This is just sort of how I feel today. And it’s a great short, found via dooce.

Oh wait, there we are...

As a sort of foot note to yesterday’s post, I should tell you that The Photographer and I went to see PHOTOG and Studies in Motion together.  I figured he would enjoy that both production had a connection to photography and that there might be something interesting in it for each of us.  The shows were vastly different, but did share the photography connection as well as the fact that both companies are Vancouver-based. Seeing as we go to the theatre rather infrequently and we went to these two shows within less than a month of each other,  The Photographer’s immediate response to this was, “Doesn’t anybody from Toronto produce theatre in Toronto?”  Interesting point.

Of course, people from Toronto do produce theatre here.  Apparently I just don’t see very much of it.  To be fair, the places where I tend to find tickets are places where one wouldn’t expect to find as many Toronto companies, if any. At the same time, the places where I tend to be the most are also some of the biggest presenters in the city.  So what does that say, if anything?

Anyway, this prompted me to do a bit of a review of what I saw in 2010.  No, I’m not going to post a list, mostly because I am too embarrassed by how little I managed to see (apparently, internet, there are some things I won’t share), but I’ll give you some statistics:

Over 65% of the shows I saw in 2010 were by companies that were not based in Toronto.

Of those shows that were by companies not based in Toronto, two-thirds were by Vancouver-based companies.

Very interesting.  Apparently we are not, in fact, the centre of the universe.

King Street, by flickr user Duchamp through Creative Commons

As a society, we have become so obsessed with technology that it now permeates every aspect of our lives.  Computers, smartphones, tablets, e-readers, even chip & pin technology and credit cards are now so much a part of our collective experience that frequently we view them as extensions of ourselves.  We forget that there was once a time when computers required desks and phones could only be used to call someone (never mind when your phone had to be connected to the wall).  We love technology.  It brings us closer, connects us, gives us immediate access, allows us to engage in global conversations and to look at the world in new ways.  And it’s a testament to our creativity and to our survival as a species that we continue to find ways to adapt existing technology and to use it all to make our lives easier.

But the more we become digital beings, consumers of technological goods, with endless identities and profiles, summing ourselves up in fill-in-the-blank profile categories or 140 characters, the less human we are.  We “friend” people and somehow believe that clicking a button solidifies a bond.  We “follow” people across the globe and we “like” what they’re doing, but we are not necessarily any closer to understanding their work, their motives, or their art than before the advent of the internet.  We connect with these people in our communities via the internet, and we use that as an excuse never to step outside our front doors.  The more we tweet, the less we talk to people.  And it is this superficiality that is the danger of the digital world.

It took a few trips to the theatre for me to realize this, the first being to a movie theatre.  Several sleepless nights followed my screening of The Social Network, as ideas about relationships and (dis)connectedness and transparency raced through my mind.  I was particularly affected as so much of my young-adulthood and my education have been defined by the era of Facebook; though it’s no longer listed in profiles on the site, I have been a member of Facebook since April 2004, which is to say, since the beginning.   We didn’t realize then the behemoth the site would become.  We joined a bit blindly, unaware of Facebook’s power and influence, drawn in more by the excitement of something new (as if there weren’t enough of that for 18 year olds in Manhattan).  But this is how all trends begin, isn’t it?

As it pertains to theatre, the current trend seems to be the incorporation of all things digital or multimedia in any and every way possible.  Sometimes this happens with great success.  More frequently it does not.  I have witnessed a bit of both and much more of the grey area in between.   But it was the combination of Boca del Lupo’s PHOTOG at Harbourfront Centre and Electric Company Theatre’s Studies in Motion at Canadian Stage that really made me reconsider the role of technology on the stage and its impact on the theatre.

For PHOTOG, a one-man show written largely verbatim from interviews with conflict photographers, Boca del Lupo used projections and live video to superimpose the actor on the photographs he was referencing throughout the show.  For fleeting moments, the effect worked–we understood what they were attempting to impart.  But it was a disjointed effect as the colors on the video and the photograph were at different saturation levels and  whenever the light changed or the actor moved, holes would appear in the video projection and pieces of his face or his head would suddenly disappear.   I suppose one could argue that this was a part of the production, a commentary on the state of mind of the character, but it didn’t seem to be a deliberate choice.  These segments made up the better part of the production and, while I applaud the attempt and the innovation, it would have benefited greatly from an editor or curator.  They used every technological toy and trick, all to the detriment of the story.  And there was an incredible story buried beneath all of the smoke and mirrors.  I grant that this was a new work, perhaps still in development, but in attempting to do everything, they accomplished next to nothing.

Studies in Motion, a bio-show of sorts about the 19th century photographer Eadweard Muybridge and the past that haunts him,  occupied the opposite end of the spectrum.  It offered a crisp, clean, effectively directed and bravely performed production with seamless, well-integrated projections.  The effect of projected images, whether as still photographs or as moving pictures, was a beautiful compliment to the complexity and intricate choreography of the production.  In essence, Electric Company Theatre could not have used technology more effectively in this production.  It was flawless.  And I very much enjoyed it.  But, as someone leaving the theatre behind us put it, “I don’t know.  I just wanted more…”  Because for all the beautiful images and the successful technological tricks, I’m not convinced it achieved its aims in storytelling anymore than PHOTOG did.

For different reasons, both productions were overcome with the superficiality of technology.  Weak technical aspects that made up the majority of PHOTOG distracted from what could have been an incredible story.  Strong use of technology in Studies in Motion (along with strong direction, choreography, and performances) disguised a weaker story.  I found the former disappointing and frustrating.  The latter has stuck with me in vivid images, the contents of the story having since dissipated.  This is the dangerous intersection of storytelling and technology, full both of pitfalls and potential.

There is a place in the theatre for technology, for technical wizardry and for multimedia effects.  I applaud companies that take the risk of trying something new, that push boundaries, innovate, and chart new territory, whether they are successful in their attempts or not.  There is always value in experimentation.  But not every experiment deserves to see the light of an opening night.  It is our job as artists to know the difference.

As David J. Loehr wrote recently in a great post on 2AMt, “Any story worth telling can be told by one person with a chair, and the chair is optional.  It’s amazing how easily we can forget that.”  I think technology allows us not only to forget that all we need is the person (and perhaps the chair) but to forget that not all stories are worth telling.  Or rather, that all stories are worth telling, but not always in the way we think.  Strict biography and recited verbatim do not necessarily make good theatre in and of themselves, but can serve as the basis for something more.  There is a reason we are not all playwrights.  While we might all have a story to tell (and I believe we do), we don’t always all know the best way to go about telling it.  Technology is the mask we use to hide our fears behind in that regard.  And to pretend that technology lends us the ability to do what only skilled playwriting can accomplish is similar to pretending that every name on our Facebook friends list represents a true friendship.  We are only deluding ourselves.

To create theatre, we must find the stories worth telling and remember that our job as theatre artists is just that: to tell the story.  Technology serves its purpose, but should be used sparingly and only, if ever, in service of the story.  Because if that story is interesting enough, if it is compelling enough, and if we are brave enough, theatre needs nothing more for performance than the power of a single human voice.

Edit: Jacob Coakley at Stage Directions wrote this post in “rebuttal” to mine.  While I think it misses the spirit of what I am saying, it is absolutely a worthwhile read.  He makes several good points and there is a very interesting dialogue happening in the comments section.  Take a moment and check it out!
Edit 2.0: Here is an awesome post from Michael Wheeler at Praxis Theatre that goes more in depth with regards to how Electric Company Theatre works.  I actually think that “Studies in Motion” is even more interesting within the context of their evolution as a company.  For the record,  I also think that the Electric Company is an incredibly important theatre company and that they are vital to our theatre ecology.

From flickr user ampersan, through Creative Commons licence

The summer is almost upon us (I sincerely hope) and, as such, I will be returning to my role of teaching teenagers about theatre for eight or so weeks at my favourite cultural institution in Toronto.  This year, there is a strong focus on artist-driven programming, which I think is fabulous, and on sharing passion, whether it’s for theatre, for visual arts, for skateboarding, for sports…because, if you’ve ever been taught anything by someone who was truly passionate, you know that it can be a life-changing experience.

With that in mind, I’m hoping my friends out there on the interwebs might be able to help me out as I launch into organizing my programming.  I will be teaching 13-15 year olds about drama.  I believe in adjusting what I’m facilitating for the group I’m working with, and I plan to incorporate a lot of their own curiosities and interests.  I’m hoping to structure my plans for each session around a list of questions that I hope each of them will be able to begin to answer at the end of two weeks–such as, why is theatre important?   And so I’ve started the list…

But I’m wondering, what do you think is an important question related to drama/theatre?  What do you wish someone had told you or taught you when you were 13?  What would you teach 15 year olds about theatre now?  Or, was there an important lesson or experience you had about theatre (or not) when you were that age?  What do you still wonder about now?

From flickr user xiaming, through Creative Commons licence

I should not be offering audition advice for so many reasons.  I can’t even begin.  But Sabrina Evertt is the Artistic Producer of 20-Something Theatre.  This means she probably has more street cred than I do.  And she has written a fabulous post about how to choose audition material.  A follow up post to some fantastic advice she offered on the topic last year.  So if you’re looking for good advice on auditioning or monologues, you should probably talk to Sabrina.  Not me.  But if you’re in it for the entertainment value, well, stick around!

Lois gave a pretty fantastic round-up of our adventures on her blog.  Also, she’s really good at taking photos of herself with others (you know, that whole one-armed-hold-the-camera-out-in-front-of-you-my-space routine).  Amanda, who Lois stayed with, also has some awesome pictures on flickr, especially from the night she kidnapped us and took us to Niagara Falls.  In the middle of a lightening storm.  And Lois and I made a stop-motion video of our adventures while we were at the Science Centre.

Lois and I with our stop-motion video characters...

But we’ll come back to this…

So Lois basically flew across the country to hang out with relative strangers.  And, of course, to do theatre-related things.  But still, that is a leap of faith and a bold move.  And I have to admire that kind of risk-taking and the spirit of adventure that accompanies it.  Because we had an amazing time.  From the first moment to the last.  It was kind of as if we’d known each other forever–Amanda, too, and Nancy, who made a one night venture down from Ottawa.  It was like a reunion of old friends, not a get together of random internet friends (whatever exactly that means).  And what is really cool about that, to me, is that it proved the potential these connections have for jumping off the web and into the real world.  Because I absolutely value my connection to everyone on the internet, but it is, despite all technological advances, a limited relationship.  And nothing beats the real thing.

So, yes, we had an awesome week.  And we spent the last day cramming in as many Toronto tourist attractions in as possible…

At the top of the CN Tower!

I'm a Mountie! (Gift shops are fun...)

Oh yes, we did...but we weren't allowed to take pictures inside so this is the best you get!

Shaking it with the Van de Graff generator!

Hair, stand up!

I’m pretty sure that the Science Centre really solidified our friendship.  Because it was exactly like being kids again, when making friends was easier and really only required a willingness to play.  And that is exactly what we did–we played.  We giggled with ridiculous anticipation in the Harry Potter “line” (we were totally the only ones there) to the point that the lady in charge said we must be best friends or old friends.  We spent an hour making a stop-motion video and just letting our creativity take us where it would…  And we sat through an entire presentation on electricity with small children so we could play with the Van de Graff generator.  Where I told the woman in charge that Lois had to put her hand on the ball because “she is the responsible one.”

I miss Lois.  Please send her back soon, Vancouver.

From flickr user --b-- through Creative Commons.

A little over a month ago, I made a pledge to attend the theatre more often, and I am pleased to announce that I stuck to my guns.  More or less.  I also agreed to work three evenings a week at Harbourfront Centre during theatre prime time, which put a bit of a damper on my ambitions, but I did indeed attend more theatre in the past month than I have in quite a while.  And I still didn’t get to see everything I wanted to see.  Oh, and I did not go broke.  So I feel as if I’ve accomplished something!

Now, I could tell you about everything I saw…but I don’t really want to.  Because, on this beautiful Monday, it seems that it would be a bit book report-ish.  No.  I only want to tell you about one show, the last one I went to see, especially in light of Trisha Mead’s post at 2amtheatre about how NOT to build younger audiences…Think of this as a case study…

This past Friday night, Canadian Stage hosted a late night sort-of opening party for Catalyst Theatre’s Frankenstein, currently playing at the Bluma.  The party started at 9pm and the show began at midnight (and was 2 hours long plus a 20 minute intermission, meaning I was actually still at the theatre at 2am) and the whole thing seemed largely aimed at the younger crowd, with invitations having largely gone out to GYM members, a group for young emerging artists run by CanStage.

The party was, I think, an interesting failure.  I admittedly missed most of it as I was sucked into TLC’s Friday night wedding shows (pretty dresses! flowers! sparkly things!).  By the time I arrived, around 11:30pm, it basically looked like a rave.  There was a DJ playing some kind of techno noise (in my opinion) and several people in Goth attire and all white–Goth for the traditional Frankenstein look and all white because this particular production uses white paper costumes/sets and blacklight.  It looked like everyone had been having fun, but after three hours, they also seemed ready for the show to start and, let’s face it, not everyone loves techno…

Tickets for the party/show were $10, which is a huge steal for a show at the Bluma, thus the dragging of my butt off the couch at such a late hour.  Plus, there was free food (allegedly, I saw none of it but I’ll extend the benefit of the doubt and say that maybe this was due to my late arrival) and if you wore all white you got a free drink.  Except that you didn’t.  A few people in our group were refused their free drinks–one girl was in a white dress but had on brown shoes and thus did not qualify.  Apparently we were meant to spend the $64 saved on each ticket to buy white shoes.  Which some of the older patrons clearly did (seriously, the gentleman seated next to me was in a full three piece white suit with white patent leather shoes.  He was also over 50).  Note: CanStage, the younger crowd was not impressed by this.  Granted, we got $10 tickets and fabulous seats to a fantastic show, so we really don’t have any major complaints, but if you advertise a free drink for wearing all white, you should probably follow through.  And if you aim those advertisements at young adults, be realistic in your expectations and appreciate the people who made a genuine effort.  We probably don’t have the funds to go out and buy a whole new outfit for this one thing.

But my group of young emerging artists wasn’t the only demographic represented at this event.  While the audience certainly skewed younger, there were also several older patrons, CanStage regulars most likely, in attendance.  And quite a few goth teenagers.  As well as a whole slew of 18-20somethings who did not seem to be regular theatre-goers.  Which was fantastic to see.  It was actually quite a diverse audience.  Which is what made the whole event interesting (I mean, aside from the show itself).  This was a group of people not normally seen at the theatre together and it was fun to share this particular experience with all of them.

Now, back to that post at 2amtheatre: Trisha Mead writes that these kinds of parties don’t really work for expanding a theatre’s subscription base, board, or audience and that, ultimately, “You spend an extraordinary amount of time and resources to find food, booze, etc….Your art form is an afterthought. The percentage of new patrons gained in your target demographic does not even remotely compensate for the staff time, organizational energy and resource gathering it takes to carry this off.”  And, frankly, she’s mostly right.  While it was fabulous to see such a diverse audience at a $10 midnight show at CanStage and the party was a nice touch, free drinks or not, the reality is that this is not sustainable.  Most shows at CanStage are not $10.  In fact, most CanStage shows at the Bluma are prohibitively expensive for the younger demographic.  And most shows at CanStage do not appeal to younger audiences (although perhaps this is going to change under Matthew Jocelyn, their new Artistic Director).  Which is really disappointing to me personally because CanStage supports young artists and I really want to support them in return, but I really can’t afford to attend.  And how many theme parties can you really throw?  Eventually, this model gets old.

However, I said that I thought the party was an interesting failure.  In Mead’s version of these events the “art form is an afterthought,” which I agree is frequently the case,  but on Friday night at CanStage, the art form and not the free food or booze was the reason to attend.  People came for the opportunity to see a much-anticipated, exciting, innovative show that they would otherwise have been unable to afford.  Of course, it’s possible some of them could have or would have shelled out the $74 per ticket, so perhaps the reason they showed up is that this was an opportunity to see CanStage in a different context, more relaxed and less restrained.  They are one of the largest theatre institutions in Toronto and have a somewhat stuffy reputation, particularly for productions at the Bluma.  I hope this newer, freer attitude is something they will continue to embrace because I think it is central to getting younger audiences to show up at the theatre.  Theatre should be accessible: the price should be affordable, the art should be of interest to people in that target demographic, and the atmosphere should be one that embraces both younger and older audience members.  If you can do this, you won’t need to worry about the party or the food or the booze.

As for the show itself, it was pretty amazing.  And serious props to all of the performers for giving incredible performances well into the wee hours of the morning, their commitment and energy was absolutely phenomenal.  I think there are still some things that need to be tweaked (too many set changes and a lot of the music sounds the same) but this is definitely stylized theatre at its best and is worth the $74 a seat.  It’s brave, innovative, thoughtful, and definitely entertaining.

Catalyst Theatre’s Frankenstein plays at the Bluma until May 29, 2010.

I am late for the party.  So late, in fact, that I’m sure many of you are already planning next year’s party, having now fully recovered from this year’s festivities.  There’s really no excuse for being so unfashionably en retard.  But, alas, here I am.  What with work, celebrations, birthdays, and my body’s violent objections to the sexual activity of trees, time galloped away from me.  And now, as I’m wiping away the dust it so unceremoniously kicked in my face on its way, I’m going to tell you a secret:  I’m not sorry.  Because being waylaid by the every increasing demands of my barely manageable schedule simply meant that I was out living life, my friends.  And, while I missed you all, it was nice.  This is called blogging without obligation.

You can't always have your cake and eat it, too. Except that this was my birthday cake and I did eat it. And it was delicious. Just saying.

But all that being said, I have returned with things to tell you about.  Not the least of which is my very belated contribution to the World Theatre Day 2010 meme about what theatre means to me.  I’ll tell you about what I actually did on WTD 2010 later.  Because it was pretty neat.  And I did manage to write this in time for WTD 2010.  Actually, I wrote it at Free Fall at the Theatre Centre, between seeing I’m So Close and KISMET: One to One Hundred. But I still haven’t managed to record it.  Well, you win some, you lose some…

What Theatre Means to Me

My theatre career started in Grade 4 when I was cast as Mother Goose in the school play.  I am neither motherly nor a goose, though I do appreciate a good rhyme, and I wasn’t cast for my talent so much as my ability to speak clearly and, of course, my volume.  That’s right–they put me centre stage because I was loud!  Now, to be fair, my public speaking and dance careers both began at a younger age, but it was truly Mother Goose that launched me into theatre!  And at that point theatre, to me, meant fun and play and, of course, attention.  Not to mention an extra-curricular alternative to sports that involved running because then, as now, I did not believe in running.

So I played in the theatre as a princess and an apparition, a noblewoman and a fool, a snake and a queen, and the more time I spent in the theatre, the more intoxicated I was by the endless possibilities, the limitless power of telling stories–because even if it’s all the same story, it is always possible to rearrange it, to tell it in a new way, to breathe new life into it.  And that was, and still is, exciting to me.  So I spent years exploring, examining, manipulating, and retelling stories.  And theatre meant, to me, stories.  Because everyone has a story.  And by entering into each other’s stories, we are given an opportunity to better understand and appreciate each other.  Part of the power of theatre is in its shared humanity, the language of common experience.  And this interest, this questioning, this interest, got me cast many times over between Mother Goose and university.  Plus, I was still loud.

So I went to theatre school, where I learned about theatre’s role in creating community.  What separates theatre from many art forms is that vibrant, alive, in your face communal experience.  Theatre shares, between audience and artist, between cultures, between class and race and past and present.  Theatre, to me, means community and dialogue and sharing.  But the thing about theatre school is, everyone is loud.  There are a lot of people talking and everyone is trying to be heard and it’s chaotic and energetic and wild and just to make yourself heard above the din requires a force beyond reckoning and something clear, something new, something uniquely you to say.  The real world is like this too, but louder, busier, and much more brutal.  Theatre, to me, means a voice.

Happy Sunday, my friends…

Deep in the forest, from flickr user movito through Creative Commons

I had this thought on Tuesday morning that I should go to the theatre more often. It was part of my need-another-coffee-focus-brain-don’t-kill-the-other-commuters trek through Union Station. I don’t really know where the idea came from or why it chose to pop up at that particular moment, but it did. And, I reasoned, it’s true. I should go to the theatre more often. I have to admit (and I hate to admit) that I really don’t go all that frequently. In fact, I would be embarrassed to tell you how infrequently I go to the theatre. So I won’t. Because there are limits to the level of internet-embarrassment I will subject myself to. Suffice to say, I don’t go to the theatre nearly enough.

I realize I should go more often. And that some of the reasons I don’t could be viewed as excuses (and some of them really are just that). And I also know that there are some theatre-going rockstars out there and I am completely in awe of their commitment and ability to be present at just about everything. But I seem to be limited. Funding is certainly an issue. Yes, there are a lot of tickets in the $10 – $20 range, which is perfectly reasonable pricing. The problem is that it doesn’t take long for this to add up. And it’s an unfortunate side effect of making a living in the arts that you then have no extra cash flow to push back into the arts. It’s actually quite the paradox: we all want to be paid for our art, but we don’t want to (or can’t afford to) pay to support the arts.

There is also the question of time. It is a time commitment to go to the theatre. And time = money. So see above. I also find that I can only drag my significant other to so many things before his head explodes and going to the theatre alone is far less fun.

If it makes any difference to anyone, I don’t go to the movies either. But this was not the point of this post. So back to Tuesday…

As I was on my way to teach drama to the German children, I got a Twitter message from the lovely Alison asking if I wanted to join her at the theatre that very evening. This is why I love Twitter. Because I have never really met Alison, although I have seen her before. A bit stalker-ish, I know. Also, not the first time this go-to-the-theatre-via-Twitter offer has happened, although it usually only happens when I have a schedule conflict. But I digress… I decided that my brain having brought this very issue up earlier in the day was a sign. After a bit of mental math related to my schedule (read: will I have enough time to go home and change out of these yoga pants/wash my face?), I agreed to meet Alison at Passe Muraille . Because here is an offer to go to the theatre with another person who enjoys theatre. Where is the downside, please?

Ugh, rain. Rain was the downside. But I was determined. I said yes. I can’t bail, I won’t bail, bad weather be damned.

So I went to the theatre on a rainy Tuesday night with a relative stranger. And I had a lovely time. Partly because I finally got to meet another of my Twitter friends. And partly because I thought Theatre Rusticle’s Birnam Wood was really interesting. I’m intrigued by almost anything that takes Shakespeare as its jumping off point. And I found this particular exploration of one of my favourite plays to be very alive and beautiful (props to Lindsay Anne Black, another Twitter friend, for some seriously awesome design). It had an ethereal, other-worldly quality about it that was exhilarating as an audience member; it was nice to get lost in another world on a miserable Tuesday evening. This was also my first exposure to Theatre Rusticle, and it made me want to move. In fact, I felt like I was having flashbacks to a really fabulous movement class in second year at Strasberg. So thanks for all that, Alison.

Afterward, I started thinking about my life as a theatre-goer. And I realized that I love being an audience member almost as much as I love being on stage.  Almost.  When I lived in London, we went to the theatre at least once a week.  Not only was I happy to be supporting a vibrant theatre community, but going to the theatre had a profound impact on my own artistic practices and creativity.  It challenged me, made me question things, in short, made me work harder.  It was inspiring. I miss that feeling!

For me, the benefits outweigh the challenges of attending theatre.  Which means, financially, I am going to have to suck it up.  I will make time.  I will go by myself if necessary.  But I will go.

So welcome to that experiment.  Let’s see how many shows I can make it to in the next month…