In 2003, the Playwrights Center and the Guthrie issued a national call for manifestos on the future of the American theatre. 110 submissions came from coast to coast, and I had the privilege of reading most of them. One stated the obvious, but its wisdom, while recognized by many, goes unheeded by most: eliminate bad theater. This manifesto’s central thesis was that the decline of attendance nationally has to do with a fear of bad theater, having witnessed it too frequently. Eliminate bad theater, the author contended, and the appetite for that which is offered will be voracious because the experience will stimulate certain cerebral pleasure centers. This two-sentence encapsulation doesn’t do the scribe justice, but it has stuck with me for seven years.
For a myriad reasons, producing entities allow work that isn’t great to see opening nights. Seasons have been announced, subscribers have been promised a title; sets and props and costumes and artists have been designed and constructed and paid; the playwright has been commissioned and there’s been years of script development; the marketing/media campaign has been planned and executed. A plethora of very logical arguments can be made to justify the presentation of less-than-stellar theatrical events. “Quit it!” demands the theatrical hypothesizer who submitted the manifesto.
This isn’t about stifling risk. Au contraire. It magnifies it, but also puts the risk trigger in the hands of the artistic director or producer, not would-be patron. The person or people authorized with assuring audiences of “great” may do more to advance the field by pulling the plug or delaying an opening – assuring audiences and artists of always participating in a top-notch experience – than by exposing a compromised production to the public. Hugely subjective and enormously expensive, this still may be advice to heed in a time when live theater’s real competition is no longer other live theater, but the mouse, cell phone, and remote. Such “cancellation cajones” will protect not only an institution’s viability, but the art form’s longevity.
When people can see what they want to see when they want to see it for free, how do we motivate people to drive through Minnesota weather to a particular place to plunk down a bunch of dollars to see our work at predetermined show times? How? Through unparalleled meritocracy.
This sets a fascinating foundation for the topic at hand: what are the ingredients for great theater?
What is the difference between great and excellence?
As I enter my 35th season of professionally producing and directing, my favorite part of being in the theater is sitting in the audience. How can one know what’s good or great if one doesn’t see what else is being produced? Good or great are, after all, relative.
Excellence and great are not synonymous. "Excellence" can reflect the highest professional standards in the land – well-crafted script, uber-talented creative team and cast, and comfortable, well-equipped venue. But there are factors that propel any production into that sphere that mesmerizes and challenges its participants into superlatives like "great," and these factors can occur anywhere.
For many theaters, especially non-profit theaters, the mission is the key. We must hold a theater accountable: “What is this theater trying to accomplish by producing this play and how well is it realizing that?”
I never like to see “available resources” used as an excuse, i.e. there wasn’t enough money or time or staff to accomplish our aspirations. Make good choices and do what you do as well as it can be done. A heavy dose of visible "from-the-gut" commitment is palpable and can transform an audience's experience. It can be the glue that keeps a novice and veteran theater-goer coming back. I believe that mission, values, and principles even
supercede survival. It’s better to go out of business on one’s own terms than to pander. Mix the aforementioned "excellence" with these criteria—mission and commitment—and live theater is here to stay in venues of every variety.
Magic
In San Francisco is the legendary Magic Theatre, a 43 year old, 200 seat home for great playwrights, new plays, and performance art. A courageous Loretta Greco accepted the job as The Magic’s sixth artistic director in 2008 after a national on-line $400,000 “Save the Magic” desperation fundraising campaign. She must believe that the absence of something is not the same as nothing. Such a belief infused my key ingredients – mission, resources, commitment, and great material and talent – into the production of
Oedipus El Rey that I saw in March of 2010.
Oedipus El Rey is a contemporary Chicano telling of the Greek classic as penned by playwright Luis Alfaro, set in 21st Century southern California. Artistic Director Greco staged this world premiere with a fantastic cast of six, celebrating and showcasing the versatility of her ensemble. Ringed by audience on three sides and a wall with a fire exit on the fourth side, the entire set was only a floor covered with unpainted plywood. Nonetheless vibrant choices were made in abundance.
The sound and lighting designs were driving, pulsing, and evocative, supporting the amazing performances of this surprising text. Costumes and props were suggestive, minimal, and oh so effective. The director’s hand was apparent, inspiring the cast and designers to soar, and audience members were tantalized to lean in, not sit back, to be absorbed into an evening of Greek theater in 2010. I may have entered the theater knowing that resources were scarce, but I left believing that this artistic director would have directed this play at any theater with any available budget in exactly this manner with this cast to no greater effect. This was a win-win-win for institution, audience, and field.
On that night the Magic proved that mission and commitment
allow survival because
Oedipus El Rey was indeed great and excellent—my best night in the theater in the past year.
