What Is This Life?

If your first thought is “Oh wow, where has this blog been?”, well, you probably need more hobbies. But read on, and maybe you’ll figure it out. Or maybe I will. Bear with me though, its relevance to theatre may be obscured by philosophical musings and too much personal information. Also . . . it may get a little rambly up in here.

Yesterday afternoon, a young teenager who shall remain nameless and may or may not be related to me, had an existential meltdown while I was trying to watch tv. He was quite loud about it, so despite my best efforts to remain invested in my Very Important TV Show, I was left with no choice but to pause it and focus on the hysterical teen who had planted himself between me and the screen. (What is this?? I thought this was a theatre blog, not another mommy blog!! Hush it. I’m getting there, and no one said it was my son.)

Kidding aside, this nameless young man couldn’t initially articulate the source of his angst, but with some prodding and much rambling, it soon came to light, and can best be summed up (in my words) as the terrified question: “What is this life? What is this path I’m on?”

And I connected, instantly, with his pain.

I let him continue to talk, but I didn’t need him to. I could have scripted every word that flowed from his heart: This life doesn’t make sense to me. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I can’t do what I’m expected to do. My life is going to be ruined. 

Society and our parents (most of our parents) firmly believe that there is only one right path in life, only one sequence of events that leads to a “good life”.  Do A, then B, then C, then D and you’ll get a nice pat on the head and a “Good boy”. Keeping in mind that I'm not talking about where you end up - but how you get there. Of course, there’s a reason – for millions of people, that IS the formula for happiness and success. They get exactly what they want out of life by doing all the “right” things.  They prove that the formula works.

But there are some of us, I don’t know how many, for whom that path leads to misery. A lifelong struggle to find happiness and success without ever realizing that it lay down an entirely different path, one that we left behind ages ago and may never get a chance to find again. One that we would have found by making decisions that would have been roundly disapproved of by those who care about us. And there I was, sitting there with one of those people, someone who still had his whole life ahead of him, as he hesitantly outlined the path he wanted to take. A path that meant taking actions that go against everything we are told is “right”, that society would scream “Noooo! You’ll ruin your life if you do that!” Yet, I couldn’t help but think “You’ll ruin your life if you don’t.”

I said the one thing no responsible parent would ever say to their child (not that I was talking to my son. Or that I even have a son.) I said “Do it.” The relief that flooded his face was matched wholly by the relief that flooded my heart. He had a plan. He had looked into himself, out to his future, down at the path he was on, and had the guts to say “I want to get off.” Will it be easy? No. Will society shake its head and lament another lost soul who got it all wrong? Probably. Will this theoretical, unnamed teenager care? Oh, no. No, he won’t. 

Over the last several months, faced with unexpected failures and forced to confront my place in this world we call The Theatre, I’ve found myself questioning nearly every decision I’ve made since decisions were mine to make.  If I had had the self-awareness and courage to make the wrong decisions when I had the chance, maybe I wouldn’t be someone who has lived with the misery of relegating theatre to the status of hobby. The wrong decision I did make – getting pregnant in college, becoming a single mom – has brought me the satisfaction of seeing a young man become, in this instance, my role model – my hero. 

What is this life?  I wish I could answer that for myself.

This Is Soup . . . and This Is Art

So much for my goal of posting once a week – with overlapping shows and the ongoing, epic quest to become a productive member of society, I’m afraid I lost a few weeks.  But I’m jumping back in with a topic that was actually brought to light by a comment on one of my previous posts. The topic of the previous post is irrelevant, but one of the strongest protestors burst out with a frustrated:

"And, tellingly, why is no one advocating for the audience?"

My simple answer to this is: The audience must advocate for the audience. Why should anyone other than the audience speak for the audience? Why should they not be allowed to vote with their feet, and their wallets?

But since this is a blog, a simple answer simply will not do.

I show 'em this can of Campbell's tomato soup. I say, "This is soup."

 Then I show 'em a picture of Andy Warhol's painting of a can of Campbell's tomato soup. I say, "This is art."

 "This is soup." "And this is art."

 Then I shuffle the two behind my back. Now what is this?

 No, this is soup and this is art!

                   -Trudy the Bag Lady, Search for Signs of Intelligent Life in the Universe

Is it our job, as directors, actors, playwrights, to explain to our audience the difference between soup and art? While it seems some readers of this blog would say “Yes!”, I would argue no. Theatre audiences are smart, tuned in people who can be trusted to divine what is intended from a theatre piece, without dumbing it down for their sake. Provided, of course, that the actors and the director put the effort into understanding the material themselves, and conveying it clearly.

It’s dangerous, as artists, to ensconce ourselves in a bubble of mental superiority, to assume that we know and understand something that the general public could never really “get”. It leads to one of two extremes: a drive to create ever more inscrutable art, to prove a level of perception that the” common man” could never hope to achieve.  Or to pander to your audience instead of trusting them, dumbing things down to make them  “accessible” to the public at large, instead of allowing them the freedom to engage with the art by thinking about it, questioning it, analyzing it.

A class on directing that I’ve been teaching recently showcased their pieces for friends and family. One of the directors chose a well-written, funny play that was an easy laugh. It was a quality script, but required nothing from the audience except to be entertained. The audience chuckled, laughed, and roared throughout. The other directors worked with scripts that were a little more challenging for the audience, and played to a much quieter crowd. All the pieces were well-received, and afterwards, the director with the “easy” piece received well-deserved kudos and congratulations. The other directors got . . . questions. Excited, probing, thoughtful questions. The audience remained engaged with those pieces long after the lights went down. They didn’t need it spoon fed to them, they thrilled at the opportunity to participate intellectually.

None of this means you force your own idea of art on the nearest group of theatre goers. It means you know your place in the theatre world. Know what kind of art you create, and who your audience is, and go find them. 

What is the audience’s role in all this? Passive observers, meant to meekly fork over their money and absorb what we place before them with as little mental effort as possible?

Did I tell you what happened at the play? We were at the back of the theater, standing there in the dark, all of a sudden I feel one of 'em tug my sleeve, and whispers, "Trudy, look."

 I said, "Yeah, goose bumps. You definitely got goose bumps. You really like the play that much?"

They said it wasn't the play gave 'em goose bumps, it was the audience.

I forgot to tell 'em to watch the play; they'd been watching the audience! Yeah, to see a group of strangers sitting together in the dark, laughing and crying about the same things...that just knocked 'em out.

 They said, "Trudy, the play was soup...the audience...art."

 Don’t treat the audience like soup. Give them the chance to be part of the art.

Thanks, You Shouldn’t Have! No, I Mean, You Actually Shouldn’t Have . . .

I adore auditions. After spending  a few weeks with a script, reading and re-reading, working it through your imagination, it’s splendid fun to put it in the hands of auditioners. The imagination goes into overdrive as lines are read: intonation is analyzed, facial expressions are studied, chemistry is absorbed. The director mixes and matches to see who sparks together on stage. It’s akin to piecing together a jigsaw puzzle, with one distinction – the picture keeps changing. As the actors move the material between them, the vision tweaks and twists, new pieces fall into place, new ideas crop up. The possibilities swell. It’s . . . well, it’s just fun!

Now, I get it, I’m having more fun than the auditioners are. For the actors, it’s tension and butterflies, second-guesses and self-flagellation. Did I screw up? Did I do the best I could? Did she notice that I farted? I admire actors for putting it out there, taking the risks, and not backing down when the person right before you just nails it. Then, going home and . . . waiting . . . waiting . . . waiting for the cast list to go up. It sucks, no?

While you (actors) are sitting and waiting, however, we (directors) are taking our turn on the insane hamster wheel of second-guessing. Sometimes we’re dealing with a good showing of strong actors for a particular role. Sometimes, it’s a plethora of mediocre actors, or one or two actors that you’re just not sure you can make work. In any case, it’s hours or days of shuffling audition sheets and headshots, mumbling to yourself and playing the occasional (non-binding) desperate round of eenie-meenie-miny-mo. If you’re lucky, you have an anchor – that one actor that you absolutely know you want for a role. From there, you can sometimes fit the other actors into the equation, based on how they play together. Sometimes, you simply have to make a difficult decision about one character before you can even begin to decide about another.  Finally, often in the eleventh hour, moments before the deadline to release the cast list . . . it clicks. The actors slide neatly into position, their headshots beaming contentedly at you as if wondering why you didn’t get this configuration from the start, and save yourself the headache. The cast list goes public, and you sit back in relief, happily looking forward to the first read-through, to enjoy the initial melding of this painstakingly constructed cast.

And then . . . the phone rings.

 “Gee thanks, that’s great! But, uh, I really only auditioned because my son wanted to be in the show. Since he didn’t get cast, I’m not going to do it. Sorry.”

“Gee thanks, that’s great! But, that’s a really big role, I don’t think I can take on that kind of commitment right now. Sorry.”

“Gee thanks, that’s great! But, I just don’t feel like it’s worth my time and energy for just a few lines. Sorry.”

“Gee thanks, that’s great! But, I really didn’t expect to get cast, I just auditioned to support my friend. Sorry.”

“Gee thanks, that’s great! But, I forgot that I had tickets to a concert during opening weekend. Sorry.”

“Gee thanks, that’s great! But, my husband/wife/parents said I don’t have time to do the show. Sorry.”

“Gee thanks, that’s great! But, I didn’t know there would be, like, a lot of rehearsing involved. Sorry.”

“Gee thanks, that’s great! But, I didn’t really want to audition, it just seemed like you needed people to read for that role. Sorry.”

Do I even need to say that the list goes on? No cast is put together on a whim, not if the director is any good. Each choice is made thoughtfully, factoring in a myriad of dynamics, and it is with no small amount of hair loss that the director shapes the best possible cast from the pool of auditioners. 

I love community theatre actors, and I understand nerves. I get schedules and commitments and spontaneous actions. But any actor who sets foot on the stage at an audition needs to acknowledge that they are presenting themselves as available*. Be upfront with your concerns and conflicts, let the director have all the information before he decides whether to take a risk on you. 

I used to tell nervous actors, “It’s never a waste of time to audition.” I need to amend that to, “It’s never a waste of time to audition, as long as you’re prepared to actually accept a role.”

*The exception to the rule being, of course, if you are auditioning for multiple shows. It’s perfectly acceptable to say, “Gee thanks, that’s great! But, I accepted a part in another production. Sorry.”