Don't bother "saving theatre"

You've heard the gloom and doom predictions about theatre, I'm sure. They usually sound like one of these:

• The audiences are all older people, and when they die... no one will come.  
• Movies are killing live theatre. 
• The internet is killing theatre. 
• It's the prices! 
• People just don't have long enough attention spans.

Some of the above things have some truth to them, but I want to address this idea of "saving theatre."  I think it's misguided.  Me and the internet like lists so I'll make a bunch of vaguely outlandish claims and then support them with my experience or logic.  

(First let me make a distinction between what Broadway is/should be doing vs. nearly everywhere else. Broadway is a behemoth, high cost, high risk market, and what they're doing has little to do with what I'm talking about.  Broadway is largely (but not entirely) a tourist trap where only the shows that are known commodities and which have a very wide appeal will ever be successful.  I'm not really talking about those theatres.  They are in a trap of producing the Big Macs of theatre, and they can't really do much else.  It's not their fault. Blaming them for playing it safe would be like blaming a tight-rope walker for concentrating on balance.) 

1. Theatre doesn't need saving.   

During many periods in history, theatre was the popular form of entertainment.  It no longer is. Let it go.  The dominant form of entertainment will always be 1. the most convenient and 2. the broadest and least challenging thematically.  "Ease of access" and "lacking in substance" will always be the recipe for WIDE appeal.  Examples: McDonald's, Candy Crush, YouTube videos of cats in your FB feed.  It's right there, and it takes no investment of time, money, or thinking.  Theatre used to fill some of those needs, but it is no longer the easiest to access and it's rarely vapid in content.   

Happily, theatre doesn't have to be for the masses. Because things made for the masses are dumb and often bad for the masses.  I am suspicious of any work of art that everybody likes.  It usually means it's too easy to be profound, and too socially reiterative (read: the way things are now, is the way they should be).   

The truth is, theatre has found its place on the artistic landscape.  Poetry, dance, symphony orchestras, and studio art aren't trying to produce the next Marvel superhero movie, so why is theatre looking so hard to be something everybody likes?  Not everyone will love theatre and that's ok.   

Don't get me wrong, I have a considerable evangelical zeal for the art form.  I have spent most of my adult life introducing people to theatre and trying to get them to engage as audiences or artists.  I have just learned to stop bemoaning the fact that I dedicate countless hours to the production and promotion of a play, and most people would rather just watch Netflix.   

But theatre is not going anywhere.  It may not be as popular as it has been, the market may shrink, and there are certainly drawbacks for the artform as a result.  But history has shown us again and again that humanity longs to enflesh its beliefs, big questions, and demands for justice in a communal setting.   

2. The internet and cellphones are neither the destroyers or saviors of theatre.   

It's funny to me that many theatre people forget the words of Shakespeare: "There is nothing good or bad, but thinking makes it so."  The internet falls into this category as well.   

There are those who bemoan its impact on the brains and attention spans of audiences. These are some of the doomsayers who think that there's no way we can make theatre work in a world where people want to check their phones every ten minutes.   

Then, on the other end of the spectrum are those who want to make theatre more like the internet to appeal to the digital generation.  I've seen productions that encourage people to Tweet about the production with a hashtag during the performance and they even project the tweets on a screen throughout the show.  And of course, smart theatre promoters have been able to utilize social media. 

I don't believe that smart phones and Facebook have made us dumber.  I believe that this generation has been brought up to read, process, and synthesize at a much more rapid rate that other generations.  Some would argue that they can't just sit down and read a book well, and that's true for some.  But the kind of "reading" people are doing today is just a different kind than that of the past.  Creators of theatre can certainly take this into consideration, but I think it's a mistake to think that all theatre now needs to feel like 140 character tweets, or 2-minute cat videos.   

As a side note, I think playwrights, directors, and designers will be wrestling for sometime with staging the internet.  It's not something we need to do to stay sexy, but it is necessary because the internet is a locus of culture.  People meet, fall in love, create and destroy on the internet.  We can't ignore it.  But staging it presents an interesting challenge.  I've seen some plays do this well, including dark play or stories for boys and Water by the Spoonful.  It will be interesting to see how future plays take it on.   

3.  It's okay if your audience is nearly dead, as long as your theatre isn't

I see a lot of people bemoaning theatres doing 50-year-old musicals and Neil Simon plays in an effort to get the blue-hair crowd.  And I understand the commercial necessities of producing plays that will fill seats.  The truth is, people just don't come to shows they don't know.  I am a HUGE fan of new work, and would dedicate my work entirely to it if I could. But a theatre without an audience isn't a theatre at all.

So, it's fine to do older plays occasionally, or plays that will appeal to an older audience sometimes, but it must always be ALIVE!  I simply mean, that doing Arsenic and Old Lace exactly as it has been done for the last 60 years might please your blue hairs (and it might not), but it will kill your theatre.  

We must never lose sight of what makes theatre unique and powerful.  We must never be reduced to doing a play that would be just as successful as a movie.  This has a lot to do with how we tell the story, staging, audience arrangement, etc.  How can we make the "aliveness" of the work, the urgency of live theatre, conspicuous and meaningful?  

The best plays, the ones I want to see and direct are the ones that demand to be live theatre.  I want people to walk out of performances I direct saying, "That HAD to be a live experience".  If you could video tape my play and get a pretty good idea of the experience, I have failed.  

Once audiences, new and old, come to trust the work of your company, they'll trust you enough to come see a newer or lesser-known work.

So, do "A Christmas Carol" if you must, but figure out how to make it something special for the people who decided to see your version. Or next Christmas you can bet they'll just watch it on Netflix.  

4.  Let there be theatre on Earth, and let it begin with me.   

For as many conversations as I've had about "the future of theatre" on a national or international scale, exactly zero of those conversations have been with the director of the NEA, or program directors for major theatres like the Steppenwolf or the Arena Stage.  So why are we playing armchair commander, when we are foot soldiers, at best?  Our job is to make theatre, support theatre, and see theatre (oh, and probably to bring our friends). Period.   

Nothing will transform people into theatre-lovers like them giving them the chance to love theatre.   

The future patrons of theatre are in middle schools, high schools, and universities right now.  And I'm not talking about those kids that are destined for the stage.  I'm talking about the DABBLERS!  Dabblers are the future.  I know lots of theatre educators and what I hope they are doing for the majority of kids is giving them the love of theatre. That's it.  Be infectious with your love of the thing.  People will go see a play as adults if they were in that show in middle school, or they read it in high school and loved it.  I know far too many theatre teachers who think they need to be tyrants in order to get hard work and good productions out of their unskilled casts.  I'd rather high schoolers do terrible productions and love theatre, then do great shows but be resentful about their treatment during rehearsals.  

So we need to teach people how awesome this thing is.  Here are a few tips on theatre evangelism:

• One-on-one outreach works the best. Invite along a friend to a show, especially someone who doesn't consider themselves "a theatre person".  Guilt your friends and family into seeing the shows you are in.  

• Kids get and enjoy more theatre than you think. Bring them to grown up plays, not just children's theatre.  Most people who love plays were exposed to them early on.

• Be mindful of "Gateway" theatre.  Don't bring a staunch conservative to a showing of Hair. Don't bring a first time theatre person to a high minded, avant-garde work about suicide.  DO bring people to improv shows to get them exposed to live performance, then follow it up with a scripted comedy.  Then they might be ready for something heavier.  DO start people off with a very fun stuff, or straight-forward stories. Remember for most non-Theatre people STORY matters the absolute most.  If you have become fond of unresolved endings or non-linear plays, you might want to leave your "beginners" at home for those.  

• Get involved in bad stuff.  No one was a brilliant playwright, director, or actor in their first production. We get better by doing it more, but if beginners keep having doors shut in their face, or being judged as poor quality, they will leave the artform defeated.  So help the local community theatre, give the aspiring playwright feedback on his script. And remember that you sucked once too.  

I'm certain there will be people who disagree with me on a lot of this.  And that's okay.  I have been fighting the fight for theatre for a long time, and these lessons are earned through some success and a lot of failure.  But there's a lot of wild speculation in there as well. Feel free to take me to task on those.  :)  

When "Almost, Maine" almost wasn't; a playwright asks WWJD

When I first joined the theatre faculty at Lee University I chose John Cariani’s (now very popular) Almost, Maine as the first play I would direct. 

It’s an alternately sweet, sad, and funny play about love.  About finding it, losing it, being surprised by it, and realizing when it’s passed you by.   The play is made up of several stand-alone vignettes featuring the various residents of a rural stretch of Maine.  Exactly the kind of play an audience of Lee Theatre production would enjoy.  Oh, and also there is a scene in the play where the people who find love both happen to be men. 

Lee is a Christian liberal arts university in a very conservative region.  So, I knew that we could only produce the play if we omitted that particular scene.  It’s sweet and, compared to virtually any other television or film depiction of gay relationships, it is very innocuous.  Still, doing the scene would be so controversial that the rest of the play would be overshadowed.  That’s a waste of a lot of time and energy on our part, if the audience doesn’t even notice the other 90% of the play. 

However, we knew it would be both immoral and illegal to cut the scene without the playwright’s permission. Unfortunately, I was running out of time, if I didn't get permission pretty quickly it would be back to the drawing board in finding an appropriate play for my first production at Lee. I got lucky and found the email address of the playwright, Mr. John Cariani. 

I largely expected a “no”. In fact, I probably would’ve said no had the tables been turned.  But instead, we received the following very gracious reply.

I want you to know how much I appreciated your e-mail. "They Fell" has been cut from the play so many times--and I have learned about the cut after the fact. So uncool. But your wonderful e-mail--made me feel so...respected! It meant so much. I appreciate your kind words about ALMOST, MAINE. And I really do feel for you and Catherine and Christine. I am so sorry you have to deal with stuff like this. It's so lousy.

So...my initial reaction to your request was NO WAY! But--when I thought about the lousy position you're in...well, I decided that saying NO WAY is just mean. Fighting hate with hate, kind of. And that's not cool. So I say--go for it. I don't want to be a hater. I think omitting "They Fell" makes ALMOST, MAINE a lamer play. But--I understand your position, and feel like the rest of the play should be heard! So...here's me granting you permission to do the play without "They Fell." With one caveat. I would like there to a note in the program from me. It's below.

October 2, 2010

Greensboro, North Carolina

Dear Audience Members,

Lee University's production of ALMOST, MAINE is not being performed in its entirety. One scene, called "They Fell," has been omitted. When I was initially approached about allowing ALMOST, MAINE to be performed without this scene, my response was, "Absolutely not." "They Fell" is a story of two people who literally fall in love. I think it is an interesting examination of love, of being true to your heart, and to yourself. To me, redacting the scene lessens the impact of ALMOST, MAINE as a whole.

Initially, I was very angry that anyone would even consider cutting the scene. However, good decisions are never made in the heat of the moment. As I thought about the request, I realized that perhaps I was being intolerant, imposing my values on others. I was also making my decision from a place of anger and that's just no good. I'm a Christian, so I asked myself:  WWJD?  He'd probably allow the production so that at least part of the message of the play would be imparted. So, that's what I decided to do. "They Fell" was never written to inflame or offend, it was simply to tell a story--a love story-- and I don't think that is wrong. I hope that after you see this production of ALMOST, MAINE, you will seek out a copy of the full script and read "They Fell."

I hope you enjoy the show.

Sincerely,

John Cariani

"But I say to you, love your enemy and pray for those who persecute you,so that you may be like your Father in heaven, since he causes the sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous."--Matthew 5:44-45

If you think any of this is a bad idea, please let me know.

Thanks for your kind words and for doing what you do. Boy--theatre seems so important at places like Lee. Fight the fight!

With great respect,

John

[Joyful music] We were of course stunned.  We couldn’t believe his response.  When we went to our university’s administrators with his reply, they were thrilled!  They told us to go ahead and do the play and publish the playwright’s note in the program, but... to cut the Bible verse.  [Record scratch] They believed it was combative, and to be honest, I could see their point.  This was going to be difficult.  Now I had to write back to this man who has done a very selfless thing by considering our audience above his own written work, and ask if I could cut the BIBLE verse, of all things, from his letter. 

Most of my letter was very positive.  I thanked him for his permission and wrote about how excited I was about the instructive possibilities of this situation for our students and audiences.  And then I included this:

You asked me if I thought any of it was a bad idea.  And as you can tell from my gushing thus far, I think it's a very GOOD idea.  There's one thing I would like to mention.  You quote a Bible verse at the end of your program note.  And while I understand its appropriateness to the situation, I am concerned that some reading it might interpret words like "persecutors" and "unrighteous" as combative in this context.  I think anything that smacks of an "us" vs. "them" sentiment undoes all the good that can happen here.  I would recommend keeping the letter exactly like it is and either removing the verse or choosing another one.  I don't think you meant to say that Lee audiences are "the enemy", clearly you're talking about prejudice and hate.  But I wouldn't want anyone to think you're applying those labels onto the very people reading the note.

It was several days before I heard anything in response. I thought we had lost him. We’d asked too much.  I was reading other plays in case I had to do a last minute switch.  But finally, he replied with this: 

Well... I think this is all extraordinary. Can we talk? Call me: [his cell phone number omitted]. I am a little busy with my new play and can't properly respond to this in an e-mail--just don't have the time--because I have a deadline!  But--let's cut the Bible verse. That was a barb on my part. No need for it. Or any verse. I don't want to demonize--and that's what I was doing. No good. Good catch. So--the letter--without the verse. Perfect.

This dialogue is so great. Because it's a DIALOGUE! I bet you guys get screamed at all the time for asking to modify plays...and you're all Christians who believe in the power of theatre! And...I wish more playwrights would just revolt from within. Disguise their points a little more. And...I wish more theatre people in NYC believed in the power of God! And I'm not real "Goddy."

A few days later, I did call him and we had a great chat.  He told me how hard it was for him as a New York City playwright to deal seriously with faith in his plays. He wasn’t trying to write plays about Jesus, but he felt like no one would take any character seriously if he/she was a person of faith.  And as I shared some of the struggles we had at Lee, we realized we had inverse versions of the same problem.  I often struggled to serve art well in a world filled with religious people, and he often struggled to serve religion well in a world of artistic people. 

At the end of the conversation, I felt truly blest. In this dialogue, I encountered God.  I was blessed by the experience.  In this unexpected, respectful connection, I told Mr. Cariani that I sensed God's presence and he voiced a similar notion. I told him that I believe God exists and manifests himself most clearly in the spaces between people. And to put it simply, in our connection, God showed up.

I am in the connection business.  In my art, in my teaching, I strive to help people connect people.  Audiences to performers, students to playwrights, designers to directors, etc.  As I go forward I will strive to remember the humility of my friend, Mr. Cariani when I want to make those connections God-filled ones.

Ultimately, the play was produced and was a big crowd pleaser.  Best of all, our audiences, our cast and crew, and the director learned a lesson in grace from a playwright who thinks he's not real "Goddy".

Cast of Almost, Maine at Lee University - 2010

Let us love one another, for anyone that loves is borne of God and knows God. (no one asked me to cut this verse)

**Please note:  Anyone reading this article should not assume that Mr. Cariani would grant this permission to any such request.  I would not be willing to speak on his behalf regarding any special requests regarding his work. And you should contact the playwright or his agent. 

Audition Tips

This weekend I saw nearly 300 high school seniors auditioning for college theatre programs at SETC (Southeastern Theatre Conference). On the whole, I saw a number of fantastically talented students, many who seem very kind, and excited about this crazy art form that I love. So, you know... that's good.

But of course, after about number 88, you start to realize there are some types of monologues you are just praying will stop. I thought I'd share some of my observations from the point of view of an auditor. I can't say that EVERY theatre professor/recruiter will agree with these, but I'm betting they'll be on board. (Special thanks to my new friend Amanda Wansa Morgan, from Ole Miss, who was very fun to sit next to during the first portion of these auditions.)

So, here are the tips. A list of 9 DON'Ts followed by 1 big DO: (and then a SECRET of auditions)

1. Don't cry.  I know, you want to show your emotional range.  And what actor doesn't fantasize about that UGLY CRY moment where they lay it all bare on the stage and the audience is left flabbergasted?  But the truth is, those moments are earned by the full length journey that a character takes throughout the course of a whole play.  I only care about your crying if I know you, if I feel your pain with you because I've gone with you on a part of your journey.  In a 1-2 minute monologue, we don't have that.  And no matter how good you are, we won't have it.  So mostly, crying monologues just feel whiney, hard to understand, and uncomfortable.
   
   If you absolutely must do a sad monologue, than do everything in your power to play against the sadness.  I'm much more moved by a person who is trying not to show that they are sad, than by someone who has just given themselves over to screams and tears.  If I see you deliberately trying to hide sadness, or any emotion, really, than I might take notice.  But, in truth, it'd be better not to do a sad monologue at all.
   
2. No monologues about suicide.  I know it's a serious topic.  But it feels cheap, like an after-school special (does that reference make sense anymore?).  It feels like you are using the seriousness of suicide to make me take you seriously.  And it doesn't work.  It just makes me feel uncomfortable, and not in a good way.
   
3. Or cancer.
   
4. Or rape.
   
5. Or being molested.
   
6. Don't choose "adult" material.  I'm no prude, but in most of these auditions you have a lot of older professors watching a much younger actor or actress (often 18 or younger).  When you talk about sex, or your body,  it's difficult to like your monologue without feeling a bit creepy.  We don't want to be creepy.  We want to see the best in you. We want to feel great about helping you along the way of your career.  But not this way.
   
7. Don't scream or yell!  It feels like a cheap way to get my attention, and I might spill my coffee a bit, which makes me like you less.
   
8. Don't be quiet (even for dramatic effect).  Whenever a song or monologue was too quiet during the SETC auditions, I'd lean in to try to hear better, and my new friend Amanda, from Ole Miss, would say "it's a secret".  Don't have secrets.
   
9. Don't stand still and don't move uncontrollably.  So many students walked up to the downstage center spot, looked straight ahead, and delivered their monologues nearly motionless. MOVE!  Theatre is a visual as well as auditory art.  If you can't use your body to convey a character, then I have no idea if you can act.  I always tell my students, "If you could have performed your monologue just as effectively over the phone, it wasn't very good."
   
   On the flip side of this, don't move all over with no apparent control of your arms and legs.  You should make CHOICES about when to move, when to gesture.  Your ability to identify the moments and movements of the monologue are what I'm looking for.  Have someone direct your monologue for you.  Find someone you trust to find the move points and give you feedback.
   
10. And finally the DO ... MAKE US LAUGH!!! I used to think this was just a suggestion, but after watching 270 or so students I have decided this is the only IMPERATIVE in an audition. Pick a funny monologue or song, and make us laugh the whole time.  If you can make us laugh, I don't need to see that you can "do serious" as well.  Comedic monologues done well require serious acting, it's all I need to see.  (I'd even go so far as to say that if the audition calls for contrasting, make the language/period contrast, but make them both funny.)
    
    Which brings me to the secret... 

SECRET TIP:  More than you think, and certainly more than most adjudicators will admit, we are looking for students that will be a joy to work with.  And I honestly believe that if you do a crying, weeping, or screaming monologue, there's a part of us that feels like you may be like that in real life. And we would rather pick the guy or girl who has us laughing in the middle of a long day.

So, when picking a monologue, pick a character who you'd have a lot of fun hanging out with. Seriously. It sounds stupidly simple, but I'm 98% positive it will work better than a screaming, weeping monologue about someone who committed suicide after aborting her baby. 

A few bonus tips that are purely my opinion:  

• No songs from Phantom, Guys and Dolls, or Les Mis.  
• No monologues from Our Town or The Fantasticks.  If you notice the professors saying the monologues along with you, you have chosen something too common.  
• I love Dr. Who as much as the next guy, but I think bow ties are done.  (I know, I'll get some pushback here.)  
• I used to be a real stickler with my students about choosing monologues from produced, full length plays and avoiding monologue books (where the monologues were written as stand alone pieces just for audition).  I'm not sure I feel that way anymore.  The Make Us Laugh rule seems so important that if the monologue does that, I don't think I care where it comes from.  I'd be curious to hear what other theatre professors and casting directors think of this. 

---

Artist's Guide to (Ugh) Self-Promotion

Weird truth. Artists, who often hate self-promotion, despise shmoozing, and eschew direct discussion of their work are the ones who MUST promote it.  It's annoying, but true.

No one likes it, but there are very few occasions where someone who creates a work won't also have to be a bit of a cheerleader for their own work.  People want to know you believe in the value of what you've produced.  And until you can afford some hot shot agent who gets paid to sound excited about you and your work, you're all you've got. (Aside from your mom's affirming comments on FB. Thanks, mom!) 

I've been a theatre artist for about half my life now and in that time I've learned a few things about how to attract attention, and how to "sell" your work, be it studio art pieces or performances.  None of this is based on marketing classes or research, but purely on my personal experience.

1. People need to be encouraged to do ANYTHING. Even the things they want to do.  

It's easy to feel defeated when only a few people show up, or when people don't notice the poster, or don't read the article, see the ad or any of the above.  I hear people saying "we need theatre in this town" and yet they've never been to see a play at Lee or the Ocoee Theatre Guild.  I have been personally involved in the creation of roughly 20 plays in Cleveland and Chattanooga in my 5 years in this town.  And yet people say they wish there was some theatre for them around here. It's enough to make one crazy.

So, I must remember how there are dozens of things I've NOT done or tried, even though I'd like to them. I'd like to try yoga someday, I always enjoy writing, I'd like to read more books, see more live musicians play.  And yet, I often don't.

Someone who doesn't "bite the hook" of whatever you're promoting isn't really saying "no" to you. They're sometimes saying "not now" and sometimes, they just didn't even see the hook.

2.  Your friends and family should support your art because they love it, not because they love you. 

When I was 15, my older brother was put in charge while my parents went away for a long weekend. He suggested I should call all my friends and throw a party.  He was ten years my senior and was certainly more experienced at parties than I was.  I was mostly a well-behaved nerd who had never been to the kind of party he was imagining, much less thrown one.  But I was game.  So, I started to make some calls.  Jeff, my brother was sitting in the kitchen, listening in as I made my first call.

"Hi, _____?  Yeah, are you busy tomorrow night?  I'm having a party.  Yeah, at my place.  You should come.  It won't be as much fun if you're not there.... okay, well, think about it.  I really want you to come"

When I hung up, Jeff gave me some sage advice.  "When you invite someone to a party, they have to believe it will be a good time whether they are there or not.  They cannot, for one moment, worry that the burden of the party's fun will be on their shoulders.  They should instead feel like they would be missing something if they weren't at the party."

And of course he was right.  People who care about you MIGHT do you a favor and come to your show, or your buy your CD, but that kind of patronage will drop off very quickly.  Unless, they start to love your work.  Your relationship with someone will buy you a first chance.  Your friends and family will be more likely to support you than a stranger in your beginning days, but if they don't enjoy themselves, they will stop.

The principle is the same for family/friends as it is for strangers:  If it's good, they will want more. So make it good, and convince them in the promotion of the thing that it's something everyone will enjoy, whether they are one of those people or not.

3.  Get attention.  Sell.  Give details.  

When making a poster, ad, Facebook message, whatever. The first thing you must do is get noticed.
It's worth noting here that sometimes, the most professional looking advertising can blend in with all the other advertising.  Just because it's slick and impressive for you, doesn't mean it will stand out thumb-tacked to a bulletin board of other ads, or on a page of newspaper ads just like it.  Think of where your ad/poster/FB status gets seen, and what makes people take a second look.

This might involve thinking way outside the box. When I started an improv team at Taylor University, the only approved way to promote events was to hang flyers on the bulletin boards, but they were badly overloaded and no one really looked closely at them. I needed a new way to advertise that wouldn't add clutter where school administrators didn't want it.  So, I bought a few 24-can packs of Coke and I wrapped each can in a label.  One side said "drink me," the other side listed the dates and times of our improv show. Then, we placed them all over the largest academic buildings on campus between the two busiest class sessions.  As a result, not only were people picking up our advertising and walking around with it, but they were being asked about it as they walked into their next class.

In my experience, getting attention is about 70% of the work of advertising.

Then, once they do look more closely, clearly and concisely say what your thing is and why they might like it.  In the smallest number of words possible.

Then finally, give the deets.  (date, time, phone number - remember that people will actually go looking for these things once you have done a. gotten attention and b. sold your event)  Don't make the mistake of thinking "the date is very important so it must be really big!"

When advertising on social media, get something in people's newsfeeds that's attention-grabbing. Then include a LINK to an event or page with all the details.  A huge post with lots of dates, times, and prices will be passed over.

4.  (Re: Events) Keep times, dates, webpages, admission prices extremely simple.
When I took over as the sponsor for the Lee improv team, they were a very skilled group of performers but their shows were $1, or a canned good, Friday at 8, and Saturday at 7 and 9.  This was confusing, hard to remember, and a mess on all posters and advertisements.  Now all shows are a dollar and all shows are at 7 and 9.

Keep pricing super simple.  I know it's tempting to think of different groups that should get varying discounts, but this helps no one.  When a person understands what something will cost them, even if it's a bit more expensive than they'd hoped, they will be more willing to pay than if they need a calculator to figure out discounts and multiple price plans for their group.

5.  Win over NEW converts by going to them.  Don't expect them to come to you. 

Whether you are a visual artist, a musician, or a dancer, someone who doesn't know you or your company, or maybe even, your art form, will not cross all the unknown psychological barriers for an unknown quantity.  So, bring your art to them.  Set up a workshop at a local school or community center where you teach people how to do something, then, once they are personally connected to you and your art, invite them to something.

People RARELY go to an event cold.  They know someone involved, or they've heard testimonials from people they know about it.  But if you're starting something new and expecting ads, posters and radio spots to get people to your event, you're dreaming.

6.  Build a community around your thing.

If you want a long-lasting following, take advantage of the ways in which art is a communal event. If someone comes to a play, it's likely that they appreciate the communal spirit of a live event, or they'd just stay home and watch Netflix.  Play to that.  Go learn names, introduce people to each other.  Have talkback sessions, parties, and events that don't just connect patrons to your work, but to each other. Make the "regulars" feel like part of the family by sending out "in process" photos of a painting, or a recording of a live session, or rehearsal photos.  When you can create a fan base that has made your art a part of their life, everyone who knows them is being sold on your work when they have a conversation or ask them about their weekend plans.  Make your fans insiders and they will sell your work without even trying.

Those are just my thoughts for now.  There are probably a million articles like this around the internet, and I'm reminding myself of these things as much as I'm telling you. But in truth, that's most of what this blog is.

Happy promoting!

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Pedagogical Crisis - Why should they care?

So, I have begun at Lee.

My colleagues and I have been enduring a number of long meetings. It's lots of good stuff, but it's lots of sitting for a borderline ADHD guy like me.

Wed. we heard from the university president, Dr. Paul Conn. Despite his long tenure as president (25 years) the man is clearly an educator first. He understands the minds and hearts of both professors and students and he has inspiring things to say about how to make the two meet. He's funny and passionate and wise.

Jeanette Norden, PhD
Vanderbilt School of Medicine

Yesterday, we were privileged to hear from Dr. Jeanette Norden who is a professor at Vanderbilt Medical school.  She has won numerous teaching awards and had very valuable and moving stories to tell.  Here are the three primary things I've taken from her seminar.

1. Teach less better.
2. Let the end goal(s) of the course inform every class.
3. Model the kind of thinking you expect from them. (and the kind of person you hope they'll be)

It's numbers 1 and 2 that have me most concerned about the course I just finished putting together.  I have been asked to teach Drama Lit I.  A history course that traces the trends of theatre from Classical to Ibsen.  (that's 500 BCE to 1900 CE).   Anyway, there's a lot you can pack into a course like that and packed I have.

But yesterday I realized I was more worried about what I am teaching than why I am teaching it.  (A common rookie mistake according to Dr. Norden.)  So now I am left looking again at my syllabus with the following questions:

1. Why will my students care about these plays and playmakers and their historical contexts?
2. Is there a grand story to be told that will have more impact than details about sundry period styles and drama theory?
3. Is it wise to try to create a "master narrative" for a class of postmodern students who respond better to multiple layered and fragmented narratives?

Wrestling with these questions is my task for the next few days.  It's scary and intimidating as all true growth is, but it reminds me of the fortunate position I am in.  I get paid to learn more about subjects that I love and devise the best ways to spread that love!  I could do much worse.

Lee University

I got a job!

I will be starting at Lee University this fall as an Assistant Prof of Theatre. Lee is a mid-sized private university (about 5,000 students) in Cleveland, TN. About 1.5 hours north of Atlanta and just west of the Smoky Mountains!

I am very excited about the position and the area is beautiful!  We will be sad to leave the VERY good friends we've made in Waco.  But the new opportunities are exciting.

The Method Gun by The Rude Mechanicals

Thomas Graves and  Jason Liebrecht in The Method Gun.

Two weeks ago, in one of my classes, a professor asked us to remember a transformative theatre experience -- a play we had seen as an audience member that changed the way we thought about theatre forever. I could see the students around me all nodding, returning to an experience somewhere in their imaginations.

But I had nothing. I love theatre. But the bulk of my experience in the theatre is as a practitioner. I have directed and acted in more plays that I have seen. I was already aware of this problem. Since I've come to Baylor the faculty and I have frequently identified "production literacy" as a deficiency of mine. But in that class room, as everyone was transported to a transcendent theatrical experience, I felt like a fraud. I've dedicated the bulk of my remaining hours on this planet to the pursuit of theatrical excellence and I've never been brought into the Holy of Holies.  I felt like a member of the clergy who had never experienced the grace of God.

Yesterday, I experienced that grace.

While at the Humana Festival I had the opportunity to see The Method Gun by the Rude Mechanicals.  The group is based in Austin, TX and they are committed to highly collaborative, visually innovative theatrical pieces.  This was my first exposure to their work.

The Method Gun is an exploration of an acting company in the 70's whose acting guru, Stella Burden, has disappeared to the jungles of South America.  The group, deeply connected to one another by the perilously personal philosophies and exercises of their teacher, forge on, like Christ's disciples, trying to retain and embody the teachings of their prophet.  The group, as the story goes, continues to develop their teacher's last project -- a reimagining of Tennessee Williams's A Streetcar Named Desire that omits all the major characters of the play.  Their rehearsals last nine years and they perform the play only once.

The five members of the Rude Mechs address the audience directly and explain that the play will be a documentary-style accounting of Burden's company after the loss of their guru.  What follows is a pastiche of four different types of scenes: 1) depictions of the historical group's rehearsal moments and exercises, 2) scenes from their play, Streetcar minus Stanley, Blanche, Stella, or Mitch, 3) narration by the actors of The Rude Mechanicals--often explaining how their research of Burden's group was conducted, and 4) scenes where a tiger in dress pants compellingly makes the case for more tigers in American theatre. 

A tiger addresses the audience in The Method Gun.

Despite the high concept, the play is supremely accessible and compelling.  The first "act" is an affectionate send-up of the experimental acting companies that sprouted up in American theatre in the 60's and 70's.  Theatre insiders will spot exaggerations of the acting exercises they've been forced to endure, but even those who've never taken an acting class will be able to enjoy the earnest psycho-torture the actors are convinced they must inflict upon themselves in the name of truth.  And yet, the ridicule is loving, even sympathetic.  For example, early in the show, there is a depiction of a rehearsal moment that's called to order by one actress grabbing an egg timer and calling out "Crying Practice!" The actors move to their assigned spots on stage and while faced out to the audience, they work themselves into genuine tears.  Let me be clear, the goal of the exercise  is not pretending to cry, but to earnestly wrench tears from their psyches. As an audience member, I was initially amused by the silliness of the endeavor.  It recalled the story of acting lore where Dustin Hoffman recounts to Laurence Olivier his long sleepless night in the service of the scene they'll be filming that day.  Olivier, as the story goes, suggests "You should try acting, Dusty, it's much easier."  That story, like the first act of The Method Gun illustrates the earnest, but misguided, devotion of many American actors to find Truth in their own performances.  But it was larger than that too. As the five-minute(!) crying exercise continued and real tears started streaming down the faces of the actors playing actors I began to dissect the souls of the actors onstage and the actors being depicted.  I try to guess what emotional experiences they were recalling, or what horrible scenarios they were imagining that could generate tears on demand.  Initially, I found myself judging them for their success. Their lives must be so sad if they are so quickly able to induce tears.  But then, my mind turned to what pain I've seen or what events I might experience that would make me cry.  It was not hard.  There were so many loci of pain within my own soul, I wondered for a moment how I'm not on the edge of tears every every minute. Their Crying Practice was mine as well.

From there, the play grows and swells in its theatricality and its thematic territory in a tightly choreographed depiction of nine years in the lives of five people trying to be true to selves they've never known. The play is about the latent identity issues of the teacher-student relationship and about the obstacles to self-aware efforts at authenticity.  It is about creating history out of disparate and unreliable memories and its about the soul-withering realization that those things we dream most of accomplishing and becoming will be forever elusive.  It's about the tail-chasing madness that is standard issue in the pursuit of truth and/or beauty in one's art and one's life.

The climactic scene of The Method Gun is one that I refuse to describe.  For one, because I don't want to start crying as I type this here in Panera.  But secondly, I could never do justice to its beauty or its truth.  Suffice to say, it is surprising and dangerous and sublime.

It is here I wish to thank the Rude Mechanicals for their act of service.  There is no other way to describe what they've done.  The production is clearly the result of the kind of hard that only love can inspire. On March 26th, the Rude Mechs gave me my first transcendent theatrical experience as an audience member.  That's grace.  And for that they have my sincerest gratitude.

If you can... see this show.  This link has info about future performance locations and dates: http://www.rudemechs.com/shows/touring.htm#method_gun.