ask what they thought. Just don’t order that third mint julep. ❦