Just Wrought

Recovering playwright, once won a STRANGER Genius Award for theater. Now writing a bloated novel about… G-d help me! Theatre.

Tag: just wrought

  • Surplus Titles

    Surplus Titles

    One of the greatest raw delights of writing is getting to name things: characters, imaginary places, titles for the work itself.  I can’t remember how long it took for me to come up with the name of the main character for my play Tuesday—, a few days, weeks, half a year maybe?—but I’m so pleased with the baldly Joycean result, “Audie McCall,” that I still use it sometimes as an alias. I think my favorite coining is “Waldric Rasutabula”, the name of an utterly absurd fellow from my utterly unproduced farce, Gossamer Grudges.  Here he is being introduced to another strangely-christened character.

    RATIO:  Waldric, this is Quince from Rubicon Consultants. She has agreed to an initial tour to determine whether her firm might assist ours in the coming transition.

    WALDRIC (bowing egregiously):  Waldric Rasatabula.  (heel click)  Majordomo of the Pneumotubes.

    QUINCE (tilting her head like a curious terrier):  Quince.

    WALDRIC:  Just Quince?

    QUINCE:  That’s right.

    WALDRIC  How mysteriously titillating.

    QUINCE:  Not remotely.

    ‘RATIO:  Please show Quince every hospitality.

    WALDRIC:  (suddenly and alarmingly lecherous):  Every hospitality?

    ‘RATIO:  Every hospitality she requires.

    WALDRIC:  Requires?

    ‘RATIO:  Requests.

    QUINCE (Offering a hand):  Pleasure, I’m sure.

    WALDRIC (molesting it):  All pleasure is mine. 

    I often begin a piece— script, poem or essay— with just a title.  A lot of the essays I’ve presented here at Just Wrought over the last few years started as nothing but a few scribbled words. I keep a slush fund of them on my computer, and with me stepping away from the fray, I have a surplus I can’t hope to ever flesh out. So I present them to you here and now, gentle reader: your dubious inheritance, reward for years of reading, to do with what you will: surplus titles for a free, fresh theatre. 

    Why Craft Won’t Save Us

    Change the Culture

    Go After the Boards

    Is it Really the Audiences’ Fault?

    It’s not about Money, it’s about Power

    Live Girls Quickies Makes me Wish I Were a Woman

    When Expansiveness Equals Retreat

    Preferably Dead: The Lives of Playwrights in America

    Is Actual Human Speech Impossible to Stage?

    How do We Hold the Boards Accountable?

    Since When are Directors Indespensible?

    Museum Theatre: The Whiff and Grip of Necrophilia

    Reasons to Be a Playwright

    It is Our Job to Be Foolish

    You have Spinach in Your Teeth

    Why Trolls Troll

    I like Intermissions

    Things are Important

    I am Not a National Playwright

    On Guts and Assholes

    Experimental Lip Service

    An Open Letter to the Minority of Journalists We Managed to Piss Off
    (This one is from the Newswrights United days, when we covered the demise of The Seattle Post-Intelligencer in It’s not in the P-I: A Living Newspaper.)

    Keep the Dark Night Sacred

    Plays are Finicky Fragile Seeds

    The MFA Virus

    Quit Bingeing Fear

    Pay us Shakespeare’s Royalties

    Food for the Minotaur

    Live by the ____; Die by the ____

    Upping our Numbers

    Buddhism versus Theatre

    Bergson Essay

    Seattle, Theatre Town of Many Hats

    Glen Gary Glen Wrong

    The “Let’s-do-that-Play-I-didn’t-get-Cast-in-Back-in-College” Syndrome

    Stop Trying to be Respectable

  • Lost and Found

    Lost and Found

    Circle X Theatre’s world premiere of An American Book of the Dead – The Game Show, designed by Gary Smoot, was the most visually evocative production of any show I have ever written.   The tableaus and scenic effects were so unique and so profoundly stunning that it’s damned near impossible to describe them in words.  So imagine how depressing it has been these nine years to think that the only two surviving images of the show were this…

    And this…

    Kevin Fabian as Blink and the spokesmodels (Jamie Bullock & Daniele O'Loughlin) from the Circle X Theatre World Premiere of An American Book of the Dead- The Game Show.

    Now don’t get me wrong: the incomparable Kellie Waymire ravishes us posing above as the troubled proto-supermodel Jacqui Potts*; and Blink Bodie (Kevin Fabian) flanked by his spokesmodels (Jamie Bullock & Daniele O’Laughlin) wrapped in Old Glory certainly hits the “American” part of the title on the nose.  On the other hand, not only do both shots fail to tell us anything novel about the show, they also, more importantly, don’t tell us what we don’t know about it, thus piquing our curiousity enough to maybe come see.  Compare them with this newly unearthed shot, again of Kellie as Jacqui…

    Kellie Waymire as Jacqui Potts in the all together.

    This not only screams “sex”, but “mystery”, “exposure”, and somehow, oddly, “death” itself.  If we had captioned this “Jacqui Potts about to enter the bardo realm by dropping acid and posing nude for the first time”, we might just have been able to get your butt in one of Circle X’s seats, mightn’t we?   Why we did not try to sell the show with the countless more evocative images than those first two, I will probably never know.  The fact is, however, that because those two shots were used for publicity, they alone survived.  Or so I thought for nearly a decade.

    A lot of life got lived between 2002 and now, and the rolls of film that all of us knew were captured in that meticulous marathon photo call somehow disappeared  somewhere along the way.  I confirmed the loss when I started blogging here at Just Wrought and wanted to write about how I love to work with designers as early as possible in the development process.  Even though I was living in New York City when I wrote ABOD and Gary Smoot lived in Los Angeles, we somehow managed to meet in Seattle over a long post-9/11 Thanksgiving weekend, and in the living room of Gary’s boss’s house we brainstormed ways to stage the bizarre effects I was imagining.

    I described the process in my essay on designers:

    We needed three isolation booths for the afterlife contestants.  I wanted something straightforward and on the nose, similar to the glass boxes they used in Twenty-One.  Naturally, Gary zagged off my zig.  We went through a lot of ideas, including bubble packs for life-sized action heroes, file cabinets and morgue drawers.  Finally he landed on simple genius, and of course had the skill and the luck to bring it together:  three identical, perfectly white refrigerators, with plastic magnet letters to spell out each enclosed contestant’s name. When the intense gelled Fresnels were focused on them, the white surface utterly transformed into whatever deeply saturated color the lighting designer chose to call up.  The “contestents” blithely climbed in and out of them, emerging unexpectedly from one after entering another, like so many peas in a karmic shell game.  For the audience the layers of meaning dawned almost imperceptibly but no less forcefully for that: the three fridges were uniquely American icons of consumption, comfort, death and banality all at once, and as they were signifying these things, it was also obvious that they were nothing more or less than refrigerators, or isolation booths, or maybe some vast gentle joke played on everyone from patron to playwright.  When Gary’s designing the sense of play never leaves the play, even if the play involves death at its very core.

    When I wrote that I had no reason to believe anyone would ever again be able to see what I was trying to describe.  When I called Gary to ask if he had captured any photos for his own records, he said he might have, but that he would have to dig for them when he had some free time.  That’s Smoot code for, “It ain’t gonna happen.”  Gary never has free time.  Even so, a few months later he told me he had looked and hadn’t find anything.  Now we were both bummed.

    Then, a few months later, I was on the phone with Tim Wright, the current Artistic Director of Circle X, pitching him a new script when a mini-miracle occurred.  Tim casually mentioned that he had the ABOD production shot negatives and if I wanted, he would send them to me!  The rest was logistics.  This past week I got the negs developed to digital at a respectable mom and pop photo shop, and spent most of Saturday uploading the images to Flickr and Face Book and tagging them with the names of old friends.*    I smiled all day as folks involved with the production chimed in to say hello, share memories,tag more photos and grab shots for the profile pics.

    So you wanna see those fridges, and how well they worked?  Well, in lieu of a few thousand words, here’s a few pictures…

     Barry goes into the isolation booth Tommy Hennessy mourns  Surge gets a Karma inversion Tanya squares off with Surge

     The Rat Pack in the Bardo of Louie Prima 4

    *Deep inside information:  It is a testament to Kellie’s wide-spectrum of talent and tireless dedication that she also helped to sew and hang the sumptuous red curtain behind her in this shot.

    Not to mention death: Kellie Waymire died in 2003.

    *You can enjoy the full set on Flickr, here… 

    Available Now
    image
    imageBuy Now
  • Why Omar Willey’s “Why Theater Matters” Matters

    Let’s get the over-arching irony out of the way first thing: my friendship with Omar Willey blossomed on line, through Face Book and his responses to my blogging here at Just Wrought; and had that been the extent of our relationship, then certainly a cynical dismissal of my recommending his recent essay “Why Theater Matters” would be eminently fair.  After all, he argues herein for a theatre triumphant over the distance and disaffection with which our “on-line lives” infect us.  Fortunately, our friendship has also blossomed in “real life” and real-life’s cooler cousin, theatre.  Omar comes to my shows.  Omar comes to everyone’s shows.  If you are a Seattle theatre artist and you don’t know Omar, I can assure you that your ignorance is not reciprocated.  Omar knows you.   Omar knows your work.  What’s more, Omar Willey and his colleague José Amador (whom I also have the honor of calling friend) have begun to review your work, over at the Seattlest

    In his essay, posted a few days ago, Omar offers an implicit explanation for his coming out of retirement (he  reviewed theatre for KCMU-FM back in the 1990’s) and again lowering his lance at our windmills.

    Simulacra. Pseudonymity. The theater … erases them. Theater restores the primacy of the human body. It restores presence. It restores the potential, the fear and the promise of the present, and gives an immediate response in the present tense.

    … Theater remains a communal experience of people, persons seeing themselves with, through and in other persons in a unique, irreproducible moment. A self, communing with other selves. Being here. Now. And never to be the same person, the same place, the same way again….  Bridging the gap between friends and strangers, the sense of a marvelous, wondrous love and beauty that restores joy to life, shared together. How easily we forget it when we do not seek it.

    This reminds me so much of a favorite quote of mine from Carl Jung that I would not be at all surprised if Omar knows it intimately.  But just in case you don’t, here ‘tis:

    …You go to the theatre: glance meets glance, everybody observes everybody else, so that all those who are present are caught up in an invisible web of mutual unconscious relationship….

    Mankind has always formed groups which made collective experiences of transformation–often of an ecstatic nature–possible. The regressive identification with lower and more primitive states of consciousness is invariably accompanied by a heightened sense of life… .The inevitable psychosocial regression within the group is partially counteracted by ritual, that is to say through a cult ceremony which makes the solemn performance of sacred events the centre of group activity and prevents the crowd from relapsing into unconscious instinctuality… The ritual makes it possible for him to have a comparatively individual experience even within the group and so remain more or less conscious.

    Concerning Rebirth, circa, 1940

     As I understand it, Omar and José threw their hats in the Seattlest ring because they saw a dearth of earnest, careful theatre criticism, not just here in Seattle but across the country.  Of course others have noticed this drought as well, myself included.  My problem has been caring.  After over two decades of professional work as a playwright and actor, watching the importance of reviews plummet from marginal to minimal to finally negligible, I openly admit I have trouble seeing how criticism could help Seattle become a World Class theatre town.  In a recent semi-private exchange on Face Book, Omar called my hand: “… I do wonder, Paul, if you don’t think criticism is key to helping us get somewhere, then what do you think will? Or do we simply understand criticism differently? Plays written about other plays or inspired by thematic ideas from other plays–these, too, are criticism, no?”

    Let me respond now, weeks later:

    Omar, in the context of your comprehensively inclusive understanding of what criticism can be, and what it can do, yes, indeed, I believe it can help us get somewhere.  Of course, such an approach—steeped in the art form’s history but somewhat foreign to Seattle’s cultural ethos— will require leadership.  It appears you and José are stepping forward to be those happy few to rally the critical flank of Seattle’s charge forward toward World Class.  So even though I have already said it privately, please allow me to state again publically here, loudly and proudly…

    Omar, José?

    Welcome to the fray.

  • Anonymous, Anonymous, Wherefore art Thou Anonymous?

    Within weeks of starting Just Wrought I had to institute its only rule: 

    …I know it’s considered the custom of internet country to post anonymously, but there is no tradition of it in the theatre. In the world of live performance, one says one’s words in public and stands by them with [one’s] body. So as a rule I won’t be accepting any more anonymous posts. Stand and deliver, people!

    Jan 6, 2010 on “14/48: A Regular Reminder of . . . ”

    In the 15 months since, I have only had to enforce the rule once or twice.  Everyone seems pretty happy with it.  Of course, mostly only artists reply here: notorious exhibitionists with notoriously little to lose.  If you look back through the 512 comments which I have accumulated (and I am not recommending it if you have even a half-life) you will find only a handful from artistic administrators and even fewer from board members and arts funders.  That latter group runs particularly mum, not just here, but throughout Seattle theatre’s public conversations.  They did not attend in any numbers the Outrageous Fortune discussion a year ago.  They have not, to my knowledge, attended any of the legendary Shit Storms hosted over the years.  Fact is, they do not engage in much discussion with local artists at all.  I imagine this is how they like it; and how artistic administrators love it.  When it comes to funding, theatre artists are to be seen (on stage), and not heard (anywhere else).

    Thus, imagine my lack of surprise when the Intiman Theatre announced last Friday, just before the curtain went up on All My Sons, that a donor would be matching gifts up to a total of $100,000 in order to bail the Intiman out of its ongoing fiscal crisis, and that said donor has chosen to remain anonymous.

    Benefactors of the stage have not always been so modest.  Back in Shakespeare’s day, if you supported a theatre company, you damned sure wanted it known, hence the names of the companies:  The Lord Admiral’s Men, The Lord Chamberlains Men, and…

    “The King’s Men … [catered] … to a more exclusive clientele at the Blackfriars, which could accommodate some five hundred higher-paying spectators.  Gallants eager to show off their clothes could even pay to sit on the Blackfriars stage and become part of the spectacle.  The practice—not permitted at the Globe— must have annoyed the actor in Shakespeare: later in the century a riot broke out during a performance of Macbeth when a nobleman slapped an actor who had remonstrated with him for crossing directly in front of the action in order to greet a friend on the other side of the stage.”

    Stephen Greenblatt, Will in the World

    How far we have gone from Will’s world to ours, wherein a patron can think saving the Intiman is important enough to donate $100,000 (contingent on others doing the same) but not important enough to tell us why, or even put their name to the gift.  I suppose in 2011 America, money is expected to do its own talking.

    I have made my opinions on Intiman’s survival painfully clear here.  Equally clear is that someone a lot wealthier than me feels quite differently about the situation.  What isn’t clear is who, or why.  And dang it, I’d like to know.  We make a lot of assumptions about rich people in this country.  One of the most pervasive is that they tend to be smarter than poor folks in direct correlation to how much richer they are.  (This presumption was evident when a Big House Board Member—the only one, to his credit, to ever bother having a conversation with me—pointed out over a casual coffee that the problem with playwrights is how little they understand about the play development process. )  What I want to know from Intiman’s wishful bashful benefactor is what they know about the troubled institution that I don’t, dumb poor artist that I be.  To that end, I am suspending my anti-anonymity rule for this post, and this post only.

    Dear anonymous Intiman patron, please feel free to post your unsigned thoughts in the comments section below on why Intiman should be trusted with even more of our money, and I will leave it unmolested for the masses to read and understand.

  • It’s Been a Year

    I launched Just Wrought a year ago today with the essay “Towards a World Class Theatre”.  I am glad I did it, but now for reasons completely different from those I had when I started.  Back then I had no idea that through this blog I would gain the good friendship and professional working relationship I have with Jim Jewell, now the Managing Producer of NewsWrights United; or that I would get to know Lyam White, Jose Amador, and Omar Willey so much better.

    Conversely, I honestly did not suspect that I would lose some friends simply by saying publicly what I had always said to them in private bullshit sessions; but alas, this too is true, as some have conflated my arguments here about failures of leadership, courage and imagination in Seattle theater with personal aggression towards them and their livelihoods.  Some, but happily not all, or even most; because even more surprising than the estranged colleagues have been the artistic leaders who have reached out to me to say essentially, “I think a lot of what you say is crap, but I am glad you are saying it.”

    Just like nearly everything we do as artists—or really, humans— I have no idea if this project has succeeded, and I may never know.  I do not suspect for a minute that I have yet made even the slightest dent in the status quo of how theatre gets done in Seattle, but I do sometimes flatter myself with believing I have helped simultaneously broaden and sharpen the conversation.

    Of the thirteen formal essays I set out to write, I have managed to finish only five over the last 365 days.  Looking at the list now, I realize with certainty that I will never write at least three of them.  “Since When Are Directors Indispensable?” was going to point out that directors are a relatively new species in the long history of theatre, and that playwrights like Shakespeare and Moliere managed incomparable dramatic brilliance without them; but honestly, I don’t know of a single working playwright who leans more heavily on the talent of the directors he collaborates with than myself.  I literally cannot imagine producing Tuesday at Annex Theatre, or our current Living Newspapers, without Dawson Nichols, and the thought of the erstwhile Empty Space’s production of  Louis Slotin Sonata without John Langs at the helm, bringing together as he did all the amazing acting and design elements (not to mention his kick-ass choreography in the second act dance number) literally depresses me.  I could not do my work without directors, so what sort of non-hypocritical point was I hoping to make?  Perhaps only that the rising stock of the anti-collaborative idea of singular stage director auteurship, borrowed as it is from filmmaking, is a mistaken and destructive direction in theatre, especially when regional houses make season selections based on which plays will entice particular directors to work with them.  Throughout the 20th century stage directors gained power   mostly at the expense of playwrights.  The art form will regain health when that inequity is honestly addressed and steps are taken to resolve it.

    I also no longer plan to write about the deleterious arrangement Seattle theatre has with Actors Equity (the stage actors union), or how the viral nature of MFA programs for actors, directors and playwrights is weakening and rarifying our art form in this country.  I realize after this year of speaking out that as a college-dropout actor-turned-playwright, these are no longer my battles to fight.  Only the actors in this town can fix things so they have the same right to develop new works for the stage as actors in Los Angeles and New York; and only young people themselves can wake up and realize that chasing the imprimatur of higher education only takes them further away from the audiences that really need them, and that the excuse of needing a degree to make a living by teaching their craft only perpetuates the virus, while ultimately helping no one, including themselves.

    Of the five essays I did manage to write I am proud and stand by them.  Locally grown new plays do matter, and I see signs that Seattle is making more of them.  World Class Theatre does mean something, even when it cannot and should not be defined precisely.  Playwrights and designers can form some amazing alliances, and I earnestly hope for more of them, for myself and for the world of play development at large.  One-person shows are an easy way for a theaters to shirk the hard work of actually making new plays.  (All props and apologies to Mike Daisy, Jose Amador, Marya Sea Kaminski and everyone else who does such amazing solo work.  I don’t want you to stop.  I just want theatres to stop selling live story-telling  as “plays” {And yes, I understand that even that won’t happen.})

    That leaves five essays unwritten and unspiked.  The one most likely to see daylight in 2011 is “Stop trying to be Respectable, You’re in Show Business”; because I still see way too many of my Seattle colleagues cozying up for financial support and social legitimacy to the very same powerful interests that they should instead be looking for ways to indict theatrically.  I wish I had a condo payment for every time an otherwise  brilliant artistic administrator has baldly insisted to me that theatre is an elitist art form and therefore must depend on the good graces of corporations and  the upper class for its existence.  If I believed this, I would not only quit today, I would start doing everything I could to darken every stage currently producing plays in this city.  Thankfully, I know better.  As show people, we are at our best playing the dangerous fool, telling the wealthy and well-placed  who would teach us our art, what Lear’s Fool told Lear, “I am better than thou art now; I am a Fool, thou art nothing.”

    Just Wrought’s first year has been an often hectic, sometimes even bruising struggle.  Lately I have had to remind myself and others that I am an artist first, and an advocate only much further down my list of priorities.  Over the last few weeks I have been feeling a growing need to take time to lie fallow here for the sake of my creativity.  I resolve to listen more than I talk in 2011.  Of course that doesn’t mean I won’t be talking at all.

    Expanded conversations.  Bruising struggles over important ideas.  Greater clarity around the issues about which I should just keep quiet.

    Lost friends.  Gained friends. 

    It’s been a year.

  • Why NewsWrights United Matters

    Why NewsWrights United Matters

    Wes Andrews,  the New Media Analyst and Dramaturg for NewsWrights United, asked each of our creative team members to write a short essay for our blog on why this project matters to them. This one’s my stab.

    Fresh theatre is living theatre.

    I hold this truth to be self-evident.

    I have held it so for a very long time, but have only argued it publically and formally for about 9 months, since launching my blog Just Wrought, and its first in a series of essays, “Theatre Takes Place: Why Locally Grown Plays Matter”.  By itself, the notion is not terribly controversial. The argument comes when we theatre professionals attempt to determine whether you can make something fresh with 10 year-old, 20-year-old, 50-year old and 500-year old ingredients. I say, “Well… sometimes.” My esteemed adversaries in this ongoing argument defiantly avow “Always!”, and then they sink a staggering amount of effort into convincing their audience, and more importantly, themselves that that so long as one has excellently trained and accomplished actors, insightful and renowned directors and designers, plenty of money from donors and a cultured public, one can always make the already existing great plays of the canon fresh.

    I disagree.

    In reality you need actual fresh content to keep theatre relevant and alive.  And fresh content only comes from creating new plays. Thus, as much as the ascendancy of “The Director” in the 19th Century, and “The Artistic Director” in the 20th, seemed to herald the demise of the playwright, the playwright remains a necessary component— perhaps the necessary component—of ensuring theatre remains a living—and not merely a museum– art form.

    We at NewsWrights United believe that employing the theatrical form of the living newspaper to cover local news is one of the best ways of injecting fresh, locally compelling, material into the theatrical canon. That alone, however, is not enough to answer why this project matters. Happily, when we produced our first edition It’s Not in the P-I: A Living Newspaper about a Dying Newspaper, we noticed an added bonus. The people came—and we sold out nearly every night—not to see excellent theatre adeptly presented by trained professionals but rather stories about a local newspaper that they loved (or hated) that had died recently. In other words, they came to see themselves.

    When theatre offers the new and the relevant, it matters and lives.   When it offers only  the polished and perfect– plays we all already know– it dies a museum death.  We are doing this project because journalism matters. We are also doing it because theatre matters. When blended they achieve an almost explosive synergy.

    Why?

    It’s simple. Audiences matter. Stories matter. The rest is icing. Sometimes icing is delightful, but it will not keep you alive forever.

    I hope you will join us Monday evening, November 15 for  . . .

    Journalism: a.WAKE.ning?  

    Tickets for the event are $20 and are available at Brown Paper Tickets (http://www.brownpapertickets.com/event/133319) or may be purchased at the door.

    Or if you cannot make it, please consider helping us out with a donation.  Below is our support hat.  You can start filling it by clicking on it.  It’ll take you to our Shunpike donation page.  

    Donation hat

    Early support is always deeply appreciated support.  So thanks.

  • Let’s Put a Bullet in the Ugliest Rumor

    Let’s Put a Bullet in the Ugliest Rumor

    Much as I may seem to like banging on Seattle’s Big Houses here at Just Wrought, I am compelled to make clear from the outset of this essay that they are not the perpetrators but rather the victims of the ugliest rumor currently hovering like a toxic miasma over the Seattle theatre scene.  To understand this you need to understand that beyond the Big Houses, and the dwindling mid-sized houses, and even the small alternative theatres, there exists a whole other tier of arts professionals that exercise a huge influence on the operations of these producing entities, while putting little if any actual creative “skin in the game.”  I am talking about the “booster class” of arts organizations– entities like Theatre Puget Sound, ArtsFund, PONCHO, and the boards of directors at every mid to large theatre in this town.

    These institutions tend to be led by well-meaning, “right-thinking” liberal-minded members of the upper upper middle class (formerly the “Upper Class” before the rich began to resent being called “rich”).  The boosters usually come from a corporate background and tend to have adopted standard corporate best practices as articles of faith.  (Full disclosure: I work at a large bio-tech company for my day job.  So I am both tainted by the American corporate ethos as well as intimately familiar with it.)  The Booster Class sees themselves as the noble guardians and advisors of the Artist Class.  They believe they understand quite a bit better than their artistic little brethren how the big bad real world works; and they are convinced that the best way to ensure the survival of the art form they are boosting—in this case theatre—is to apply the rules and philosophies of business to their operation.  Thus, we get general, inoffensive/ineffective, broad spectrum marketing campaigns like ArtsCrush, or the cold-blooded shuttering of the Empty Space because its board of directors decided it was not performing to the standards of a viable Silicon Valley startup.

    That sad story brings us to the ugliest rumor: that many of the leaders at or near the top of these booster organizations believe that Seattle just isn’t big enough, rich enough, or cultured enough to sustain three major League of Resident Theatres (LORT) venues like A Contemporary Theatre, Intiman Theatre and The Seattle Repertory Theatre.  One of these will have to go, goes the thinking, preferably in the next few years.  Whether this happens via out right murder, like the aforementioned Empty Space, or merger, like the recent marriage of Seattle Shakespeare Company to The Wooden O, remains to be determined; but either way, murder or merger, what seems to the corporate-minded like a necessary act of cultural husbandry will in fact be an irrevocable disaster for the cultural ecology of Seattle.  We have to make sure it never happens.

    I understand that to corporate eyes, the Seattle theatre is overdue for a down-sizing.  No other town of our population size has asmany large regional theatres.  In corpo-speak there are all kinds of economies of scale to be leveraged and redundancies to be eliminated by closing one of the Big Three or merging it with another.  What this analysis overlooks is that theatres are less like widget-manufacturers and more like ecosystems.  Diversity matters.  For Seattle to make a run at world class status as a theatre town, it needs all of its Big Houses, plus a lot more middle-sized spaces, and it needs all of them to be as different from each other as possible.

    Of course, sadly the Big Three have done everything possible over the last fifteen years to make themselves less distinguishable from each other as an Applebee’s® is from a Red Robin® is from a T.G.I. Friday’s®.  They hire the same actors, designers and directors.  They fight for the same plays, semi-fresh from New York.  When called on their lack of local freshness, they hold up for cover the same one or two nice playwrights, local or not, call them “local” and call it good, while hoping that the call for “local” goes the way of the Empty Space.  (It won’t.)

    Instead, they should privately strive and publicly argue for what sets them apart from their competitors.  (Yes, Big Three, I said “competitors.”  The concept might make you squeamish, but your Booster bosses don’t share your scruples, and your audience actually enjoys an honest rivalry.)  The Bigs should also locally source as many of the stories they stage as possible.  (Just ask Tom Douglas: great local restaurants start with great local ingredients.)  Finally they should develop an aesthetic and stick with it, building their artistic corps around this defining core. 

    That’s right, B3: pull the artists you like working with in house.  As celebrated local scenic designer Matthew Smucker once plaintively exclaimed in the comments section of this blog:  “Freelance is killing us all, so give us all a home.”  Oh, and while I’m ranting: stop choosing safe plays.  Theatres are built to contain danger so that audiences can experience it without actually being damaged.  When you consistently choose safe plays, or direct dangerous plays safely, you smother the internal fires of our art form.  Instead of strategizing to survive, strive to make a difference.

    The differences matter; and as happy irony would have it, they better ensure your survival.  When theatres are truly diverse, audiences will care about diversity.  Then they will make ticket purchases based on it.  People will go to all three venues to marvel at the differences, like enjoying varied species at the zoo.  As it is now, they aren’t convinced they are missing anything if they fail to catch Intiman’s latest because they are fairly certain that eventually they will see something similar at ACT. 

    Now, in all fairness, I could be wrong.  The rumor could be baseless.  When I recently checked my sources,  a certain much more knowledgeable colleague of mine said:  “The movement toward ‘consolidation’ of big houses, which was at one time aimed at ACT and Intiman, and then at the Rep and Intiman, is now largely over.”  What’s more, apparently there is a counter rumor circulating that the booster organizations which were originally pushing for these mergers (ArtsFund and PONCHO, to varying degrees) are now in worse shape than the theatres themselves.  There might even be a movement afoot to merge them.  Hah!  True or not, you cannot help relishing the poetic justice.

    Still, we have to stay vigilant.  Seattle cannot lose even one of these Big Houses, and the boosters who seek to “right-size” Seattle theatre need to be convinced that our theatre scene is fatter than an average city’s because Seattle is destined for greatness.  Let’s put a bullet in this rumor once and for all.  Let every leader at every booster organization even remotely associated with the survival of the Intiman, ACT and the Rep publically avow the following:

    I understand that for Seattle to rise to its rightful place as a world class theatre town it cannot afford to lose any of its three LORT theatres.  I will do everything in my power to ensure the survival of the Intiman Theatre, A Contemporary Theatre and the Seattle Repertory Theatre in perpetuity, and I will reject any attempt to destroy or dilute their potential diversity whether by murder or merger.

    Further, I will demand that these institutions maximize the differences among themselves, so that a truly vibrant and viable theatrical ecology can thrive here, such that the loss of any one of these theatres will be utterly irrevocable, and thus unthinkable.

    Now, this is not too much to ask, is it?

    Step forward, Boosters!  And take the pledge!

  • The Poem that Started All This*

    The Poem that Started All This*

    Simple Sympathy

    Bill calls because you’re still
    angry, not at him, but everything.
    Bill wouldn’t call if you were just angry at him.

    So, instead of walking to the water’s edge to sit
    zazen on the spot on the bench someone carved PAUL
    into years before you appeared with your dumb ritual

    — bowing once before it, turning, bowing again to the sound,
    then sitting, bowing again and then just sitting
    maybe fifteen, eighteen minutes in all weather–

    you rant over the wind’s blow into the cell phone and Bill,
    like a patient boxing coach with sparring mitts gives
    you just enough flat punchback to keep you  swinging, bleeding

    off just enough of your blockheaded hate
    for feckless actors and administrators in a rag doll
    death dying theatre and mostly your own damned self

    for writing another damned play to put on a shelf
    over and over putting yourself here,
    in front of these waves strangely 


    luminous, ominous, heaving the sound
    in sympathy,  or so it seems,
    to your simple mind.

    Said spot where I sit zazen. 

     *The create date on the Word file containing this poem is Monday, October 26, 2009, exactly a year ago today.  Obviously, I was stuck in a very frustrated place.  I had just learned that the theatre in Southern California that seemed so eager to premiere my farce Gossamer Grudges had suddenly, unaccountably and irrevocably lost interest. We at NewsWrights United were also starting to realize that a certain “nice” leader within Seattle’s regional theatre echelons was not, in fact, going to come through on his glad-handing promises of resources and good will for the first edition of our Living Newspaper, It’s Not in the P-I.  I was feeling fucked, frankly, and very deeply sorry for myself. 

    Anger has always been a part of my life.  Twenty years of Zen practice has not changed that and I doubt the remainder of a lifetime will.  Anger is part of who I am.  On the other hand, anger is not always inappropriate.  Certainly when it comes to Seattle’s current theatre situation, the old hippy adage applies: “If you’re not outraged you’re not paying attention.”  And, of course, anger unshared is absolutely no fun at all.

    I didn’t know it then, but within a few weeks of howling out this poem, I would begin planning the essays that I started posting here last December.  I suspect Bill Salyers is glad that I now have this place to vent.  For my part, I am grateful too to have Just Wrought, but much so much more grateful that I have my Zen practice, friends like Bill, and the wide open daunting weather of the Puget Sound in autumn, vast enough to humble any marginally sane human being.

    Full disclosure:  I reworked the poem a bit since I first posted it on Face Book a year ago.