Ron Russell of Epic Theatre Ensemble

A running commentary from the director of Epic Theatre Ensemble's production of MACBETH, updated periodically from rehearsals.

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MACBETH is playing April 15- May 26th
47th Street Theatre
304 w.47th Street, NYC

HOW FAR WOULD YOU GO TO GET BACK WHAT YOU THOUGHT LIFE HAD PROMISED YOU?

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I guess it’s no big surprise that the world of MACBETH is full of secrets.  After all, the play begins with prophetic witches on the one hand and deceitful political betrayals on the other, even before Macbeth and Lady Macbeth take any action.  But I’m beginning to see how notable it is what is NOT talked about in the play, given how much we are able to see of people’s motives.

For instance, trying to figure out through rehearsal why on earth Macbeth does not reveal the witches’ prophecy about Banquo to Lady M.  He says nothing in the letter to her, doesn’t bring it up before the murder, sends her away as it begins to gnaw at him, bluntly obfuscates to her when he tells her to “let your rememberance apply to Banquo” at the banquet that he knows Banquo will never attend.  I was asking Richard Easton about this during one of our film shoots of him as Duncan – it seems such a mystery to me when he is so clear with her about everything else (even telling her that he will go see the witches again, after the disaster of the banquet) – and Richard reminded me that he does not ever talk about children to her.  Certainly not sons.  And the “Banquo prophecy” is not about Banquo at all, really – it’s about Fleance.   In our production, there WAS a child of the Macbeths’ marriage in the past, a child that died.  She refers to this child just once, at a critical moment (“I have given suck”).  But it must be something that Macbeth has never come to terms with, and so can’t bring up.  And I think, much more than killing Duncan, this is his downfall, this inability to connect with Lady Macbeth.  It’s certainly hers.

And why doesn’t Macduff tell Lady Macduff where he is going, or why, when he goes to England?  Why not give her the information that would allow her to possibly protect herself or their children?  He obviously regrets it later, but why would a man of his “wisdom and judiciousness” fail to let in the one person for whom the information most matters?

As Ross, who has many secrets of his own, spying on his cousins the Macduffs for Macbeth, says, “Cruel are the times, when we do not know ourselves; when we hold rumor from what we fear, but know not what we fear, but float upon a wild and violent sea each way, and move.”  And perhaps this is the answer.  These men are not exactly keeping secrets from others – they are avoiding something within themselves.  Keeping a secret implies that there is an awareness, a hiding of a known fact.  And these men are afraid, a feeling that perhaps they’ve never felt before and don’t know how to deal with.  So they act rashly, close off common communication, and try to shift the problems from their souls into their minds and into their actions.  And this further isolates the women in the play, or anyone who COULD help these men discover the best course or strategy.  And as they avoid a deep reconciliation within themselves, as they equivocate with themselves, Scotland sinks deeper into blood.

I’m keying into Macduff’s dilemma in the play – is it desirable to remain honest in a world gone bad?  What would you be willing to lose to protect your integrity?

I don’t think that Macduff is meant by Shakespeare to feel heroic; we are not meant to feel any sense of triumph or satisfaction when Macduff finally kills Macbeth.  I think we’re meant to feel troubled by the choices he’s made, to have as complicated a view of him as we have of Macbeth.

 After all, why does he not stand up to Macbeth in the scene where Duncan’s murder is discovered?  He knows damn well what’s happened here – in the very next scene he’s making ironic jokes and deciding to go to Fife rather than see Macbeth crowned at Scone.  And what’s the logic in that decision?  Doesn’t know that it will make Macbeth suspicious, and ultimately put him in danger?

When he finally comes to his senses, instead of confronting Macbeth, he abandons his family and goes to England.  Great move, Einstein.  Leave your family exposed in a world he knows to be false and malicious.

Why can’t we always act like the men we believe ourselves to be?  Is what separates the good men from the bad the fact that we even ask this question?

“Did Heaven look on,

And would not take their part?  Sinful Macduff,

They were all struck for thee!

Not for their own demerits, but for mine,

Fell slaughter on their souls.”

Oooofff.  There’s no coming back from that, right?  There’s no heroism left.  Just hollow hollow “vengeance.”  Not even true vengeance, because Macbeth “has no children.”  Not that a man like Macduff would do anything to hurt his child even if he did.  At what price being true to oneself if you are the only one?

Starting rehearsal down two tracks – the deep realness and humanity of Macbeth and Lady Macbeth’s relationship – “Shakespeare’s only working marriage” as Jim Shapiro puts it – and the world of the witches.

 Ultimately the first question of the play is two-fold, or maybe two sides of the same coin: What makes the witches and their prophecies credible to Macbeth, and, what makes Macbeth susceptible to these prophecies.  I know, they seem like the same question, but I don’t think they are. 

 The first has to do with how the witches actually appear in this scene – what they are physically wearing and doing.  Are they walking?  Standing stock still?  Hovering?  Are they all together in a small clump, or spread across the space with Macbeth in the middle?  Is their mode deference to the great kings-to-be they are passing?   They are “withered” and “wild in their attire,” so much so that they “look not like the inhabitants of the earth.”  They “seem to understand” but are hesitant to speak.  Clearly they inhabit the fringes of civil society as Macbeth and Banquo see it.

 I can’t escape the idea that they are DOING something, not just appearing to Macbeth, but on their way somewhere, passed on the road – maybe Macbeth sees something that Banquo can’t?  that’s why he freezes?  That what makes them credible is that they are ASKED, that they don’t VOLUNTEER the information.  Macbeth could just as easily have NOT seen them, or NOT asked them, and would no nothing about it – that in and of itself gives the prophecy a strange credulity, it seems…

 So what makes Macbeth susceptible to them? As Jim pointed out, they arrive at a point where Macbeth is physically, perhaps even emotionally, exhausted, just trying to get to the appointed place at the appointed time before he collapses.  He is maybe already in a sort of fugue state from the “foul and fair”-ness of the day.  But I also feel like he has to see, during this scene, “the future in the instant” – he has to remember his lost child, his shattered wife, his stagnant career – all able to be erased in a second of belief.  If he can just believe in these witches and their words, if he can just put aside his skepticism, his fears, his hesitations, and trust his heart (which he writes in his letter to his wife).  The promise has been made.  Now he only has to believe that he is worthy of the greatness the promise implies.  It seems like much of the battle for Macbeth is not weighing whether or not to kill Duncan, but whether or not he is man enough to fulfill his own vision of himself and rescue back his future from the malaise and loss of his present.  One great stroke…and he’s free.  And happy.  And strong again.  And everything he always  vowed to his wife he would be.

Working with the design team tonight on the infamous Lady Macbeth “mad scene.”

The text does point to the standard vision of this scene as we usually see it performed, nightgown, candle, uplight, etc…  And it makes a kind of theatrical sense.  But it’s so commonly done that I feel like it’s become cliché.  And as such, it does not get at the visceral sense of fragmentation that the text points to – a kind of “out-of-time”-ness that she is experiencing.

I think the play exposes this amazing gap that we all experience sometimes, when we realize that our linear sense of time, the way one event connects temporally to the other, the sense of action and consequence following rationally upon each other, might be a myth.  Extreme grief can do this to us.  And I think Lady M has lost a child, and experienced that kind of totality of grief where time senses to have linear meaning.  She’s pulled out of it temporarily, through much of the play, by the opportunity she and her husband have to re-claim what they feel they have lost as a result of the malaise that has settled over their marriage and career advancement since the death of their son.  But when Macbeth begins to fall apart – to see ghosts, to murder Macduff’s son – her temporal disconnect returns, an extreme depression that leads her to lose track of where she is in time, to collapse all of the events on top of each other.  So her mad scene is the heart of the tragedy, I think – what is to evoke our pity and our fear and see how tenuous our own grasp on rationality might be if we were put through the extremities she has been put through.

 So no nightgown.  Trying to build that iconic image of the devastated mother or father who never leaves the couch; who watches old video of their living child – to torment themselves?  To try to re-capture some of the love and joy?  To try to make time straight again?

Hi everyone!  Ron Russell here - as of January 24th, 2012, portions of this blog were moved to ArtsJournal blogs at www.artsjournal.com/theatricalimperative

Please find me there, too, where I continue to post about Strategically Raising Artists Value in our Culture.  

BUT - I am now officially re-launching this blog as the new home of my thoughts on Shakespeare’s MACBETH, as I direct a production starring Ty Jones and Melissa Friedman, as well as all of your favorite brilliant Epic actors like Jim Wallert and Godfrey Simmons and Lori Parquet.

Please follow along as I post my thoughts after each rehearsal day - you can also find ou much more about the production, including buying tickets to the Off-Broadway run April 19 through May 25 at 47th Street Theatre in Manhattan, at www.epicmacbeth.org.

Look forward to hearing YOUR thoughts on this amazing play as we build the production!

Tom!  I wanted to thank you for your recent post “The Great Whiter-Than-Ever Way,” (http://www.apoorplayer.net/2012/01/the-great-whiter-than-ever-waywhich is now being commonly referred to as the “Is it so bad to admit that theatre is for white people?” post.  It’s a brilliant expose of the banal, but still incredibly insidious, dangerous, modern-day racism that lies beneath the innocent-looking façade of your average friendly, innocuous, white university professor chairing a third-rate theatre department in the middle of nowhere.  I’m blown away by the courage it must have taken to reveal not only your native disdain for all cultures, races, and concepts besides your own, but also your incredible intellectual barren-ness – what some would even call thunderous stupidity!  And to think – you’re a college professor!  You work with impressionable young minds EVERY DAY!  It’s just incredibly brave to reveal that you’re living your life half-asleep - something that could, in fact, SHOULD, cost you your job!   Bravo, sir.

I only have one quibble with your post.  When you use the word “admit” in what has become the de facto title of your post, I think you may have overstepped your bounds, even within the huge leeway you give yourself.  You see, an “admission” is generally a revelation of a hidden fact – now, that fact can of course be your personal opinion, as in “I admit that I feel like black people are beneath me culturally” – but the fact you purport to reveal is that the theatre is for white people.

This, unfortunately, is not a fact. 

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From “A Strategic Approach to Increasing the Value of the Theatre Artist,” by Ron Russell, Executive Director of Off-Broadway’s Epic Theatre Ensemble: This is a slightly abridged re-post of BOTH blogs of Part 1: “Becoming Essential,” (be warned – it’s about 7 pages!) which focuses on what the true value of theatre-makers is, or could be, in today’s America, starting from the perspective of “value” as material worth, and moving to a definition that embraces their importance and utility.

Before we can talk about the extrinsic value theatre artists ought to have in our society (what they get paid, what status they are given, what percentage of taxpayer dollars funnels their way, etc…), we need to try to define their intrinsic value.  This encompasses both what they do uniquely well, and why what they do matters.

The word “value” itself essentially means how we ascribe relative merit to things.  Common measures of merit are something’s material worth; it’s excellence; it’s importance; and/or it’s utility.  I’ll take a stab at each of these measures; and how they collectively add up to the definition of “values” as the ideals of our society, or our communal system of ethics. 

So, how do we measure what theatre artists are WORTH? 

When we talk about artist salaries in connection to their value, I think we spend way too much time focused on this particular definition, maybe because it’s the easiest: what is the relative monetary exchange weight of an artist?  That is, what price can they fetch in the marketplace?  A Broadway casting conversation using this definition might reasonably compare a Hollywood star with little stage experience to a “known” NYC actor who has won a Tony, asking how much people might be willing to pay to see this person do Shakespeare.  As a corollary, a person with no film resume and no awards could be assumed to be less of a financial draw, and therefore warrant a lower paycheck.  And so, the argument goes, non-commercial producers with less money at their disposal, in an effort to keep their ticket prices as low as possible, hire actors of equally high excellence (see below) but less recognition, and, de facto, pay considerably less than commercial producers because their worth is lower; even if the artist has the potential to be exchanged for large sums of cash, the non-commercial producer may not have the marketing dollar to leverage that potential into worth.

But there’s a problem with relying on this definition.  Broadway producers are for-profit entities; it’s sensible, even necessary, for them to measure artist value in terms of “material worth.”  But Off-Broadway, we’re mostly not for-profit entities; we have to be for something else entirely.  The annual budget is the spine of an organization’s belief system, and a non-profit can’t justify its’ existence by measuring the income it brings in at the box office (not that a robust box office is a bad thing; it just can’t be your mission).  This is one of many places where I think we have to be careful about applying for-profit logic to a non-profit business model.  Anyway, I think we can all agree that an artists’ capacity to make a producer money can’t be what makes them “essential.”

Unable to use the simplest measure, we often define artist value using EXCELLENCE (or what we often call “QUALITY”).

This is certainly a common, convenient, and pretty constructive measure of value when it comes to artists.  We all know what it means, and even though we disagree about it’s measure, it’s still a handy tool because we all have a language for discussing, and disagreeing over, whether or not someone’s work is “good.”  It’s also a fair tool, because it’s a matter of taste, which is not institutionalized or fixed; so any artist has the chance to change how they’re valued within this measure.  It’s only dangerous when wielded by those critics who lazily attempt to make their personal preferences seem like objective assessments, rather than rigorously measuring an artist against THAT ARTISTS’ stated vision and goals.

What makes it really constructive as a definition is that it does actually point to one of the things that I think makes artists essential.  Excellence is not something that can be achieved without lots of hard work and consistent, rigorous self-reflection.  You don’t stumble into excellence.  You’re not born with it.  You work on it, and the harder and more thoroughly you work, and the more awake and self-reflective you are as you work, the more likely you are to achieve it.  When you’re trying to learn to play the guitar, you play a note, you listen to the note, and you judge your note against an “ideal” note.  You set the bar high for yourself, against a standard that you’ve heard and appreciated, be it Andres Segovia or Jimi Hendrix, and if you’re an artist, you keep practicing and reflecting until you gradually achieve, or at least approach, that standard.

David Shenk, in his book “The Genius in All of Us” (Anchor Books, 2011) leads off with a story about baseball’s Ted Williams “genius” as a hitter.  He shows how Williams and his peers ascribed his record-setting level of excellence not to an innate inheritance, but to the time he devoted to practice, to his tireless repetition of hitting baseballs: as a kid, as a young player, and throughout his career.  As Shenk says, “ Greatness was not a thing to Ted Williams; it was a process.”  Like Williams, who prepared for each pitcher he would face individually, great artists are not “geniuses” in the commonly-understood sense of the word: they are incredibly hard workers who have spent countless hours of rigorous practice and reflection to apply their craft to the next artistic challenge.

We don’t have nearly enough of this in our society.  We often set the standards too low, like in some urban public schools, where, for many of the right reasons (the road to pedagogical hell being notably paved with good intentions), school leaders accept shoddy work from students who have “added cultural challenges” like poverty or a less-than-nuclear family.  Or we just accept that we failed to achieve the basic standards we all agreed on, with a shrug, or a sneer – like Snookie from Jersey Shore!  Or we never even attempt things that scare us, like talking about things we deeply care about in front of strangers, lest we be held to any kind of standard.  And in all these ways, we consent to complacency, which is anathema to the kind of active, engaged civic practice we need to sustain democracy in a country as diverse as today’s America.  Artists publicly exemplify, and thus promote, courage.  Risk-taking.  Honest self-reflection.  And hard work.  Excellence in art-making, as in baseball, is a model for self-improvement.

Regardless, though, the current challenge of raising artist’s value in the U.S. always comes back to the fact that most Americans just don’t see theatre artists as vital to improving their quality of life.  Whole generations have grown up without rigorous, consistent, or engaging arts education in their schools.  Many producing organizations haven’t helped much, reacting to this problem by spending resources competing for a dwindling core of “connected consumers” rather than working to diversify and expand the pool of those who might be inclined to participate if properly invited.  For any potential participant who starts from this outsider perspective, no amount of “excellence,” and certainly not exchange for high material worth, will sway them to see artists as personally valuable.  Too often we producers place our faith in the “If you build it, they will come” promise of the film Field of Dreams.  But in the case of the vast majority of Americans, no matter how well we build it, they simply won’t come, because they have no idea why what we do matters.

So, what is a theatre artist’s job, exactly, and why does it matter? 

It can’t be to entertain.  Entertainment is, and always has been, a commercial endeavor, and as such, to reach the broadest possible audience, confirms what we already know, rather than challenging us.  In fact, the etymology of the word “entertain” points to an attempt to “keep someone in a certain frame of mind.”  Entertainment works best when it conforms to and mirrors our collective thinking.  As a result, raising the value of entertainers is pretty easy, requiring little more than a good marketing plan. 

We also have to be careful about re-iterating the old saw that artists matter because they “reflect” our world, our understanding of things, in new ways: this narrative lowers the status of artists, placing them in a re-active rather than pro-active position, and won’t give us a measure of value that we can substantially raise.  Anyway, I think artists DEFINE, rather than reflect, these understandings.  The similarity of the work of artists to that of scientists has been obscured, I think, by the technological explosion of the past century - but it’s useful to compare.  Scientists uncover, characterize, and often employ the basic truths of natural processes, the patterns that underlie our environment.  Thus, scientists matter because they rigorously attempt to shape our evolving understanding of the way the physical world operates.  Scientists become useful when they use this evolved understanding to address real-world problems (like health issues), and their value is raised even in the eyes of people who have no idea exactly what they do or how they do it.  The impact is tangible.

Theatre artists uncover, characterize, and often employ the basic truths of human relationships and the communication that shapes them, the patterns of behavior that underlie our selves.  And of course, these basic truths are in a constant state of change, just like scientific truths.  So theatre can’t rely on our current collective mindset; it has to re-shape it, re-imagine it, expand it.  Theatre artists matter because they rigorously attempt to shape the evolving mindset of the community they want to impact.  And they become useful when they help participants apply this evolved mindset to address real-world problems, from those in personal relationships to those between individuals and their governments.

Before we look at how artists can increase their real-world impact, on the way to mattering more, I have to speak briefly about the word “success,” just to clear a few potential obstacles. First, an artistic project’s “success” lies in the rigor and clarity of the attempt, regardless of the actual impact on the chosen community; both artists and scientists can, and often do, fail to clear the first hurdle, and yet gain critical information and momentum for the next attempt.  Next, an artists’ “success” cannot be held to any outside objective standard; comparing the work of one theatre artist to that of another who has a different community in mind, or a different impact, is apples and oranges.  We can always comment on artists’ “excellence” – whether they were “good” or not - using the commonly defined, oft-disputed standards, but we can only speak to their “success,” to whether or not their work mattered, when we carefully define and measure what they were trying to change, and in whom.  Artists only work so damn hard to become “excellent” so that we will not only be self-satisfied in the rigor of our attempts, but also impactful in their execution.  No artist ever cited great ticket sales as their proudest personal success – we cite the project that actually led people to take concrete actions toward greater justice or more freedom, even if it was only a few, or even one; the project that led to revolutions; that had integrity despite market losses; the project that woke something up.  “Success” for the theatre artist is a measure of social profit.

The real-world impact of a theatre artist can have three major phases. 

First, simply naming the unnamable can be very important: to identify, put words to, and transform into credible human behavior an impulse our collective mind can’t currently pinpoint because it’s buried deep in our emotional or intellectual or moral core.  When we can see this impulse manifest in a character’s action and language, we can measure it within ourselves.  It’s hugely empowering to finally find the name for a thing you know you have inside you but which you have been unable to seize.

Second, fostering empathy.  Because of the collective nature of the form, when we, the audience, hear an impulse aptly named and recognize it in ourselves, we immediately assume it in others.  In this way, the spark of empathy is generated.  In a flash of insight, we understand how someone who acts very different from us might actually be thinking, or feeling, or believing the same fundamental things.  We realize everyone struggles with the really critical questions of human existence – the ones that really impact quality of life, like how difficult it is to raise your children well, regardless of your race, or class, or historical epoch.  The theatre artist thus builds bridges to humankind throughout history, not to mention between humans from truly different worlds who happen to be in the same room watching.  In that latter regard, theatre fosters active connectivity to the people around us.

Finally, paving the way honest, impactful dialogue on intractable issues.  By revealing the intention behind language in an atmosphere of empathy, theatre artists can help people forge a new vocabulary for discussing problems which were previously un-discuss-able.  Many of the gulfs that exist between us in our daily lives have causes buried so deep in the architecture of our character (for better or worse), that they’re just un-talk-about-able, un-articulate-able – we don’t have a language for even identifying the two sides of the chasm, much less bridging it - and theatre artists help start the conversation by revealing or enabling insights about other people that can form a baseline for the dialogue. 

Think about that argument you always have with your partner – you argue about the same old signifiers, you use the same old language, you react to what you think you heard rather than to what the person “actually said” (which is what they say when they mean “what they meant”) and the only way to get past this intractable lock is to talk about the intentions underlying the language.  The same is true in our ongoing struggle to define our own personal values in relationship to those of our peers and our society.  In both areas, theatre artists can provide the critical tools: not answers to our intractable problems, our communicative chasms, but the proper articulation of the real questions we need to ask (what does it specifically mean to be moral on this issue?; what’s the common ground I hold with these people who were raised so differently than I was?; are you going to leave me over this?).  These tools are especially critical in America, where our seeming starting places are just so far apart, and our current language for discussing our most intractable problems so impoverished and hackneyed and trifling.

Greek theatre artists tried to tackle the problem of striving for an ethical life, the life of purpose, with all it’s myriad challenges; a “good” life of acting on one’s own values without dishonoring those of others.  Shakespeare and his contemporaries tried to explore the shifting political landscape of an urbanizing and democratizing world, seeking a new, more equitable, understanding of power.  Williams, and Miller, Kushner and Hansberry and August Wilson, all the great American writers of the 20th century worked to give voice to that which was unspoken within what Auden called our “normal heart;” to unveil the dreams-deferred that were weighing down our national struggle toward more equity, justice, and freedom for all.

Ralph Waldo Emerson says in his essay Art: “Yet when we have said all our fine things about the arts, we must end with a frank confession, that the arts, as we know them, are but initial. Our best praise is given to what they aimed and promised, not to the actual result. He has conceived meanly of the resources of man, who believes that the best age of production is past…Art has not yet come to its maturity, if it do not put itself abreast with the most potent influences of the world, if it is not practical and moral, if it do not stand in connection with the conscience, if it do not make the poor and uncultivated feel that it addresses them with a voice of lofty cheer. There is higher work for Art than the arts.”

I think the higher work is upon us, and presses us with an immediate moral obligation as theatre artists.  Every 50 years or so our national institutions and civic operations become so at odds with the temperament and ethical stance of our people that there is a necessary cultural correction (the Civil War, Prohibition, Civil Rights Movement). A new language must be forged so a new bargain can be struck between our laws and our daily lives.  I believe that we’re now entering one of these cultural shifts, a massive re-envisioning of our national ethics.  Honest, inclusive, constructive dialogue is damn difficult to achieve, especially when participants begin the conversation from so many diverse corners, as we do in America.  A dialogue about where we stand as a country, a true national conversation, on moral issues like abortion, education, punishment, and health care requires a new language, a language that captures its’ own intent, and embraces empathetic views of other people’s character.  To be useful during this cultural shift, to matter, and to increase our extrinsic value, theatre artists must use the tools of our trade, tools such as empathy and ethics, to help forge a dialogue that’s as practical, as fair, and as fruitful as possible.

Part 2: “Our Role in the National Conversation: The Artist as Educator” is next, followed by a multi-sectioned Part 3 about “Responsibilities,” looking at what practical steps need to be taken by artists, producers, partners (like public schools), and funders to help raise the value of theatre-makers.  

This is Part 1 of a multi-part blog series called “A Strategic Approach to Increasing the Value of the Theatre Artist,” by Ron Russell, Executive Director of Off-Broadway’s Epic Theatre Ensemble.  Part 1, “Becoming Essential,” is in two sections and focuses on what the true value of theatre-makers is, or could be, in today’s America, with this second section looking at why these artists matter and what makes them useful.

OK, back to the basic challenge of raising artist’s value in the U.S., which is: most Americans just don’t see theatre artists as vital to improving their quality of life.  Whole generations have grown up without rigorous, consistent, or engaging arts education in their schools.  Many producing organizations haven’t helped much, reacting to this problem by spending resources competing for a dwindling core of “connected consumers” rather than working to diversify and expand the pool of those who might be inclined to participate if properly invited.  For any potential participant who starts from this outsider perspective, no amount of “excellence,” and certainly not exchange for high material worth, will sway them to see artists as personally valuable.  Too often we producers place our faith in the “If you build it, they will come” promise of the film Field of Dreams.  But in the case of the vast majority of Americans, no matter how well we build it, they simply won’t come, because they have no idea why what we do matters.

So, what is a theatre artist’s job, exactly, and why does it matter?  

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though it’s Norway, this article cites many of my key concerns about kids now in college in the US - a declining interest in artistic engagement - and the only “good thing” it says is that young people still have a “certain ‘reverence’ for the value of ‘high’ culture,” which terrifies me even more!  Reverence?  Yikes!

This is Part 1 of a multi-part blog series called “A Strategic Approach to Increasing the Value of the Theatre Artist,” by Ron Russell, Executive Director of Off-Broadway’s Epic Theatre Ensemble.  Part 1, “Becoming Essential,” is in three sections and focuses on what the true value of theatre-makers is, or could be, in today’s America, starting from the perspective of “value” as worth.

Before we can talk about the extrinsic value theatre artists ought to have in our society (what they get paid, what status they are given, what percentage of taxpayer dollars funnels their way, etc…), we need to try to define their intrinsic value.  This encompasses both what they do uniquely well, and why what they do matters.

 It’s a challenge to define both, of course, and while I’m going to take a stab at it in the next three sections, we at Epic would love to hear YOUR thoughts on this question.  What do you think makes theatre artists essential today? (please reply below)

 The word “value” itself essentially means how we ascribe relative merit to things.  Common measures of merit are something’s material worth; it’s excellence; it’s importance; and/or it’s utility.  I’ll take a stab at each of these measures; and how they collectively add up to the definition of “values” as the ideals of our society, or our communal system of ethics. 

 So, how do we measure what theatre artists are WORTH? When we talk about artist salaries in connection to their value, I think we spend way too much time focused on this particular definition, maybe because it’s the easiest: what is the relative monetary exchange weight of an artist?  That is, what price can they fetch in the marketplace?  A Broadway casting conversation using this definition might reasonably compare a Hollywood star with little stage experience to a “known” NYC actor who has won a Tony, asking how much people might be willing to pay to see this person do Shakespeare.  As a corollary, a person with no film resume and no awards could be assumed to be less of a financial draw, and therefore warrant a lower paycheck.  And so, the argument goes, non-commercial producers with less money at their disposal, in an effort to keep their ticket prices as low as possible, hire actors of equally high excellence (see below) but less recognition, and, de facto, pay considerably less than commercial producers because their worth is lower; even if the artist has the potential to be exchanged for large sums of cash, the non-commercial producer may not have the marketing dollar to leverage that potential into worth.

But there’s a problem with relying on this definition. 

Read More