Is Theatre Dead…again?

Every new generation that comes along decides theatre is dying. Truly there are no new thoughts.

I recently joined a group on LinkedIn for theatre artists (partly in an attempt to understand what LinkedIn can really do for me,) and now I receive emails updating me on all the “conversations” happening in the group.

(I love how LinkedIn so badly wants to be the FB for professionals. Now if only G+ could figure out what it wants to be when it grows up, perhaps someday the interwebs will be complete…..but I digress.)

The first time I saw the topic come up I dismissed it. The second time I saw it come up, I thought, “Why are you talking about this?!“

It brought back memories of my youth, when people were concerned that  the invention of home videos would kill the cinema business (because now you could rent movies and not go to them) and the creation of electronic music (which could recreate the sounds of other instruments) would kill the orchestral and music careers of musicians everywhere.

For decades there have been worries that other forms of entertainment would sound a death knell on the theatre going in big and small cities.

It’s just not going to happen.

Yes, there’s competition, but the real competition is from the company or playwright or director down the street who has a better piece than you. If anything keeps people from going to the theatre—assuming they’re people who like to see live theatre, which is not everyone—it’s the quality of the work being done.

The other day I joined a group of actors in a reading of Tennessee Williams’ Camino Real. Written almost sixty years ago, it still resonates and it still reflects our current world and culture. Perhaps not in the same way it did when it premiered but it’s still relevant.

Good writing, good work. It doesn’t die.

So neither can the theatre.

Backstage art

We’re in the thick of performances with this show. Perhaps more than the thick, in fact, since we can see the light at the end of the tunnel. In some ways it feels like that light is the last day of school and we’re all to be released for the summer. In other ways, it’s the clear ending to a memorable experience.

Today is a beautiful day in Minneapolis, and after the sweltering heat and humidity, and driving storms, that we’ve been experiencing, it’s almost a little disappointing that I’ll spend the entire afternoon inside at a matinee followed by another hour or more of production photos.

But every performance I’m thankful for having an opportunity to do what I love. So I will not complain.

And I do love this show, and this cast. I’m a bit disappointed in myself that I haven’t written more about this experience.

This show is almost a stereotype of “life in the theatre” with its independent theatre company hunger, large cast where most have worked together before, and its high energy and laughter before and after (and during) each performance.

The space itself is, frankly, kind of a dump. The owner of the building isn’t known for his reliability for upkeep. From the patron’s p.o.v. it’s a slightly rundown, but intimate space. From the actor’s and crew’s p.o.v. it’s cluttered, damp, dusty and nearly health-threatening environment. I can only imagine that from a producer’s p.o.v. it’s a nightmare of electrical and plumbing dangers and fears of something truly horrible happening to shut down the whole show. The basement leaks, the AC rattles and stairs creak.

But more than the physical environment it’s the people that make this beautiful and unique stereotype. (I know – oxymoronic descriptor.) This a large cast show (23 actors, 3 children and a dog) with 65 characters (if you count the off-stage voices) which means backstage and downstairs in the green room and dressing rooms is often buzzing with activity. Plus this show has a lot of sound in it— there’s almost always background, city-scape sound playing. (Which means the constant footsteps behind the set probably blend in, right?) And quite a bit of that sound is done live…..things like snoring and banging and gun shots. On stage this is juxtaposed by moments of tableaus, stillness that comes to life or action that reverses and goes to a freeze.

One of my favorite points in the show is during the music-like sounds of the opening of the second act, which take place while the city comes to life. From silence and stillness different things start up at different times on stage, sounds start to sprinkle in and backstage there’s a melange of characters in various dress, milling about, moving quickly or trying to stay out of the way, some making noise while others try to not make noise, surrounded by ladders and platforms and speakers and cables as if in the midst of some fantastical second hand store with things piled on top of each other, and it’s all dimly lit by the back-stage blue lights and spills from the lobby door or from the stage. Each night after I make my exit, after coming to life on stage, I meander through those dozen or more people crammed back there and wonder at the magic of the play-making. This group of actors all working in concert, ready to make an entrance or being the offstage sound, ready to play their part in the creation of this world and doing so in tangent with their cast-mates.

It’s that ensemble, that collaboration, that trust between each person knowing that together we can create this unique and lovely world – that is the thing I will miss most once we exit this tunnel.

Street Scene, by Elmer Rice, produced by Girl Friday Productions plays at the Minneapolis Theatre Garage through July 30.

How to Buy Art, or Not.

Several weeks ago I went to a visual arts event in Northeast Minneapolis (aka Nordeast) that has grown to be quite the popular cultural weekend in Minneapolis. At Art-A-Whirl hundreds of studios in warehouses spread around the neighborhood open their doors to the public and hundreds, actually thousands, spend a weekend strolling from one to another, taking in the wide array of forms and styles.

Of course, virtually all of it is for sale.

If that sounds cynical, re-read it. It’s not. It’s a good thing. Artists need to and deserve to be paid for their work, and paying artists (of any genre) is not a cut-and-dried method. I think it’s wonderful that these painters, photographers, sculptors, etc., use the group dynamic they have to bring people in and I hope many of them rested easier this month knowing the rent on that studio is paid.

My few hours at ArtAWhirl were spent on a rainy, steamy Saturday. The hallways and stairwells were crowded, people squeezed past others to get to things, or to get out, and everywhere was the fear of knocking something over or off a wall. Several studios put out snacks or treats, so we nibbled our way down one hallway.

We had been in the market for a painting to hang over our new fireplace. We were hoping for something colorful, and possibly relating to the north shore of Lake Superior, a favorite destination of ours. We wanted something that would work well on the muted, but colorful stone facade. I had done a little homework and had identified a number of artists in a couple building whose work might be right and that I wanted to visit. Not too realistic, but not too abstract, types of things.

We saw some great and fascinating pieces, and if I had the money and space I’d have bought at least ten paintings. I’d find something I like and my partner would be kind of “meh” about it. Or vice versa. When we stopped in Douglas Ross‘ studio we found things we both liked. Colorful images of the rocky shore of that Great Lake. We considered sever, agreed to both liking the look and size of a particular one, we moved on with a “we can stop back if we decide we want it….”

Half hour later we were back.

We met the painter, with whom we surprisingly had a lot in common. The painting is of a sunny day, at a point, he tells us, in Lutsen. We buy it.

We chat as he wraps it safely for us, then places it in a plastic bag for extra protection from the possible rain. We pay buy by check, directly to him. We shake hands and go off with our original painting.

When we get home we immediately unwrap it and place it above the fireplace and step back.

There’s a pause. We both contemplate.

One of us finally says, “Well, that doesn’t work there.”

We thought we found the perfect companion to that wall of colorful stone, but we hadn’t. It was too much, too busy, too overwhelming. The good news is that it looks terrific on the colors of either the dining room or the living room walls. And that’s where it’ll hang.

Luckily it made us realize just what it was about the painting we liked and what it was that didn’t work, giving us guidelines as to what we should buy for that special place. This discovery was remedied weeks later, up North, in its own special way. (I’ll share that later.)

Owning original art feels great, and buying it directly from the artist even better.