The Can's and the Should's

Just because you can, does that mean you should?

Periodically, an opportunity falls into your lap that seems like an absolute godsend. The prop that you had no idea how you would possibly find or create is suddenly being given to you for your production. The actor you were initially hoping to get for a specific role suddenly becomes available. A backer materializes for the project you've been dying to do. While all of these things sound like they would be nothing but a boon, it's worth taking a quick time-out to gauge their true impact. As is generally the case in life, even things that seem to be heavily weighted towards being beneficial have their downsides.

In the book The Millionaire Next Door, the authors illustrate how "free" gifts can often mask additional costs. For example, say you were given a free car. If you were previously without a car, this changes your situation in a number of ways. If you plan to drive the car, you will need to pay for the gas and maintenance (having it inspected, any necessary repairs, routine upkeep such as oil changes, etc.) for the duration of the time you have the car. You may also incur traffic or parking tickets. Even if you only plan to drive the car occasionally, you will have to pay to insure it. Additionally, you will need to have a place to store the car which (if you have not had a car up until this point and live somewhere without a garage or driveway) will mean finding a parking spot. All of which is to say that the "free" car actually comes with several obligations, both with regard to your time and money. Now, if that free car is replacing an existing car, then the degree of change is significantly less. But as a new element, the car creates quite a lot of change, some of which will be beneficial and some of which will be detrimental.

Similarly, it's worth trying to consider the various ramifications new opportunities can have. The bigger the opportunity (with regard to how much it costs or how much of a commitment it requires), the more seriously it should be weighed. One technique for doing this is something called a premortem. If you're working within a theater company, it's not uncommon to have a postmortem discussion, where you discuss how the process went - what worked, what didn't, etc. In a premortem you're having part of that discussion beforehand - imagining, in advance, that you took this "great opportunity" but it ended up being a terrible choice. So, with the example of the prop that you never thought you would find, perhaps agreeing to use it meant that the entire design had to become much more realistic in order to match. In "retrospect", you realize you would have been much better going in an absurd or abstract direction. Perhaps it ended up being impractical to use it (it was too heavy, too fragile, too small, etc.) but you felt obligated because you went to great lengths to get it. Which made the moments where it was being used look ridiculous and you had to scrap it at the last minute and scramble to replace it in the time and budget remaining. Which was stressful for your prop master (because they had to do a last minute search to find something else), your producer (because this wasn't in the budget), and your actors (because they then didn't have enough time to get comfortable with the prop before starting performances). This isn't meant to be an exercise in doom and gloom or to give you analysis paralysis. It's meant to help us consider other possible outcomes that could result from an impulsive decision, so that we're not completely blindsided if/when everything doesn't go perfectly. It's entirely possible that something that seems like a great opportunity actually IS a great opportunity. But it's also possible that it's not. And the act of considering the alternative can help us make a more measured decision.

Another way to re-contextualize this kind of decision is to push yourself to consider a handful of other solutions. Put another way, what if the opportunity that just became available to you, just as suddenly disappeared? If this option had never come along, what are some other ways that this problem could have been remedied? Try to come up with avenues that are distinct from each other, not just different shades of the same color. For example, with regard to the situation where the actor you were dreaming of became available to you, this would not mean having one or two other actors in mind who could do a decent impression of your first choice. This is about having completely different concepts around how the role could be played. Could the actor for this role be significantly older? Younger? Heavier? A different gender entirely? Could the role be approached from a more comedic lens? Could the role be played as more of an underdog? Maybe this role could be a puppet? Obviously, some roles have less flexibility baked into them than others. But what if (for reasons beyond your control) you had to go in a different direction with your casting? How can you make it work? I once heard about a production of Midsummer where the actor playing Oberon broke his ankle during the run, so they had him sit in a wheelchair upstage of everyone and recite his lines while another actor performed all of his physical business. (I'm not sure that was the best answer, but it was certainly another way to solve the problem.) Don't be afraid to consider options that seem completely off the wall. Sometimes crazy ideas have kernels of truth that can be turned into valid solutions you might not have thought of otherwise. Don't be discouraged if nothing comes immediately to mind. Often these are questions that your brain may need to think on. 

Which brings us one last bit of advice with regard to this kind of situation - determine how much time you can take before committing one way or the other. Being able to pause for a moment can provide you with the time needed to think about other solutions, but it can also help you get some emotional distance from a solution that might be too good to be true. When a solution suddenly presents itself, the rush of euphoria can feel like winning the lottery. But in the same way that we might not make the best decision when we're in a fit of rage, so too might our judgement be clouded in a rush of excitement (or our desire to make the problem go away). With the example of having a potential backer suddenly come into the picture, taking a little time can help you determine whether this is indeed a match made in heaven...or just someone who seemed appealing when you were at a low point. A relationship is a commitment calling for a significant investment of time and energy (and in this case, money). If you slow down long enough to the do the due diligence up front, you can save yourself a lot of heartache down the line. If it's at all possible for you to sleep on the decision before committing to it, do that. The mere act of waiting allows the mix of chemicals floating around in your body to return to a more neutral state, helping you can make a decision based on rational and emotional input - you're giving yourself the time to do further research about the opportunity, but also giving yourself the emotional space to think about what research needs to be done. Has this person been a backer before? Are they familiar with how the industry works? Can you talk to people who have worked with them in this context? How much creative input do they want to have? Why do they want to be involved in the project? (If it's so that their boyfriend can be the leading man, that might be a deal breaker for you. Then again, maybe their boyfriend is Idris Elba. In which case, game on.) If you can, talk to someone else who's had this kind of relationship before. What did they learn? What should you look out for? If that's not an option, talk to some of your more cautious friends or co-workers to ask what information they would want to know. You just want to be sure that you're able clearly evaluate what's at hand and not being led astray by rose colored glasses.

To do this for every decision would be exhausting and you would never get anything done. But for the big decisions, especially the ones where you can't easily change course if they turn out poorly, it's worth spending a little extra time thinking through them. It can't guarantee that whatever decision you make will work out for the best, but it can greatly improve your chances.

*For a great reference on how to navigate the decision making process, I highly recommend Decisive by Chip and Dan Heath. 

Thoughts? Comments? Questions? Post them below. The more, the merrier.

Realized or Conceptual?

When you set out to produce a show, one of the first things you will need to decide is whether or not the design for your production will be conceptual or fully realized. There are conditions that often lend themselves to one path or the other. Choosing an option that doesn't fit your script may result in you having to fight against the design in order to get your story across.

For our purposes we will be thinking of these elements primarily with regard to set and costumes. Lighting and sound can also be more or less realistic, but sets and costumes are often the areas where a conceptual design is most apparent. In a realistic design, everything is rendered in as much detail as possible, exactly as it would be in the world of the play. In a conceptual design the location and time period are suggested - so instead of the entire castle, you might see a throne and some suspended tapestries, enough to indicate where the scene is taking place.

As a general rule, I tend to be a fan of more conceptual designs. I feel like it gives me more room to play. I feel like it gives the designers more room to play. It can also add another layer with regard to how the play is interpreted. When well thought out and well utilized, conceptual sets and costumes can be incredibly imaginative and fluid. That being said it has to be a good fit for the way your script is structured. Script structure should be the main factor when you're deciding on the design direction. The structure dictates how the story should be told. If a script is laid out in a linear, continuous timeline, you may need to go with a traditional, realistic design. If it uses elements of heightened theatricality, they you may be able to think more outside the box.

For example with a classic comedy, especially farce, you are probably going to be better served by more traditional sets and costumes. Part of the fun in comedy is watching the train wreck. The events are strategically laid out to create a misunderstanding (which is then resolved). Comedy relies on the characters having no awareness of how the plot lines are being tangled while the audience remains completely aware. These plot points usually unfold chronologically in order to make sure that the audience can clearly follow what's going on at all times. (Note: Here we're referring to scripts that are structural comedies, not scripts that are comedic. The Importance of Being Earnest is a structural comedy. Whereas Peter and the Starcatcher is a play with comedic elements.)

Another example of when you might need to go with a more realistic design is when the set (or costumes) functions as an additional character. In these scripts, the design becomes central to the plot. The story is specific to that one location. It's possible that all of the scenes may even take place there. Steel Magnolias, for example, has to happen in a beauty shop. With Clybourne Park, the house is pivotal to the story - you have to see the house as it is in Act I and how it changes in Act II. For Phantom of the Opera, you have to have a mask for the Phantom, otherwise the character (and thus the show) doesn't make sense. These design elements are fundamental to being able to tell the story as it is written. On the flip side, Shakespearean plays, since they tend to be about more general themes and were written to have minimal technical constraints, often do very well with a conceptual design.

If the script is structured in a less linear way, that may allow you to go in a conceptual direction. Perhaps it jumps back and forth between different time periods or it has simultaneous scenes. Perhaps there's a dream sequence. Perhaps you're doing a lot a of double casting and for the overall flow of the piece your actors need to be able to transition instantly on stage from one character to the next. Sometimes the demands of the script necessitates a more conceptual approach. Perhaps there's an element of the script that you're unable to create realistically in a way that's satisfying. War Horse comes to mind as an example where the imaginative integration of puppetry (and other conceptual devices) gave the production substantially more leeway than they would have had had they tried to do a strictly realistic approach.

Plays with numerous locations can work well with conceptual sets because a conceptual set can allow you to quickly transition between those different areas. When you're going from one fully realized location to another, you have to wait for one group of physical objects is taken off and another is brought on. If you're able to simply suggest the location that can be a much less demanding physical change, and thus a faster transition. Come From Away does an exceptional job of this, using a bunch of chairs and small costume pieces to quickly shift between locations and characters - going from bus, to plane, to barroom simply by changing the orientation of the chairs and the way the actors interacted with them.

Going in a conceptual direction may allow you the freedom to create a greater variety of stage pictures. I remember sitting through a production which had chosen to go the more realistic route for a play that took place in two different time periods. The set for the scenes taking place in the present lived stage left, the set for the scenes in the past lived stage right. As a result, the staging became incredibly dull after the first half a dozen scenes because the set pieces severely limited where the actors could be staged.

Often productions end up somewhere in between, with some locations being fully realized and others being suggested. This approach can be a great compromise if it's executed strategically. If you're mixing these two options, you want to be sure either a) the conceptual elements are used often enough to feel like a regular part of the world (not something you defaulted to because you didn't have any other ideas) or b) the conceptual element is used only once, for dramatic effect, in a moment that is meant to be magical.

Depending on the concept, going in a less realistic direction could potentially be a means of staying within your budget. Obviously, if your concept becomes pyrotechnics and Armani suits, that's going to be more expensive, not less. But if the concept allows you to do something significantly simpler or use materials that you already have (or materials someone else is getting rid of) that can be a huge money saver. Again, this won't always be the case, but sometimes it's an option worth considering. The key is to make it look like you chose to design the show the way you did, and avoid making it look like you ran out of money.

The solution that fits your show has to balance what needed and what can be achieved. Embrace the limitations as your unique puzzle and see what the options are.

Thoughts? Questions? Comments? Post them below. The more, the merrier.

Head True North

Creating a new play can be a challenging process for any number of reasons. The first and most fundamental challenge revolves around shaping the script to tell the story that you want to tell. In my experience there are three key issues that can quickly derail this process - when a writer refuses to do any rewrites, when the writer is constantly rewriting, when the writer and the director are not on the same page with regard to what the story is or where it should go. 

With the first of these, there can several valid reasons why a writer may be opposed to doing rewrites. They may have had experiences where someone bullied them into making changes that they didn't agree with or where listening to someone's feedback just made the script worse. They may not know how to fix what they don’t like about what they've written and so it's easier to pass off "making it work" to someone else. They may not have objectively investigated if what's on the page is actually telling the story they think it is. They may just believe what they've written is perfect. (This is NOT to imply that writers are arrogant. It is merely to acknowledge that some people - writers, directors, zookeepers, etc. - are arrogant and believe they can do no wrong.) Regardless, of why they are opposed to doing rewrites, I think the best results happen when the development of a new play is thought of as a collaborative process, where various interpretations, qualities, and insights may be discovered. If you've assembled a team that really works well together, the combined brain power of the group can yield ideas that greatly enhance the final product.

The other extreme, where the writer is making rewrites all over the place, can be equally frustrating. Again, this can happen for any number of reasons. There maybe an avalanche of chaotic feedback coming at them from the actors, designers, and director. There maybe seasoned industry people telling the writer the show can be a huge commercial success IF certain changes are made to the script. They may terrified that nothing they've written is working and trying to fix it by spraying "rewrite bullets" at anything that blinks. Writing a play is hard. Having it be put through the gauntlet of a reading or a production is even harder. If you're erring to this side of things, it can be particularly helpful to clarify for yourself what story you want to be telling. What are the basic plot points? What is the journey? What are the important relationships? What is the world like? If you have a clear understanding of what you want these elements to be, it will help you sort through the responses that you get.

A note about feedback: some degree of feedback will find you regardless of whether you are seeking it or not. It may be vague (seeing or hearing the audience laugh or cry) or specific (overhearing a pointed comment as the audience leaves the theater). My feeling is, since you're bound to get some degree of feedback anyway, why not actively participate in the interest of filtering that feedback towards the things that you want to know. (What happened in this play? How would you describe this character? What relationships seemed to be the strongest?) If you ask specific but open-ended questions you stand a better chance of being able to figure out whether you've written what you wanted to write. Sometimes when you've got your nose buried in the keyboard, it's hard to accurately tell what you've got. The things that are apparent to you may not be apparent to everyone else. If you find out what you think you wrote is not actually what’s being received, you may want to do some rewrites. Remember that one audience member's comment (good or bad) does not necessarily represent the experience of the entire audience. They remain just one person. As with any data set, before you draw conclusions (and make any changes) you want to collect a decent sample size. Likewise, the person who "loved everything about it" and the person who "hated everything about it" are statistic anomalies - their response are too far outside of the mean to be useful.

Perhaps most importantly, the writer and the director need to be on the same page with regard to what they hope to accomplish. Their agendas don't have to be identical, but they need to agree on the things that are most important. At the very least, they should agree on what story they are trying to tell. The same set of words and events can be interpreted in a variety of different ways. King Lear could be the story of how a man's favoritism ultimately destroys his family. Or it could be the story of one daughter's unconditional love. Or it could be the story of how unchecked jealousy destroys everything in its path. It's the same text and events, but leading to three different takeways. Once your play is published and out in the world for everyone to produce, you will likely need to come to terms with no longer being able to dictate how it takes shape. But in the stages leading up to that point, you have to be able to communicate to your director what this version is about. Ideally this would be the very first conversation you and your director have about the piece - hopefully while you're both still sussing out whether to move forward with the partnership. If the writer feels comfortable with the director, it then becomes the director's responsibility to decide whether writer's vision for the piece is one that they can be completely on board with. When the writer and the director can function as a united leadership team, it facilitates a clear and cohesive process for everyone else. One where the conversations in rehearsal are geared toward sharpening and clarifying the important elements. And where the choices that move forward with regard to performance and design continue to build on what was discovered in rehearsal. But in order for that to happen, the director has to have that in mind from the outset and writer has to continue to be available throughout the process. 

The play is the point from which everything else springs. Find what true north means for this story. There will things that feel like they are pulling you off course. That is what happens when you leave the safety of the shore to embark on a voyage. Keep that as your reference point and make your adjustments according. Trust in the crew that you've assembled to get you safely to your destination. Godspeed.

Thoughts? Comments? Questions? Post them below. The more, the merrier.

Detours

As I write this, I am currently 16 weeks into my first pregnancy. And as excited as I am to start this next chapter of my personal life, I am equally terrified about what feels like the death of my creative life. Because here in the city that never sleeps, the mentality is if you're not constantly making yourself known, if you're not constantly working on your next career move, you might as well start over. (Which is not that far, psychologically, from "maybe it's time to just quit".)

But if we extrapolate this kind of thinking, what it ultimately says is that life should never come before our art. We should never take a step back to start a family, or care for a sick family member (or be sick ourselves), or work a desk job so we can make the payments on our student loans. And if that's truly the case, we are eliminating a whole crop of artists (and a variety of different voices) purely on the basis of circumstances. Obviously, the system is not set up to be a very nurturing one. Given that, we can wait and hope for the system to change or we can decide to believe in our own value and continue to find ways to be heard. Waiting has never been my strong suit.

In light of that, I keep focusing on two concepts.

The first is that the richer your life experiences are, the richer your storytelling will become. Ages ago, when I was in college studying theater, a fantastic actor by the name of Michael Milligan came in to speak to us about life in the business. One of the things he said which has stuck with me through the years was "you can't play these legendary, three dimensional Shakespearean characters if you haven't lived a three dimensional life". It's important to study and have solid technique, But it's also important to participate fully in the human experience. That's not to say you should devote yourself to method-acting or unhealthy life choices. Please don't. However, our job as theater artists is to create representations of real life. So why would we regard those real life experiences as a detriment to our careers? Life is going to do what life will do. Embrace it as fodder for better future works.

The second idea that I'm trying to keep in mind is that every "no" is a detour saying "not this way - you need to go a different route". This is an idea that I've been encountering in some of the books I've been reading about Stoicism. But it really hit home for me when I was listening to this podcast with Srini Pillay. In it he talks about how, before you ever set out in pursuit of your goals, you should resolve to change course (instead give up) when things don't work out the way you hope they will (as they inevitably do). Which is what we do in any number of situations where the stakes are not nearly as high. If I'm at home and I want to have spaghetti and meatballs for dinner, but discover that I don't have any pasta, I don't give up and take that as a sign that I'm not meant to eat dinner. I adjust. Maybe I run out to the store. Maybe I make a peanut butter sandwich. Maybe I order something or go out somewhere. Just because the traditional path (or the most obvious path) ceases to be an option doesn't make the goal impossible. It just means you need to expand your thinking about the different ways you could achieve your goals - and perhaps clarify why you want those goals. If my goal of spaghetti and meatballs is just about eating something for dinner, than any old dinner option will do. If I am craving that and ONLY that will do, then success becomes a much narrower target and there may need to be some negotiating. Surely if we can adjust our dinner aspirations with such dexterity, then our life goals deserve just as much flexibility.

I don't mean for that to be trite. It's easy to adjust something like dinner for several reasons. For starters dinner is a fairly simple process - it's four or five steps from start to finish that you've done (and adjusted around) hundreds of times. Additionally, if dinner doesn't turn out as planned, life goes on without too much heartbreak. It's a significantly smaller scale. Whereas, a career often spans decades with numerous twists, turns, successes, and failures. Often, they become closely tied to our identity, making them seem even more urgent and precious, and leading us to feel like the prescribed path is the surest was to achievement. It might make us more anxious to adjust our thinking around the things that matter more in our life, but it's clearly possible (given that we do it without a second thought in millions of other smaller scenarios) and it's worth it.

Your stories are valuable and needed. Your perspectives are valuable and needed. You will not hear that message from this industry. You will not hear that message from this society. You will have to be the one to tell yourself that - over and over and over again. Stepping back from the nitty-gritty details of the business to life your life doesn't make you "rusty" at telling stories. If anything, it reconnects you to your humanity. As artists, we preach the value of creativity. Creativity is not just a luxury item to be let loose when conditions are perfect. Creativity is what gets us over, around, and through the difficulties and limitations that life throws at us. Onward.

Thoughts? Comments? Questions? Post them below. The more, the merrier.

Always Be Storytelling

As the director, you are responsible for guiding the audience through your story. That includes anything and everything about their experience that you can possibly be involved with. If you can be involved in with the discussions around marketing, do it. That's likely to be the very first point of contact your audience has with your show. If you can effect the atmosphere in the lobby or the house - with music, displays, decorations - do it. This is all part of your canvas. But at the very least, you must be an active participant in shaping everything happening on stage from "lights up" through to "end of play". 

That seems like overly obvious statement, but many of the shows I go to see don't do this. Sure, the director has been involved with how the actors say their lines and where they move when, but they've abdicated their responsibility with regard to other elements. Every element of the production process is an opportunity for you to hone and clarify your story. The lighting design, the sound design, the costume design, the scenic design, the songs, the choreography (both for dance and fights) all need to contribute to the story you telling. This is not about being a dictation or a micro-manager. This is about leading the experience.

I have worked on musicals where the director did not direct any of the songs, saying that "was the music director's job". My guess is that this director felt like he didn't know anything about music and therefore wasn't qualified to weigh in on the process. I would argue that it doesn't matter what he knows about music, that his job is to have a constant eye on what story is being told. What does the text of the lyrics say? What emotional state is evoked by the music? Structurally, why is there a song at this point in the show? How is this moment supposed to inform the audience about the character that's singing it or what's going on in the story? Those are the questions that need to be answered in order to continue telling the story. The notes and the rhythms are for the music director to worry about. The storytelling is for the director to worry about. For the record, I am all for the music director weighing in on the storytelling. I know lots of brilliant music directors who bring tremendous perspective to the table. What I'm saying is that a director is shirking their responsibility if they skip over something because they don't feel comfortable with the details of it. 

The same goes for choreography. If the choreography is not serving the story - regardless of how fabulous it is - you've got to work with your choreographer about changing it. It's great that your ensemble can do triple pirouettes and kick themselves in the head. If they're supposed to be working class laborers or dorky high school kids the physical vocabularies of those characters need to be maintained in the choreography. Meaning, it's unrealistic to me, from a storytelling perspective, that they would suddenly transform into superstar, Rockette-style dancers. Not only should the choreography fit within the reality of your world, you should be fully exploiting it to reveal and distinguish who these characters are. Is the character rigid and uptight or loose and cool? What they communicate through their movement should be as clear as (and aligned with) what they say with their lines and lyrics. If it's fight choreography, what kind of a fighter are they? Do they rely on their speed? Or their strength? Or their smarts? Is this their first fight or their ten thousandth? There's so much more we can communicate than just "they were happy, so they danced" or "they fought and this side won".

Malcolm Gladwell, in Tools of the Titans, had a wonderful reflection about his father. He noted that one of his father's greatest strengths was that he had no intellectual insecurity whatsoever, and so he always felt completely comfortable asking these questions that other people might shy away from for fear of looking ignorant. I think in the arts, where quality can be hugely subjective, it's easy to get caught up in worrying about what people think of you. Instead, find security in knowing that you are well versed in storytelling, expand your perception of the canvas that's available to you, and embrace your questions. And Always Be Closing Storytelling.

Thoughts? Comments ? Questions? Post them below. The more, the merrier.

Slice and Dice

If there's ever any issue around time (eg. being part of a larger evening and needing to fit within a certain amount of time, trying to run without an intermission, just being too darn long, etc.) do your cuts before you get into the room.

I didn't think I would need to remind myself of this, but I recently made this exact mistake. It fell into the category of "I thought it wouldn't be an issue, so I didn't worry about it." Admittedly, you can't worry about everything. There are only so many hours in the day. But this particular instance wasn't about a lack of time. It was laziness (and perhaps false security).

Script cuts are not something I feel comfortable doing on the fly. They can be emotional for the playwright, who worked very hard to make the lines sound just so, as well as the actors, who are working hard to memorize and shape them. When working on a new piece, my ideal scenario is that I think through the cuts by myself, then discuss with the playwright, then let the actors know what the new landscape is (and allow them to petition for anything that they feel strongly about). For an established script, any cuts should be done before the actors ever see the production version of the script.

It's my responsibility to be smart about what I think should be cut and why. It's also my responsibility to avoid wasting our time in the room (if at all possible) while I suss that out. And ultimately, it's my responsibility to make the piece work within all of its confines. Limits are limits. You're welcome to be creative within those limits. But if you refuse to accept reality, it's only going to come back and bite you in the end. Nobody wins a Tony for the potential of their idea. They win a Tony for how their idea is executed.

Make the cuts that should get you where you need to be. Then take a second pass and make the cuts that will get you well beyond where you need to be. If you can make it work with the more severe version, go with that. This applies to any cuts you need to make regarding time or money. Cut early and cut hard. It's significantly easier to add things back. And once you've tried the lean route you'll have a better sense of what would be most beneficial to add back in.

Only taking action will get you the information you need. If you make the cuts, you'll learn whether they are too much. You'll learn what's crucial to this story. You'll learn what’s crucial to this production. Giving yourself the opportunity to think through those choices beforehand will help you make a decision about a direction to take. (Alternatively, being forced to make a choice in the moment forces you into guessing. Sometimes you make the right guess, but that's definitely not the lane I like to travel in.)

I will repeat. If there’s a possibility that time might be an issue, plan your cuts. If there’s a possibility that you might not be able to afford the production that you’re hoping for, plan your cuts. Maybe you won't need them. But if you do need them, you won't be guessing. You'll have a plan. Part of your job as the capital of the ship, is to anticipate and plan for what could go wrong. And time and money are reliably sparse in this business.

Thoughts? Questions? Comments? Post them below. The more, the merrier.

Better Angels Of Our Nature

Last week I saw a production of a new musical. It had a female director and a team of young writers, half of which were also female. I could not have been more disappointed. If you were to look purely at the main story arc, this show could have been written in 1950. As people who are creating and shaping cultural narratives, we need to take that responsibility seriously. One of the reasons I started directing was that I wanted to see women portrayed in a more three dimensional way on stage. I wanted to see more women represented on stage and I wanted to see them do something other than be a mother or a love interest. The world I experienced was much richer than the world I was continually seeing reflected back at me. In a previous post I talked about how theater can be valuable with regard to helping people their navigate emotional landscape in a healthier way. Another huge way that theater (and the other mediums for telling stories) can be hugely influential to the world around us is with regard to what they normalize. We've made tremendous progress since the 50's but that progress needs to be reflected in the stories we tell. One of the ways we can help move that progress along to an even greater degree is by shifting the narrative. Here are some things that this production could have done differently in order to be more interesting and serve as a better model for what normal could (should) be.

Women Shaming Women
Girl and boy break up. Girl is having a hard time getting over the break up and checks out boy's Facebook page. She sees him smiling in a photo with another girl. Girl responds by calling the other girl "a slut". I understand that girl is having an emotional outburst. I understand that her response is a laugh line. It's not necessary (what we need know is that he's moved on and she hasn't) and it's detrimental. Write a better joke. If anything she should be yelling at her ex-boyfriend for moving on. The new girl he's with is not at fault for anything. Women shaming other women - for the way that they dress, for how sexual they are or aren't - is something that just has to go. There's enough pressure from fashion and media around how a woman should look and behave. It shouldn't be reinforced in new works of theater. If her reaction has to go in that direction (and I maintain that it doesn't since it doesn't relate to her story line at all) I would rather that she called her "a bitch". At least that word does not carry the same shaming connotations.

Beta Female
The Girl does exactly what she's supposed to do and waits for her ship to come in. She bends over backward to please everyone around her. Finally, she lands a man. The Boy has been living the high life down on Wall St, but is fired after a corporate faux pas. He ultimately learns to follow his heart and do something meaningful. These characters are certainly still present in the modern world, but they are the low hanging fruit. They are the default, factory-setting positions for these characters. Unless there's something super unique about them or their worldview, it's really difficult to make them interesting. If, at the very least, you just switch the genders (making her a career driven alpha female and him a people pleasing artist) you're at least starting from a more interesting place. Additionally, the world needs more stories with powerful women and sensitive men. We are saturated with the reverse and it does not serve us as a society. We would do well do get to a point were a high powered executive is just as likely to be imagined female as male. Where the stay at home parent is just as likely to be portrayed male as female. If there are fewer societal stigmas separating genders, it allows everyone to find the lifestyle that best suits their skill set. Which in turn yields people who are happier and more fulfilled. Everybody wins!..But only if we shift the narrative around what's "normal".

Woman As Conquest
Boy is at a bar with some of his co-workers. His co-workers decide that he needs to "score" with a Girl and set about trying to help him "win" her. The co-workers know nothing about the Girl they think he should pursue. Boy also knows nothing about this Girl. (i.e. it's not a scenario where he's really gotten to know her and has just been too shy to ask her on a date). She has been seen and it is decided that she should be the evening's prize. Then follows a whole song and dance number about how to get her to go out with him. At the end of which she is cornered into engaging with him. This narrative (in addition to being about as boring as they come) in the larger context of our society is harmful for both genders. It reduces women to being viewed as objects and reduces a man's masculinity to his ability to "win" her. We would never believe a friendship or even a business partnership that was based on such a flimsy premise. We would expect the two parties to discover that they had something in common and something to gain from engaging with each other. But we would also expect both parties to opt in. You win the lottery, you win a game, you a court battle. You don't win another human being. With regard to this particular scene and song in the production, it felt like this resulted because the writers felt like they needed a song featuring the Boy's Friend. Which is completely valid. But in that case make it about how to appropriately and respectfully ask a girl out. Or how to put your best foot forward. Or how to build a relationship that lasts. Or any number of other relevant topics. There are numerous ways this concept could have been avoided and the effort needs to be made to do so. It's one that is overdue for extinction.

Consent
Boy and Girl meet at a bar. Which then progresses to a date - they leave the bar (and their friends) to go out for hot dogs. At the end of said date, he kisses her. Why not instead have her kiss him. That at least makes her an active partner in their courtship. Best of all would be before anyone kisses anyone (that they only just MET a few hours before), they say, "May I kiss you?" and wait for the response. The issue of consent is a huge cultural shift that is long overdue. This adjustment costs us nothing with regard to the story. It doesn't change the plot at all - what we need to understand is that they like each other, which we still get. It might add a line of dialogue, but it doesn't even have to be a stopping point. They don't have to have a whole conversation about consent. It's probably better for the overall flow of this piece if they don't. It's just a tiny blip that says "asking for someone's consent before you engage with their body is a normal thing to do." We need to allow the idea that characters can engage with each other as active and willing participants to be romantic. And steer clear of glamorizing the notion that it's somehow more meaningful if one character pushes themselves on another.

I don't think any of these examples were decisions that were made in an attempt to perpetuate these older, not-so-helpful narratives. I think they weren't decisions at all. I think they were defaults. The point is that if you are not conscious about what your work is saying, your work could be saying things that you wouldn't intend to say.

Be aware - it is the first part of the process. Think from your highest intelligence - there are so many other solutions that can be found once we recognize we're not going in the right direction. Take responsibility for what you create - the world is listening.

Thoughts? Questions? Comments? Post them below. The more, the merrier.