The American Theatre in the New Millennium OR Kill Yr. Idols

There exist, generally speaking, three different visions of Broadway in the minds of the American populace at large. First, there are the die-hard red-staters, the NASCAR-loving, Sarah Palin-quoting, gun rack in truck-having, Democrat-hating "patriots" who consider theatre in general--and Broadway specifically--to be the fancy pastime of the effeminate liberals who are responsible for despoiling this once great nation. These people can be dismissed out of hand, both because they are insane and because they do not currently nor will they ever have any effect on shaping America's theatrical traditions.

Having eliminated the irrelevant, we may now turn to two equally dangerous views of the entity known as Broadway. First, there is the old guard, who cling to the anachronistic view of Broadway as the gold standard for cultural excellence. These people think of New York's streets as home to gilt theatres with marble floors that produce works of wondrous majesty and artistic integrity. They think of the world of Rodgers and Hart, David Merrick, men dressing in tuxedos and women in gowns for opening night. They lament the tangible erosion of class that Broadway has undergone in the past thirty or so years and long for the days when going to a Broadway play was a true event.

Opposite these staunch traditionalists is a lazily rebellious group that view Broadway as a sort of cultural artifact, sort of like Colonial Williamsburg or an Amish community, i.e. something to see just for the sake of being able to check it off the list. It's a nice way to spend an afternoon or evening on vacation or if you live in the city and can score a cheap ticket. They see Broadway (and pretty much everything, I'd guess) with a sort of detached neutrality: it's neither good nor bad, it just is.

Obviously, both of these views degrade the American theatre in the importance they place on it. The former group fetishize theatre as an event, negating the content of the piece. They want theatre to exist as some sort of beacon of class and dignity which inspires merely in its formal (as opposed to casual) elegance. As a result, the mere existence of something that could be termed "beautiful" becomes a success, throwing actual metrics for quality out the window. The latter negate any meaning that theatre might have because they see it as just another product to be consumed. With a casual cynicism and basic utilitarianism, they preclude any necessity for meaning since a Broadway show is nothing more than a collector's item.

Viewing theatre only in terms of Broadway, it's hard to see any flaw in this logic. The majority of Broadway houses are run by for-profit organizations. Looking at this in a cost-benefit sense, theatre is just another entertainment choice that one has--and it's also the most expensive. Most Broadway tickets run between 60 and 130 dollars. That's equivalent to one month of cable television, two really good concerts, or six movies on the low end. Thus, a show has to be pretty likely to recoup its expenses to even have a shot at getting produced on the Great White Way. In order to maximize the likelihood of making their money back, producers can (and usually do) take the following steps:

1) Small casts. Fewer people onstage=fewer people to pay.
2) Related to above, small sets/crews.
3) For a musical, smaller orchestras. (Which often greatly handicaps the show).
4) Most disturbingly, name recognition. In order to enjoy a healthy run, a show will have to appeal to the devoted theatre-going crowd in New York as well as tourists. There are two ways to maximize a title's visibility: mounting revivals or converting well-known movies into Broadway shows.
5) Related to above, casting movie stars to draw in more viewers.

This is not to say that a production team is doomed to failure; in fact, one of the hallmarks of a great genius is to work well within the confines of a rigid structure. To wit, the recent remount of South Pacific garnered rave reviews and is embarking on a promising national tour. More often, however, this results in tired retreads starring people who have taken to the stage because of a gap in their filming schedules. Broadway is currently little more than a product designed to capitalize on tourist dollars rather than the artistic pinnacle of the American theatre.

The reasons for this are complex and extensive and I will only briefly address them here. To grossly oversimplify, film precluded the cultural necessity for an American theatre. Just as the country was expanding to its current size and throwing off the chains of British cultural and literary supremacy to develop a unique artistic voice in the theatre, film arrived to develop as a parallel to theatre. Ultimately, though, film would replace theatre since it's possible to mass produce and mass market a film in a way that is more financially lucrative. While theatre--with Broadway leading the way--held on valiantly for half a century, film--and later television--ultimately came to the fore. Musicals and plays, once cultural leaders and bastions of some of the greatest American writers (O'Neill, Williams, Wilder, &c.), became followers. Rather than emphasize the things that make theatre a unique cultural experience, Broadway folded its hand and fell in line behind film, becoming merely a (highly lucrative, if you know the right people) cash cow.

If you need any extra evidence of this, last Sunday's Tony Awards served as a dismal reminder of the state of America's most visible theatrical center. Of the eight acting awards, four went to actors better known for their film careers (including a baffling win for Scarlett Johannson over Jan Maxwell) and one went to a former fashion model whose acting skill is questionable at best (Eddie Redmayne). The award for Best Play went to Red, a mediocre and very talky drama by a screenwriter and the award for Best Musical went to an asinine travesty written by the keyboard player from Bon Jovi. I am always leery of awards as an indicator of excellence, but this is ridiculous. Acting-wise, it looks like a shameless pitch to try to lure more movie stars to New York for a few months. The field for new plays that can succeed on Broadway looks bleak at best. So what are we to do?

1) Disregard Broadway. The most interesting American plays of the next generation will be produced by smaller companies and regional theatres.

2) Disregard film and television. Don't follow, lead! Rediscover what made American theatre great in the last century while creating new modes of artistic expression. Emphasize the uniqueness of theatre.

3) Politicize the theatre. All art is propaganda! Embrace this fully--regardless of your personal politics--and allow that to drive meaning. Think Brecht! (He's kiiiind of an American...)

4) One of the smartest things I was ever told is that the joy is in the work. Too many people become theatre artists because they want to be famous with their name in lights. Anyone who starts a career so that they can be on Glee or serve as Patti LuPone's understudy is a dilettante and a fool. Avoid these people. They will poison your ability to work and destroy your faith in the medium. You become an artist because you believe in the transformative power of art, not because you want people to adore you. The best art--even if it isn't beautiful--betrays some sense of joy from the artist.

5) Embrace change! Theatre must evolve or die, like everything. Move forward--avoid stagnation.

6) Remember the past. Without knowing where theatre is coming from, it's impossible to know where it should go. These two seem contradictory but actually are complementary.

It is possible for theatre to regain a cultural relevance on par with film. It is too powerful a medium not to do just that. But the first step toward that reclamation is a rejection of art-as-product, a decentralization that elevates regional and repertory theatres and smaller, ensemble-based theatre companies above the ersatz prestige and assumed superiority of Broadway, and an altruistic desire to elevate our art form. Once the artists and patrons agree that the emperor has no clothes, we can engage each other in an honest way.

In closing, the commercial theatre of New York is an insult to both artists and the audience. It mistakes money for quality, visibility for acclaim. These producers offer nothing of any merit but demand exorbitant fees to see disinterested movie stars on half-baked sets. We must all reject their collective arrogance and aggressive mediocrity. Artists desire to create better work, the kind that our audiences deserve. Let's make it possible for that to happen.

Twelfth Night: A Review

I watched in glum horror last night as the American Theatre Wing distributed its little trophies to a bunch of movie stars in an attempt to convince themselves that Broadway still has more cultural relevance than, say, a third-rate sitcom. After the final award for Best Musical went to a show written by the keyboard player for a New Jersey hair metal band whose best days are more than two decades in the past, I thought a lot (and drank even more!) about my role both as a theatre artist (you can roll your eyes now) and theatre goer. What is the point of the whole process if all the acclaim is heaped on a bunch of hot messes designed to separate tourists from Kansas City from their cash? To mount a bunch of shows that aren't bad, per se, but merely okay (in spite of the big names and the fancy marquees and the ungodly expensive tickets)? Is theatre even worth saving if everything, all the spending and starfucking and endless self-congratulation produces a response no more powerful than a "Meh..." And then, when you're afraid that you're approaching a nadir of belief, you see magic.

In Tribeca, Fiasco Theatre has staged a thoroughly brilliant version of Twelfth Night. With a cast of eight and a comparative paucity of scenery and props, the ensemble brings the play to life in a way that's so engaging, so thrilling and so endlessly compelling as to keep the audience completely transfixed for two hours. So how do they do it? How does this small, inspired company manage to create living works of art in front of an audience while most of the midtown theatres struggle to make a play more exciting than the conversations you have in a diner? Easy: Fiasco understands and very visibly loves theatre on a fundamental level.

The truth is that people go to the theatre to see dynamic actors. No production, no matter how grandiose, is of any true merit without a talented ensemble engaging the text, themselves, and the audience. It is in this arena that Fiasco's Twelfth Night succeeds wildly. The eight actors who constitute the ensemble are uniformly excellent. They bring the characters to life in such a vivid way that the two hours the audience gets to spend in Illyria is far, far too short. The play begins with a thrill as the actors take positions around the theatre and sing, creating for the audience the shipwreck that separates Viola and Sebastian. Thus, the company instantly establishes the canny conventions that will drive the production: no stage machinery, no glitzy scenic pieces, no expensive lighting effects can replicate the sublime beauty of a group of humans using their bodies and voices to tell a story. The result is an actor-driven production that never once lags or lets the audience down.

All of that is to say nothing of the performances: I would need a book to break down each of the wonderfully intricate characters that come to life as a part of Twelfth Night. To briefly address each: Ben Steinfeld pulls double duty as both Feste and Sebastian, a combination that would, in the hands of a lesser artist, merely seem absurd. Steinfeld, however, embodies both the jovial clown and the erstwhile romantic hero in a way that almost defies description. One would expect it to be distracting to see Feste and Sebastian as the same person, but Steinfeld so varies the two that even without the distinguishing costume pieces the viewer can tell the difference. Noah Brody is so moving as the lovesick Duke Orsino that the audience will practically beg Olivia on his behalf. Speaking of Olivia, Georgia Cohen plays her with such passionate ferocity that even the most reserved in the audience has no choice but to love her with the same hopeless abandon as the poor lovelorn Duke. Andy Grotelueschen's Sir Toby Belch is the perfect raucous drinking companion whose fun-loving exterior belies a capriciousness and malice that makes him clearly unfit to run the household. Groteleuschen's wonderfully boisterous Toby is matched in his love interest, Maria, played with a wonderfully prim sexuality and playfulness by Elizabeth King-Hall. Sir Toby is also well-met by Haas Regen as Sir Andrew Aguecheek, the poor simpleton whose generosity Toby can't help but exploit. Avoiding the standard tack of Aguecheek as an aggressively foolish boor, Regen deploys a hilariously elastic physicality and highlights Aguecheek's naivety, which is hilarious right up until it becomes heartbreaking. In a similarly nuanced way, Paul L. Coffey avoids hollowing Malvolio into the typical sad-sack Puritan and makes the character a transformative study in the price of repression. The yellow-stockings gag plays less like farce here and hints at a profoundly deep look into the psyche of the disturbingly religious. Finally, as Viola, Annie Purcell displays such quick wit and largeness of spirit that it is no great mystery to see why Olivia is so taken by her. I, of course, have done little justice to these wonderful performances. Suffice it to say that each member of the ensemble acts with such ultimate commitment, such robust athleticism and precision, and such unadulterated joy that even the most cynical observer would find it impossible to tear his gaze away.

Ultimately, Fiasco is a company that manages to deliver both the honesty and the romance that theatre gives the audience when done well. Directors Noah Brody and Ben Steinfeld, along with vocal coach Jessie Austrian, take responsibility for bringing the play to life in a truthful way that captures all the majesty and nuance that constitutes Shakespeare's unique genius. In each of his plays--whether comedy or tragedy--we see profoundly human moments of success and failure, rapture and despair, beauty and squalor. The magic of their production is that the play contains hilarious and touching moments side-by-side and none of it seems forced or false. By focusing on the ensemble and using humans to do the storytelling, the company magnifies the humanity of the text. Ultimately, Fiasco make brilliant and moving theatre by showing immense respect for the material, the audience, and each other. They have rejected the ugly cynicism of the "art-as-product" attitude that dominates the commercial theatre in favor of a brand of unique joy that is in all too short supply today. More artists need to be willing to engage themselves and their art in such a bold way. Midtown should be so lucky.