"Encanta" and indie theatre in the 21st century

Free copies of a full-length play for virtual strangers is not how things are usually done. For the most part, people usually have to pay to see a performance or buy a published script. But with Encanta, I've been much more free-handed about things that I ordinarily would be.

However, it does make you wonder: why would a playwright without a job at a pie factory hand out a script for free that is probably worth charging money for?

The first reason is pragmatic: plays are ultimately meant to be performed, not just read. Production, not publication, is where it's at for a play. The text of a play is, in my view, closer to sheet music than to a novel. Reading Beethoven's Symphony No. 5, while very likely meaningful and enjoyable, is nothing compared to hearing even a recording of it.

Secondly, a lot of theatre hasn't quite caught up to how to reach out via social media beyond promoting the next show. I'm not going to change that by myself, but I do want to do my part to engage 21st century audiences beyond asking people to follow me on Twitter or "like" my Facebook page.

For me, the internet has been crucial for building an audience. It makes no sense for me to treat their participation as auxiliary to bringing my work to life. It also makes no sense for me to make my work less available to them just because they cannot be physically present at a performance.

Then there's the fact that I have never given my script to someone and had them less interested in a live performance. The vast majority of the time, when I gave out my script, the person reading it said, "I have to see this live."

So, to me, this means that I need a different process for engaging audiences with my work.

I came up with 3 layers of engagement that I believe would be a good way to guide how I get my work to its audience from now on.

The first layer is the "Hey, I'm writing this play. Interested?" layer. I call it "Creation" in the picture because that's what was legible in the circle.

This part of the process is not just about writing the piece. It's about sharing my vision for what the play will mean to the audience. For me, one of the first things I ask is, "Who will see themselves here?" and "What are they going to see about themselves?" It's the appetizer and a taste of what's to come.

A story about a sorceress and a pirate falling in love is nothing spectacular in and of itself. But when I say that every single character is LGBTQ and Latin@/Afro-Latin@, that means something to people. People, especially people excluded and marginalized in arts and entertainment, care about that because they want to see themselves in ways they normally don't get to see themselves. So, they're immediately hooked and want to know more about where I'm going with it. This usually means a complete draft. Or several, in the case of Encanta.

From here on out, things are a bit more experimental.

The second layer is the, "Let's see what we can do online" phase. I call it "Virtual Event" in the picture because, again, it's legible and fits in the circle. This is the main course.

The first thing that came to mind for this was a livestreamed performance where the audience hangs out in a chatroom or on a Twitter hashtag. No camera tricks. No movie magic. Just what actors can do just from the strength of their performance. This includes readings, staged readings, and workshop productions. Not to mention interviews with the writer, cast, and crew, and so on. I believe this could be the main form most performances would take because they would by far be the most accessible.

I have no idea how the logistics of this where tickets and what not are concerned, but it's one of the ideas I had.

Finally, there's what I call "Live Event" (once again, because it fits and its legible), which in my mind I think of as the "Icing on the Cake" layer.

Here is where the fully realized productions would happen. It's what we have for dessert. Just as every meal doesn't have dessert, every piece won't become a fully realized production. And that's fine. The point is to get the piece performed and in front of an audience.

The great thing about these layers is that they are very porous. None of them has to work in isolation from the others. For instance, it's entirely possible to combine a live event with a virtual event.

Special Valentine's Day thanks from Crossroads Theatre Project (aka me)

Anybody who knows me knows how much I HATE being on camera, so the fact that I made this shows that it really means something.

Back to my roleplaying roots

Inspired by Flux Theatre Ensemble's BARP (Big Artistic Risk Project) and Howard Shalwitz' TCG post about theatrical innovation, I've finally decided to put pen to paper about the sort of production process I want.

The more I think about it, the more I realize that I want a production process that goes back to my roots in roleplaying games like Dungeons and Dragons, World of Darkness, and so on. I come from a background where the only thing I needed to build a world, develop a story, and/or make a character were a few sheets of paper, a book, some dice and my own imagination.  I could enhance the experience with costumes and props, but I never needed them to feel fully invested in the setting, the story, or my character.

I love how, in roleplaying games, the act of exploration itself (through playing the game) organically gives rise to coherent characterization, narrative, and aesthetic. None of these things are truly determined beforehand. Sure, the Game Master (GM) may give you an idea of some of these things, and you can read about a lot of it online or in a rulebook. But it isn't until we start playing that those things really start to take form and come together.

I love the sheer freedom of roleplaying games. I love the fact that I don't have to wait to be given permission to bring something that enhances the game (music, pictures of people and places, props, even food!).  Even more than that, I love it when doing so inspires the other players to do likewise. In my favorite games, there was a jazzy vibe where each player brings something different yet essential, and we're constantly riffing off each other, just taking what each person offers and going with it.

The time commitment for a roleplaying game is also fairly manageable. It's not unusual for a group of roleplayers to meet every week and play for 3-4 hours. This could go on for months or years. I'm not talking about people who have no lives outside of roleplaying. I'm talking about people who often have families and full-time jobs that require their care and attention. For them, it's relatively to commit long-term to playing every Tuesday evening for the next five months. Much easier than, say, every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday evening for the next five weeks.

I want to get back to that. Or, to be more precise, I want to bring more of that into making theatre.

This cannot work with the way theatrical productions in NYC usually happen. The key elements that need to change are the division of labor and the time commitment.

I'll address the time commitment first because that's easier.

I'd rather do one two- to three-hour session every week for six months to a year than cram everything into 3-4 months of frantic activity. To me, it's like the difference between microwaving a can of soup and making soup from scratch and putting it in a crock pot. With more time to simply breathe, would more nuances in texture and flavor emerge?

I also want a process that lets go of expected results. Nobody begins a game knowing exactly what's going to happen by the end. So, I don't want to determine from the outset if this process would lead to a staged reading, a workshop, or a full production. It'll definitely lead to something, but I want to tailor the results to the process rather than vice versa. Let's say that the group commits to six months of weekly meetings. If, at the end of that, a fully realized performance is the next step, that's what happens. If a staged reading is where it's at, that's what happens. If it's something in between, that's what goes next.

Another aspect of roleplaying games that I want to see more of in theatre is blurring the line between audience and participant. In roleplaying games, the audience and the players are one and the same. While theatre often plays with the fourth wall (mostly by dragging them into the play somehow), I'd love to simply have a play where the characters are doing what they do while the audience itself forms part of the scenery somehow (as trees, a faceless mob, a flock of birds, people on the street, watchful spirits from beyond, or some such), and the actors treat it as such.

Now, I want to be clear that this wouldn't mean six months of navel-gazing and twiddling thumbs then getting to the "real" work of putting on the play (learning lines, blocking, etc.). It would still involve much of the same stuff as rehearsals and production meetings. The only differences are that: 1) everyone is involved from the outset, and 2) it becomes part of the rehearsal process rather than separate from it.

The way it usually happens in theatre is that the performance and the production are treated separately. So, you have the cast doing actor stuff while the crew does designer stuff and production stuff. And then there's the director who's trying to hold it all together with the help of the stage manager and maybe an assistant director. Not to mention the producer who's trying to keep it all under budget.

For the scope I prefer to work with, this seems inefficient and arbitrarily limiting to me. To me, it matters less who does what than that it gets done. That is, if it needs to get done at all. (Personally, I believe there's something to be said about exploring what can be done with nothing but performers in a space before putting a lot of time and effort and money into hiring a designer.) Even when choosing a designer, it always struck me as strange that their work gets done in isolation rather than in collaboration with the people who are most directly impacted by those design decisions.

I suppose that the general principle would be to add more to the production as the need arises. I'd start with the essentials: actors, text, an empty space. Everything else would be added once we see a need for it and not a moment before. For instance, a designer would only come into the picture if no one has ideas, if no one can agree on anything, or if something needs to be made that no one can make themselves.

This reflects the setup of the roleplaying games I've been a part of that all start with players, rules, and a place to play.

The trade-off for all this freedom and input is more responsibility for the production as a whole. Everybody does script analysis. Everybody does marketing and publicity. Everybody contributes ideas for the set, props, costumes, etc. Granted, there may be people who have the final say on these things, but the process of actualizing a performance is shared by all.

2013 theatre resolution: turning ideas into action

I'll be the first to admit that it's really easy for me to get lost into thinking so much about something that I forget that I can do something with it. First of all, the inside of my head is an incredibly fascinating place to be. Second of all, I'm often beset by crippling insecurity, which makes it hard to trust and act on my vision of things. I know this needs to change.

I've used a lot of pixels to talk about diversity in theatre, especially when it comes to race, but I have to confess something: I'm tired of saying the same damn thing. I'm tired of listening to the same damn thing. If, at this point, anybody is still not convinced that diversity is a real problem that requires real effort to fix, there's nothing I can say now that will change their mind. So why waste my time? At this point, diversity in theatre would be better served by me simply creating and putting up my own stuff than participating in any conversation how important diversity is.

That's not to say that discussion is meaningless. Just Do It might work well for a Nike slogan, but I do think that the best actions are those that come from creating a vision, clarifying core principles, and developing a strategy. That said, I do think we must be careful not to get lost in spinning our wheels and following up with real action.

The sad thing is that I know it can be done. I know because I'm seeing it happen in the synagogue I'm a member of. Several people on my synagogue's Anti-Racism Task Force initially came as a way to honor the work and memory of a member who had passed away. However, through several house meetings, we got a real sense of who we were and where we wanted to go. Then we got the Board involved, and that led to several of us participating in an Undoing Racism workshop geared toward religious communities. From there, that led: to a sermon about race for the High Holy Days, organizing house meetings to get more people involved with learning about and doing more with anti-racism at the synagogue, and working with synagogues for Jews of color to make our congregation truly welcoming and inclusive. There is a lot more going on, but I hope you see what I'm getting at.

I must make it clear that most of the people on the Anti-Racism Task Force were not starving artists like me. Most of them were working adults with jobs and families. Most of us don't identify as activists, either. We all come from different backgrounds and life experiences which inform our perspectives. That said, we committed to learning and growing together, and that allowed us to make huge strides in a short amount of time.

This is the experience I want to replicate in theatre. With that in mind, I know I have to make some real decisions.

My first real decision, then, is to only work with people who are committed to anti-racism in theatre. Even if I'm working with an all-women's group or all-LGBTQ organization, experience has taught me that lacking a commitment to anti-racism leads to excluding and exploiting the people of color within these institutions. It's a strategic organizing decision based on how I've seen these things pan out (confirmed by my participation in the Undoing Racism workshop).

This doesn't mean that the whole organization needs to have a complete anti-racist analysis from the onset (though it helps). There are a variety of ways to do this, but putting brown faces on the website doesn't count, nor does tacking on diversity in the mission statement or core values. I need to get a sense that the organization is taking active steps toward learning and growing in that regard. It doesn't have to be anything grand, but if I ask, "What are you doing to make your organization anti-racist?" even something as simple as, "Our Program Director is going to participate in the Undoing Racism Workshop by the People's Institute for Survival and Beyond," will mean a lot.

I know this will be more difficult since I'm no longer in NYC, but I'm also still participating in the Task Force despite being hundreds of miles away. There are ways to do this. All I need now are the right people to come with me.

I write for fandom

This post about Geek Theater made it to Flux Theatre Ensemble's Facebook Wall, so naturally I gave it a read because any excuse to read about magic and dragons and elves and shit like that is something I'll take up without a second thought.

Then it got me thinking about the kind of audience I want. Who are the people I would love to jam-pack a performance of Encanta or Tulpa, or Anne&Me?

In a word: fandom.

No, I don't mean people who do nothing but sing my praises to the high heavens and petition me with prayers for my next theatrical "baby." That would be nice, though.

The people I want to support my work are not passive consumers, nor are they patrons of THE MOST NOBLE ART OF THEATRE. They are people who actively and passionately engage with what they see, no matter how silly it may seem to some. They are more likely to show their love by writing fanfic about my stuff than a glowing review. They would rather dress up like one of my characters for a cosplay event than get dolled up for an awards ceremony. They would talk at length about the parallels between a character I create and another one in a fandom I may or may not be part of. The lit crit-minded among them would ask meaty questions of the work and start discussions with one another on Tumblr and/or Twitter. The socially conscious among them will open up discussions about things like race, gender, and sexuality.

The people who would be connected to my work won't do so because of theatre per se, but because it connects to other geeky interests like anime, comic books, sci-fi and fantasy literature, and so on. My most recent work, Encanta, is actually a sort of love letter to The Evil Queen/Regina Mills, Lana Parrilla, Evil Regals, and Swan Queen shippers who love ABC's Once Upon A Time but still have things they wish the show would do. I make no bones about the fact that Encanta is Swan Queen AU fanfic. The people I want most in my audience would love this about that piece.

It's not about how much they would love me. Though, again, that would be nice. It's more about how my work would give them a space to express things about themselves that they can't in ordinary life because it looks weird or silly. I want my work to give people a way to reveal experiences and perspectives that don't often have a place to get talked about. A lot of times those experiences and perspectives come from, marginalized people and communities.

For instance, quite a few people have come to understand the things I've been saying for years about race, gender, and sexuality through my meta posts about Once Upon A Time. It's not like I'm saying anything different. As a matter of fact, I pull my punches even less frequently in those posts than I do in other places. But so many more people came forward with their own stories and their own experiences as a result of that effort. Come to think of it, the same happened with Tulpa, or Anne&Me. So many people talked about how the ways they connected to a character and/or the story. I like to think that's done a lot of good.

The thing about fandom is that the people in various fandoms are already primed to participate. All they need is a hook, a connection to something they already know and love. They don't have to be convinced to creatively and critically engage with a particular work. They already do that. All I have to do is let them.