In a TCG interview with Sondheim:

Your musicals coincide with the rock era, but that’s not something you’ve ever had any affinity for.

Rock didn’t come in until I was in my mid-twenties, so I’m a generation out of it, which is why I don’t write it and why it has no meaning to me. What means something is the music of one’s childhood, what you’re brought up on, and my musical tastes are back in the ’40s and ’50s.

So you didn’t share Leonard Bernstein’s enthusiasm for pop and rock, even though he was older than you?

Oh, I don’t think his enthusiasm was for pop and rock. I think that was an attitude. He was, as Burt Shevelove once said of someone else, “Rip Van Withit.” When I hear his attempts at rock in Mass, I find it actively embarrassing, because it doesn’t come from his gut. You know, I could imitate rock, I could write a rock score, just the way I wrote Americana for Assassins. I could imitate a Carpenters song, and did. Anybody can imitate. Jule Styne tried to write a rock song in Hallelujah, Baby!, and you could tell it was inauthentic. It has to come from the gut. The rock scores that are written today, good or bad, they come from people for whom that’s their music—the music that expresses what they feel.

For the generations after you, who grew up loving musicals and loving rock, trying to put them together still seems to be an issue. I’m just not sure that rock is dramatic.

I couldn’t agree with you more. It’s very unpopular to say, but I don’t think that rock lends itself to theatre, to storytelling. It lends itself to concerts, and that’s what a lot of musicals are today: concerts. The range of expressivity is very limited, so you’re limited to certain kinds of emotions and songs.

And certain kinds of stories: Tommy, which is about pop culture iconography, somehow works.

Sure, and Next to Normal is an attempt to tell what would have been told in a different way a generation or two generations earlier, and to tell it with rock. It’s a question of whether for some people it has that expressive range. Generally, I think rock is limited. First of all, how about comedy songs? Give me a rock comedy song.

Not many, but David Yazbek can be pretty funny.

Is it rock, though? I think it’s closer to pop. And pop can do it; rock can’t. I shouldn’t say “can’t,” it’s a generalization. But it’s rare, ’cause it’s hard.

And I think what he says here is fair and legitimate. Plus it’s Sondheim, so I’m not gunna question that bro.

Anyways, this is just a little love letter of mine to musical theatre, and an excitement over what’s to come next to help evolve the genre.

A final quote:

“A musical is what happens when text collides with motion collides with song collides with spectacle. And spectacle can be the human heart; it doesn’t necessarily have to be a helicopter crashing. You can go see ballet in its purity; you can go to a recital to hear music by itself. But what the American musical does so thrillingly is bastardize these forms into something that is exhilarating and compelling and deeply moving.”

In my journey of understanding the Occupy movement, I started out uninformed and unimpressed. I didn’t know what the movement was about and the little information I had was that it was a simple general outcry with no real force or thought behind it. As I moved past this initial starting point, I learned about the governing system and how the Occupy movement is many individual voices clumped through a common discontent. One of the biggest criticisms of the movement though, similar to my original understanding, is that the movement provides no solution to the problems it brings focus to. Yet the truth of the matter is that underneath the general outcry are plenty of individual solutions to the problems. Occupy is the scream of discontent. The shout that, “We’re made as hell and we’re not going to take it anymore.”

Even preceding my interest in the Occupy movement, my firm belief in the theatre as a tool of social change was wavering. I’d only ever witnessed one show that activated me in terms of my society and self-actions and it seemed that there was very little theatre doing that these days. As a country birthed out of political revolt that gave harbor to artists like Bertolt Brecht, we’re sure slacking on our duties to bring together the masses, to tell them a story, and to have them go, “Wait a minute, something’s wrong here.” I knew that this was the art I wanted to make, I didn’t know if it was still possible.

And here is where the Occupy Movement has revitalized me. Occupy has proven to me that as human beings we still have the ability to come together as a group and let out a cathartic, or maybe it’s more anti-cathartic, “No!” That generations, both young and old, still have enough movement and simple care in them to let it be known when they see something wrong with their world. I don’t want to dive now into what it means that this may well still be a self-wellfare driven outcry, but at least even that is still possible.

As a theatre artist I want to harness this communal power to say, “No!” and let it infect every inch of my work. I want to bring the illusioned-comfortable and make wipe away the fantasy of the world they live in.

The fabric of the thought that propelled us was that theater should stop serving the function of making money, for which it has never been and never will be suited, and start serving the revelation and shaping of the process of living, for which it is uniquely suited, for which it, indeed, exists.

I wholeheartedly agree with this. Yet it seems like regional theatres around the country are targeted more towards that money making model now than ever before. While I understand that economically times are tough for everyone, especially arts organizations, forgetting the purpose is the most disastrous mistake that could be made. While I know it’s a different situation, and that change takes times and habit is learned, we know what kind of theatre can be made for $50, and I think larger scale theatre companies need to begin learning from that. Pay your artists to be creative, don’t pay your shows to look good, the artist needs it more. We’ll get back to this in a moment.

First, we must take our gaze and any preoccupation away, away from Broadway, from which we took our leave many years ago. If they want what we discover, nourish, and perform, that’s okay.

Yet again, Ms. Fichandler, wise words. ART, Huntington even her own Arena, there’s little more to say. The goal shouldn’t be Broadway, the goal should be our audience. Again, it’s about money and publicity, the celebrity of theatre, not the art of it.

Next, a theater institution, in and of itself, is an artwork, a collaborative artwork whose principal artist is the artistic director.

So…interesting. I think this is one problem of the current regional theatre model which is hierarchic and not communal. It’s easiest to put blame on someone else in this model, and even then, sure there’s the artistic director, but then we move into the Board of Directors and the Chairman of the Board and etc etc etc. Responsibility and celebration should be shared. I think this may be one of larger model changes that may happen as the current regional theatre model begins to fall.

The artwork is not truly alive until it meets its audience, so that we absolutely want and must have the audience with us, responding with their imagination and belief. But it is we who choose and create the work. Neither Picasso nor Beethoven asked anyone what they wanted to see or hear. That comes from deep within each individual artist. The artist may be lonely or feel unsure of, or inadequate to, what she is making, but she must cling to her integrity—her wholeness—and see it through. Being an artistic director, like growing old, is not for sissies. And smaller theaters are easier.

Now I think I know what you’re saying, but what it sounds like is a little different. I think you’re saying don’t make art to please your audience. What it sounds like you’re saying at first is, “Fuck them bitches.” If we’re not creating for our audience, then we’re probably creating for ourselves, and that seems wrong. Don’t get me wrong, I believe that if something challenges me, it will challenge my audience, but that’s because my ideal audience at the moment is my peers and I feel that I understand them well. In a sense I am part of them, or at least know most of them. But the work needs to be targeted to change the audience, to move the audience, not simply as an artistic outcry that will have no effect.

New plays are, of course, central to our repertory since they come from the very time of our lives, and funds to produce them are at the moment more available than for other needs. Foundations have their cycles as do styles in fashion. But the world classics must remain alive in the present for our contribution to be complete. We are as we were and always will be, and deep truths about our misplaced love, our lust, our foolishness, cruelties, hunger for power, and dread of death are imbedded in these great plays, which turn their faces to us as the world turns. I so deeply believe this, I can’t imagine myself with a repertory that discards the classics as passé or doesn’t explore how cultures other than our own view the human experience.

This is such a bigger conversation I don’t want to get too deep into it. But let’s just say we don’t necessarily hold the same view on the classics as one another. I think they’re important, but I also think they have the right to die if that’s what needs to happen at any given moment.

If that is so, I ask this question: could it be, in part, that the imaginative scale of our work is bowing to meet the budget’s needs? If so, we must not let it happen that way. We must remember that—within reason, within the outer borders of possibility—the risk must be taken because we are in love with the project

I think, especially at larger regional theatres this is true. Like I said at first, amazing theatre can be made very cheaply. What I see happening more often than not is when you suddenly have a huge budget, imagination goes out the door for spectacle and for the real thing. Of course this isn’t always the case, but often, in my personal experience at least.

I appreciate the regional theatre model. I think it’s done some great things up till now. I also think it needs to change. I think it will change. Like any revolution, there needs to be an inciting incident, and just as broadway money making was part of what fueled Ms. Fichandler, regional theatre money making is part of what will fuel the next generation.

I’m subtly angry about this fact. I don’t really care whether I enjoyed this production or not (and I can’t really decide what my overall experience was) but god damn it I don’t want to think about my views on theatre while I watch theatre! Ok, maybe not subtly angry.

My experience of the show was varied. There were things I understood but mostly I didn’t and those pieces I’m still chewing on. This is great and it’s because of the overall meta-theatricality of the show, but most of those pieces have to do with theatre and not with any kind of inner/societal activation I’m feeling. After the production I didn’t say much, but instead I wanted to hear what other people thought to help me process my own. The conversation turned towards the narrative and the choices that were made in that sense, which surprised me, because it wasn’t at all where I was at the moment. In fact I realized I hardly cared about the story or the characters in the journey of this show. Now, if this is a choice, I don’t mind it, but the production so overtly advertises itself as a show about the societal conflict between men and women and I wasn’t activated in any strong way regarding that issue. So, around the end of the evening, the only question I asked was if people felt sympathetic towards Nora. Most said yes. When I said that I didn’t and in fact that I didn’t put, I forget my exact wording but Ilana remembers I’m sure, any blame on the men either there were audible gasps. What is bothering me after this production is why I wasn’t moved in that way. I feel as if I must be lacking some ability for intake for me to have completely missed the empathetic relationship that my comrades seemed to have had.

Where do I find fault, or can I find fault or should I find fault in my relationship with this production? I know it is possible for me to have an empathetic relationship with a lead character, and to be completely immersed in story, because it’s happened. Though it happens rarely. What I want to know though is if this has to do with how I enter the theatre, or with the theatre that I’m presented with. My goal is to be on this journey. I WANT to be moved by theatre, but so often I find that I’m not, and instead of discussing the issues in the piece, I’m discussing the issues of the piece. This blog post basically.

It’s a weird line for me to walk. Sometimes I feel like a new generation of theatre maker because I’m so often displeased, or more accurately, unfulfilled, with the theatre that I see, and sometimes I feel like I must be the biggest asshole in the world.

I know this article doesn’t take into account the many schools that are beginning to empower their students to be not just one-title beings, but real Theatrical Collaborators with a huge repertoire of skill, but I take pride in the fact that I am part of this generation rising up to say, “We will fix this.” It reminds me of another article I read predicting that many well known regional theatre companies are soon going to need to replace their older leadership with young-people as their membership base really starts to disappear.

I think I post this just to remind everyone that when we’re done with our educations at BU there will be a place for us, but only if we really take advantage of the resources we’re given in school and utilize this knowledge through our own willpower when we enter the “real world” where nothing is required of us, except what we require of ourselves.

My thought process during the first scene of Candide at The Huntington Theatre Company: “Well, it’s another Hunt show.” “I wonder how long it will be till intermission.” “Will I leave at intermission? Well I did last time I saw a show of the Hunt’s so I’ve got no reason not to this time around.”

And then the sky fell and I was intrigued.

I want to examine these first few moments a bit more in depth though because there’s something interesting in comparing that first scene of Candide and my thought that it was a usual Hunt show. First, in the action of the scene we’ve got the aristocracy learning that all bad things are present for good reason. They’re being pacified to the world around them, not challenged to question it. And while yes, we learn through the process of the show that we need to work in order to survive life, I want to look at this scene solely as this scene.

This is the first time that I’ve ever been even vaguely challenged by a Hunt show. Here is a summation of what I’ve walked away with from Hunt shows before:

Becky Shaw: Don’t be the awkward chick.

All My Sons: Morality. Ethics.

A Civil War Christmas: Uhm…Christmas was a lot less fun back in the 1800s?

Fences: I mean…it’s Fences. Race. Class. Gender. Family Matters.

Vengeance Is the Lords: Would you want someone who killed someone killed?

Educating Rita: Everyone deserves equal opportunity regardless of their social/economic status.

I’ll admit, this is oversimplified, well in some cases, but my point is, it’s all been issues I either don’t care about, already agree with or are frivolous. So when Candide surprised me…I was well…surprised. But in terms of content and being challenged, my experience with The Hunt is about the same as what Candide, Cunegonde and Maximilian are learning from Pangloss. The Huntington’s website even says that, “The Huntington Theatre Company engages, inspires, entertains and challenges audiences with theatrical productions.” Isn’t a mission statement about a goal, not what’s already being achieved? Also, how do they measure these things and what audience are they speaking about? I’ve yet to experience most of those things at the Huntington except maybe entertainment now and again.

So great, point one, the action of the scene matches with my experience of the theatre company.

Now the set. In context, brilliant, at the moment…flat, tiny, boring, expected. Literally, in the box.

See where I’m going with this? I don’t think there’s really much more that I need to say.

So why is it a bad thing that Candide finally pleased me? Because it wasn’t a Huntington show. It started at the Goodman, went to Shakespeare Theatre Company, then came to The Hunt. This isn’t something they did, it may as well have been a touring production. Complete and total  props to everyone involved in the production, and to the Hunt for bringing the show to town but now start doing work like this of your own! I don’t mean production value, I mean in purpose and artistry. Be the rest of Candide, not the first scene.

Tickets for Book of Mormon on Broadway: $69.00 to $477.00.

Tickets for A Bright New Boise at Woolly Mammoth Theatre Company: $55.00 to $67.50.

Tickets for Porgy and Bess at American Repertory Theatre: $25.00 to $120.00.

Tickets to In The Red Brown Water at Company One: $15.00 to $38.00.

Wow, what?

Listed above are the Saturday night ticket prices to a few select shows at varying “levels” of theatre. I tried to get a good combination of commercial theatres, big name theatres, regional theatres and smaller regional theatres to see the differing options.

Now if I’m being completely honest here, the only ticket prices I’d pay for these shows would be $25 for Porgy and Bess and up to that much for In The Red Brown Water. Now you might tell me, “But wait, Danny, all of these theatres have options that allow for at least the possibility of a lowered price, and some even make it very easy to get that lower price, especially for students and young-people.” “Yes,” I would agree, “but if they make it easy, why charge so much in the first place?”

Of course I take advantage of these discounted prices. Woolly Mammoth offers $15 tickets to all of its performances, plus two Pay-What-You-Can performances for every show that are always PACKED. Company One has what I think is an epic student subscription package that’s only $50, though I’ve never taken advantage of that because dropping more than $20 at a time is a hard choice for me. Broadway of course has lotteries and TKTS and almost every regional theatre has some sort of discount. However if these theatres are so ready, willing and able to offer discounts, why not just have lower ticket prices?

I believe theatre is for everyone, not just those who can afford it. I also believe that what we do is something with a value of some sort and that it’s generally not cheap/free to produce theatre as well. So how do we put a value on our work? What’s a reasonable price? For a while I had the thought that no one should have to pay more than what they make in an hour, per-hour of the show they’ll be seeing. I’ve fallen out of love with that idea. In an interesting meeting with a few of the companies that are in residence at the H-Street Playhouse in DC while I was doing my internship with No Rules Theatre Company and there was the discussion of a discount, or free tickets, or something of that sort for people who lived within a certain radius of the theatre. One person though had an objection to the idea of free tickets because he believed that it would devalue the work we were doing in the public eye. At first I was a bit enraged by this idea…but I understand where he’s coming from. It’s sort of an odd argument. We are, in fact, providing a product, and generally we’re asking to be paid for said product. So how do we come up with the price? How do I say to you, “Well my show is worth $25 plus the two hours of your time you’ll spend receiving it.” It’s sort of an odd conundrum. Of course I want others to find value in my work and want to support it (and its unavoidable that money is sort of the end-all be-all for support), but at the same time I would rather just let everyone come in, see it, and hopefully take away something in their life that was worth more than money.

I think a lot of the business models we use for Theatre Companies are outdated. A lot of people say that. I agree. I also don’t have a solution…yet. To be perfectly honest I just don’t know enough now. But there are definitely some companies that are slowly but surely going in the right direction. I don’t know which company, but I’ve heard of one that was completely PWYC for every performance of a show in their season and their revenue from tickets actually went up. That’s taking a huge risk though. I almost like the idea of doing PWYC for every performance and collecting after the show, so the audience can judge after they’ve received their product how much it was worth, not a crap shoot before they’ve gotten it.

This post feels a little silly to me. I haven’t said anything astoundingly new. I haven’t solved the problem of ticket prices and business models. I think I just want to say…I know it’s a problem, and I want to help fix it. I hope you do to. While I know you need the money to keep producing your work, I need the money to survive, and free tickets are tempting. I hope one day we can work together to find our happy medium.

~Danny Park

I also never heard about this idea again after. If memory serves (and it mostly doesn’t in this case) this idea found me around the end of my senior year of high school, maybe even in that summer, and I’ve yet to actually witness a theatre have this policy. Until now. Well sort of.

#2amt recently revealed to me that Arena Stage has developed a new community outreach program called Theatre 101. Harkening back to my memories of Drama Lit freshman year, I was intrigued.

The program, open to anyone who can pay ($50 for anyone 30 and under, $75 for others, which includes a ticket to the show) is described by Arena as:

Theater 101 is an extended seminar for audiences interested in deepening their understanding of the process of new play development. Theater 101 participants will have unprecedented access to observe and learn about the new play development process. Join us this this season as we follow the creation of two distinct shows and their unique processes. Build community and understand more deeply what goes into making the magic you see on stage.

Participants are invited to attend first rehearsal, rehearsal, technical rehearsals, invited dress rehearsal, and the show itself. Each event will be followed by a discussion moderated by Arena artistic staff.

Well that sounds good to me! Upon further investigation and thought though, I’m left with a few questions.

The first in my mind is what if someone can’t pay? I get that most tickets to the show alone will cost that much (though Arena does have a pay your age ticket for those 35 and under), but it still sets a limit on who can and can not participate in this program. Could someone participate and simply wave the ticket to decrease or even eliminate the price? Do they have some sort of scholarship or extra funding to help those who can’t afford the program?

The next question in my mind is that the two “new plays” being developed are The Book Club Play, which will be going into its third production but the playwright is doing a residency so ok, great I’ll give them that… and then Music Man? Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate a little shipoopi as much as the next guy, but let’s get real here, Music Man is not a new play in development.

Regardless of that fact though, I have to applaud Arena in their efforts to open up their process more. It’s a generous thing to do. Of course they run some risks by doing this, but the program also has specific dates in which people can attend rehearsals, meaning everyone involved will know when this is happening and anything that Arena wants hidden from public view probably can be.

Now I’ve got some mixed feelings about that fact. It’s not total transparency in the process for one. The community can come on very specific days, and that’s for a reason, but I think to really and truly show a generosity of spirit, I’d want a community member to be allowed in any day they so choose to show up, from first read to final dress. Let the risk of a messy rehearsal be there unconcealed, so that the community begins to really understand the value, hard work and emotional life that a rehearsal truly contains. We complain so often that theatre is undervalued or underappreciated by the larger community, so why not do something about it, take a risk, and really open it up.

It also creates a performance like atmosphere for the actors when the community turned audience is around on very specific dates. In my ideal world, if this “risk” of a community-audience is present everyday, it becomes commonplace and invited, not a terrifying mysticism. Gaining that knowledge of how the community takes in a production as its in process is like having the worlds best dramaturg around. A really and truly innocent point of view available for every moment of rehearsal.

I believe that theatre should be available to everyone and that a theatre should serve its community fully and openly. Do I think I’m saying anything new here? Not really no. But it is my commitment to have a completely open rehearsal room whenever possible. I think this is a great step. I think Arena Stage is a marble figure head. I think bigger risks could be taken with little for Arena to worry about. I think this is a great step.

~Danny Park