Little White Rabbit

I can’t help but feel a tad harried these days.  I’m directing/producing a new play festival this week (www.TheatricsTheatre.org), prepping to teach a teen summer workshop that begins next week, dramaturging & directing a new play that goes into rehearsals in two weeks with performances at the end of July, and gearing up to move to Texas one day after that show closes.

Woof.

No wonder “I’m late, I’m late, for a very important… EVERYTHING” keeps running through my head.

Which has me thinking about my tendency towards overload – I am overloaded.  A lot. – and what needs to be done about it.

I think it comes down to the delicate and sometimes vicious dance I have to do in order to pay the bills/feed my soul/maintain some semblance of ‘I’m making progress’ in my internal mantra.   I’ve got three practically-full-time jobs, yet only one of them actually pays the bills.  The other two feed my soul and sometimes buy me dinner or printer paper.  Yet I can’t stop any one of them without suffering some kind of potential (worst case scenario) outcome: becoming homeless, losing my mind, or killing my soul off one administrative gig at a time.

So I try to do it all.  And with each new tree-ring I acquire, I wonder more and more at how long I can honestly continue to “BE ALL THINGS!”  (which we all know isn’t really possible to begin with)

I have a friend who is getting ready to start up her own theater company in a thus-far company-less town in AZ.  She is a talented director, actress, and playwright – and I’ve no doubt she will rock this new theatre company like a boss.  But as I was listening to her layout her plans to pay her artists, I felt a cold creeping nagging feeling come over me – “How are you going to pay artists and stay afloat?  How can a company in its infancy expect to make enough money to make money for its artists?”  and  “What does it say about me that my first reaction is balls-out skepticism?”

I think it’s time for me to move out of the Land of the Creative-But-Financially Stumped, and I’m not ashamed to say that I will probably need some help vacating the shanty I’ve got held together with fly paper.  I’ve never taken a business class, I don’t know the first thing about getting an LLC, but I think I’m going to have to do both in order to carve out a more comfortable artistic niche for myself  – something that doesn’t include money-panic on a daily basis or absolute calendar overload – something that is actually IN the field I love and have studied/practiced at so tirelessly these past years.

Which is all to say that I’m looking forward to the impending move.  I’ve had a number of creative successes in Prescott – and I’m so honored to have been a part of the artistic scene here.  But I’m damned excited to start fresh somewhere else.  And no, I’m not returning to LA (thanks for hoping) – and yes, I know how we all feel about Texas –  but a fresh start is like a blank page: chock full of possibilities!

 

~Tiffany Antone

white rabbit

HOORAY FOR THE FRINGE

I had intended to finish this week with a blog about Ann Jellicoe, the English playwright, but she’s written so much, I’m still reading.  Next time.

However, I couldn’t sign off without saying,  “Congrats” and “Break legs,” to everybody participating in the Hollywood Fringe Festival.  May it be a blast!

 

 

THANKS FOR THE MEMORIES

Elizabeth Murphy and Francine Volker sing Heaven Will Protect The Working Girl
Elizabeth Murphy and Francine Volker sing
Heaven Will Protect The Working Girl

A long time ago I wrote a play for Redlight Theatre in Toronto, Canada with some terrifically talented actors. The cast members and I were to share royalities. The play was published and we thought the money would come trickling in. Sigh. Not even a trickle.

So, I was bowled over this week to hear that a company in Pickering, Ontario had just produced it! I got a royalty check! But I had a problem. “Where,” I said to myself, “has everybody gone?”

I started looking. And remembering.

The play was originally called What Glorious Times They Had and was changed to Nellie! How The Women Won The Vote. I’m sorry that the title was changed. I think that What Glorious Times tells the story better.

Set in 1914-1916 in Manitoba, Canada, at the headquarters of the Political Equality League, it’s about a group of women dedicated to winning the vote for women, led by a Canadian heroine, Nellie McClung.

She was more than able to lead. A teacher who once taught all eight grades in a rural school, she wrote sixteen novels, was a popular speaker and in twenty years, spoke at over four hundred public meetings, sometimes speaking three times a day. She was the only woman delegate to the League of Nations in 1938. And she had five children.

I researched her work and the suffragist movement for a long time, making notes on 3 by 5 cards and putting them on a corkboard. (This was a while ago, wasn’t it?) When I found a quote from the Elections Act of Canada, “No woman, idiot, lunatic or woman shall vote,” we knew where we were going and were off and running.

Building a play from research and improv is so exciting. It’s frustrating and difficult, too, but when you find a solution to the seemingly insolvable, it makes your day or week or month.

We put things in, threw things out, and had a long, productive rehearsal period. We six actors, four women and two men, amused, played off of and with each other and became a close cohesive group. We created a cast of thousands, (well, dozens) with the help of very talented violinist, who tied all the scenes together. (I still can’t hear Meditation from Thais without thinking of the time.)

Creating the illusion of a factory with three women, some chairs and a violin was tough but it worked and turned out to be one of the best scenes in the show. We also came up with a train, a Pierce Arrow touring car, the Houses of Parliament and more, all connected by an ingenious lighting plot by our great woman techie.

The suffragists were all involved with the Women’s Christian Temperance Union, so necessary in a time when the liquor industry was unregulated and domestic violence wasn’t recognized.  My aunt, Edna Fay Grant, who was the Canadian National Secretary of the WCTU, gave me its songbook to use. It had lovely, lively songs, some taken from hymns, easy to harmonize with, and perfect for carrying the theme of the play.

I had a video of one of the earlier versions which Costco turned into a flickering DVD and what came through was the music we made out of the temperance songs, comic songs of the times, a barbershop quartet and a moving rendition of Whispering Hope.

We could play on a proscenium, a thrust or in the round, and when touring, did all of that.  We toured Canada twice with the play, (with slightly different casts) first traveling East to Newfoundland, flying in to St. John’s at the height of winter. (I noticed when we prepared for landing, all the flight attendants were holding their breaths.) We set up in schools and auditoriums and wherever people wanted us to.  And we had fun.

I’ve made contact with three of the players and they are now helping me to track down the other two so I can put the checks in the mail. I’m looking forward to that. It’s a way of saying, “Thanks for the memories.”

If I Were Neil Simon

Neil Simon is still going strong. Just google the man and you’ll find a list of his plays that are being produced all over the country – Jake’s Women at Wichita State University, London Suites in Cape Charles, Virginia, Sunshine Boys in Tucson, Arizona, Rumors in North Beach, Maryland, and on and on. There’s even an ongoing Neil Simon festival in Cedar City, Utah.

I just saw a production of California Suite, which when it was produced in 1976, got rave reviews. Dan Sullivan of the L.A. Times called it “the funniest writing Neil Simon has done for anybody.” Clive Barnes of the New York Times said, “He tops his own jokes like a pole-vaulter setting records.” A woman, Marilyn Stasis of Cue magazine, called it, “his funniest play in years.”

For the one person in North America who hasn’t seen California Suite, here is a short description. It’s composed of two acts and four scenes (sketches, skits, playlets, vignettes, take your pick) in which four different couples at different times occupy an upscale Beverly Hills hotel suite.

In Visitor from New York, a divorced couple argue over whom their sixteen year old daughter should live with. In Visitors from London, a British actress loses the Academy Award and is afraid that she is losing her gay husband, too. The Visitors from Chicago is a slapstick affair in which two couples fall apart after spending too much time together on a vacation.

Sitting there in the audience, I didn’t really care much about the characters. The dialogue is clever but the characters bicker and bite, try to best one another, and don’t seem grateful for much.

But it was The Visitor from Philadelphia that got me up on my feet.

In it, a man from Philadelphia in town his for nephew’s bar mitzvah wakes up in bed with a hangover and a comatose woman in the bed beside him. He tries to wake her, tries to get her out of bed, and when he discovers that his wife is on the way up to the suite, tries to carry her to the bathroom, deposit her outside in the hall, stuff her in a closet. Finally, he puts her back into the bed and covers her up.

Apart from a few initial groans, the woman says nothing. The man asks her, “Are you all right?” “Are you sick?” and she doesn’t respond.

This “hooker,” “prostitute,” maybe “call girl” – there’s a question about how much she cost – was a GIFT from his brother who was reciprocating for the GIFT he was given on his birthday – his first woman!

The husband explains to his wife. “She was in the room, she was attractive, she was a little tight and she was paid for.”

She was not a little tight by morning. She’d had six margaritas and a bottle of vodka.

After the wife forgives her husband, she lies on the bed. The scene directions say, “The hooker’s arm flops over her… She looks at it with revulsion.”

She says, “Shall we leave a note?” to her husband and they leave shortly, ending the scene.

In my mind, I stood up in the aisle and shouted, “Stop! Ring the curtain back up. Back up. Nobody leave his seat. This is 2013 and I’m going to rewrite!”

The cast and some members of the audience took out their IPads.

“Take this down,” I cried.

MARVIN: She had six margaritas and a bottle of vodka.

MILLIE: Are you kidding me? What the hell’s the matter with you? No wonder the poor girl can’t wake up. She’s dangerously dehydrated and probably has alcohol poisoning! Call 911! Now!

               (Marvin calls 911. Millie pulls the covers back and leans into Bunny.)

Bunny. The hooker does have a name. I’ll give Mr. Simon that.

MILLIE: Don’t you worry, Bunny. We’re calling a doctor. We’re going to take care of you. You’ll be all right.

            (She takes her hand and Bunny gives her a weak smile.)

It wouldn’t be funny, but it would be the right thing to do.

I hear music and there’s no one there

Do you have a playlist for your current writing project? I usually write in silence, occasionally distracted by the hum of the refrigerator or the shriek of the little girl down the hall or the meow of my very needy cat. But I remember when I was really cooking, working my way through fourteen drafts (!) of an adaptation of Nikolai Gogol short stories, I was listening to a lot of music. I auditioned a lot of genres, trying to find exactly the right composer and style to suit what I was working on. Luckily, a CD from Ego Plum, the marvelously talented composer hired by the Rogues to compose music for our “Gogol Project” arrived. It set the perfect mood.

It was reassuring somehow to discover that I wasn’t the only writer in need of musical inspiration. At the end of his Roman Empire/Camelot adventure novel “The Last Legion, Italian novelist Valerio Massimo Manfredi gave a nod to composer Paolo Buonvino, citing his lush soundtracks as his constant companion. After reading that, I immediately sought out Buonvino and was carried away to that romantic Italy that lives in our dreams.

My Omaha writing buddy Ellen is married to a musician and always finds interesting music to inspire her writing. She’s tackling a historic subject in anything but a traditional way and is listening to the recent Pulitzer winner for composition Caroline Shaw and a Native American group called A Tribe Called Red. The music is edgy and interesting and challenges her to get out of her comfort zone.

Me? I was stumped for a soundtrack for the romantic comedy I’m fighting with. I tried piano solos, Erik Satie, Tony Bennett (whatever did we do before Pandora?) Not perfect.

And then I remembered – duh – one of my characters sings show tunes. He explains in a monologue that he’d grown up listening to every Broadway album his mother owned. And there were a lot. His guilty pleasure as an adult was to once a month to leave the political realities of Capitol Hill behind and join the Washington theatre community, standing around a piano in an elegant hotel bar, belting out show tunes. Karaoke for nerds.

I knew his taste exactly: “If Ever I Would Leave You” from “Camelot” and “Into the Fire” from “The Scarlett Pimpernel.” Big, robust, hopelessly romantic from another era. Just describing his taste in music helps me define him more clearly.

And so I’ve been listening to Broadway musicals as I write. But only ones I know so well that I don’t have to listen carefully to hear the lyrics. Songs that are firmly implanted in the back of my brain – just as they are for my main character. They provide the drama and the fortitude and the color in his life. And they’re playing the same role for me as I write “Statuary Hall.” But what’s on your playlist? What soundtrack do you use to write your plays?

A fine romance, my friends this is

Sinatra sings “A Fine Romance”

Romance.

It’s everywhere. Or is it?

I’m looking for your thoughts on the genre of romantic comedy.

I’ve written a number of romantic plays. They usually involve broken relationships being put back together – or not. But as I look back at those plays, I find they’re all period pieces: 1870’s San Francisco, 1950’s New York, late ‘50’s Los Angeles. I’m now working on a romantic comedy set in present day Washington, DC. And I’m stuck.

In this cynical town, in our ironic age, I put on my Carrie Bradshaw hat and ask: “is there still such a thing as modern romance?”

Name your favorite rom/com – “Philadelphia Story,” “The Lady Eve,” “Roman Holiday” – all of an earlier era. Most current films in the rom/com genre are snarky. Or artificial and insincere. Or dark, like “Silver Linings Playbook.” But the success of that Oscar nominated film reflects an audience’s craving for real romantic comedies.

Which brings me to my current dilemma.

After slogging through “serious” plays, I decided I needed a break. I wanted to write something fun and romantic. It’s tougher than it looks.

Boy meets girl. That’s easy. They’re opposites in some ways. The verbal sparks fly. There’s some physical attraction, but because of their professional relationship, nothing happens. So how do you push them to that next level, both sexually and romantically? How do they tell that other person that they’re interested? How do you break down the physical walls? How does a modern couple admit they’re in love without it ringing hollow?

My writing pal Ellen says we’re afraid of writing true sentiment. Maybe we are. I cringe as I write self-described “sappy” scenes. (Ah, that horrid interior critic!) I’m embarrassed by my own work. Not because it’s bad writing, but because it’s mushy. And I haven’t even gotten to the tougher challenge: writing the physical stuff. Even my premise starts sounding stupid: “Pride and Prejudice” set on Capitol Hill.

I believe in romance. Certainly I lucked out and found a guy who likes to dance and laugh and remembers our anniversary. So I guess I’ve seen modern day romance in action. I know it’s out there.

So why is it so hard to make it work on the page?

What do you think? Is there such a thing as modern romance? How does it work for you on the page? Hints? Suggestions?

Gimme a girl (onstage)

How nice to see an article in “The Dramatist” on the topic of missing female playwriting voices! And it’s the lead article. The news is still bad – 59 theatres across the country failed to include a single play by a female playwright last season.

But I want to vent a bit about something else that’s bugging me of late: boy plays. I’m sick of stories without any meaningful female characters. I’m getting to the point where I really don’t care to see another production with either nothing but men onstage. Or 18 men and two – maybe three – women who are there to support the boy story.

I saw two fine productions here in Washington, DC recently: the Shakespeare Theater Company’s production of “Wallenstein” and WSC Avant Bard’s production of “No Man’s Land.”

“Wallenstein is Friedrich Schiller’s play about the Thirty Years’ War, a commissioned adaption by former poet laureate Robert Pinsky. It’s described as an “epic story of war, intrigue and loyalty tested.” To be fair, there are two female characters in the piece (and a couple of women filling in as soldiers to fill up the stage. They’re playing men, of course.) But it’s a boy play. The stage was filled with men. It was the story of one man’s ambition.

And the message? War is bad. I get it. So don’t do it. End of play.

What about those women? They were mere pawns to the ambition. It would have been so much more interesting to hear their side of the story, to see the senselessness of power grabs and blood and gore through their eyes.

And then there’s the Pinter. “No Man’s Land” by Harold Pinter was chosen because of the opportunity to put two former Artistic Directors of WSC Avant Bard’s company on stage together. Great for them. Tough evening for me.

Verbal jousting is fine. But I didn’t care. What was the point? Where were the women?

I want to contrast those two evenings with my recent experience in Omaha. That city’s historic Playhouse – where Henry Fonda launched his career – produced the world premiere of a play by a local Omaha playwright. (A woman, by the way.) It had seven women onstage!

Playwright Ellen Struve’s “Recommended Reading for Girls” is the story of two daughters coming to terms with their mother’s decisions about treating her cancer. But their very real world is invaded by characters from all the books they shared – Anne from Green Gables, the Little Princess, the German-speaking Heidi, and a Nancy Drew wanna-be girl detective.

(Full disclosure: Ellen is my weekly Skype writing buddy.)

At last! A girl play! Girls on stage, talking about relationships and family and fantasy. It was wonderful. And funny. And probably boosted the sale of Kleenex throughout the city of Omaha.

Ellen says she was writing for the audience who actually comes to the theatre: women. And women of a certain age. Nobody’s writing for them, she says. The people who run theatres are choosing “hot” or “edgy” plays or old standards that feel familiar. No one is choosing plays that makes them laugh and cry and go home feeling like they got their money’s worth.

But will Ellen’s play find a second life outside of Omaha? I sure hope so. The statistics are against her – a play by a woman about women.

I recall a golden age of Hollywood where women main characters drove the stories – “Stella Dallas,” “All About Eve,” “Kitty Foyle.” I’m ready for a golden age of theatre where every seat is filled by people like me, who long to hear our stories told onstage.

Riding the Red Eye…

Saturday, I took the Red Eye home to see my mother.  My sisters were not sure what was going on with her – one minute she was fine, the next she was disoriented and feverish.  I could hear nurses in the background, uneasiness in my sister’s voice and when I finally got to say hello to my mother she made absolutely no sense at all.  By the third call, I was looking online for a cheap flight – with all my almost points, that miraculously expire before I can use them, I was left to the mercy of Priceline and not much choice. So, I flew in for Mother’s Day, surprising my mother who was up and dressed – for a while.  By 6:30 pm we were on our way to the hospital where we stayed till about 2 am the next day when we put her in a room.  Getting Mother somewhat situated, thankful to the doctors and nurses at Methodist for connecting dots, ruling out, and genuinely caring, I was able to think about keeping the flight plan to return to LA.  Before my mother went to her room, she told me I looked like a “thug” with my scarf on my head, my leather jacket and the way I was standing, which made everyone laugh. To that she exclaimed she didn’t know I was so short.  More laughter.  She was “in” again.  She told me to come back later and stay longer.

I got to see nieces and nephews, all my sisters, the new baby and the green of Indiana.  Concrete filled Los Angeles seemed like a prison sentence and I was out on parole.  Air without exhaust fumes – who knew?  The speed limit is 55 mph on the highway, there are about four of them, a few overlap – 465 circles the city.  Go either way, you’ll get there eventually.  Not a lot of traffic – none if you compare it to the 405.

Spent the night (wee hours of the morning till my flight back to LA on Monday) talking with one of my sisters; got to see her new grandson.  Got to have some White Castle burgers, wish I had gotten to go to the (farmers) Market.  Sleep deprived, I drove off into the sunlight, promptly missed my exits had to turnaround three times, turned into incoming traffic, had to drive over the center divider because I couldn’t back up.  A miracle, I got to the airport on time and safe.

The whole three days of travel, I kept getting “that would make a good play” thoughts in response to something I saw or heard.  I had a chore staying present to visit with family while waiting on results of tests for my mother.  But, I’m a writer so I am aware of story even when I am preoccupied.  Story can be triggered by anything – the visual, sounds, emotions…

My mother always asks me what I am working on.  She gets real excited when I say I am researching things.  She has every confidence in my gift.  My regret is that she wasn’t well enough and there wasn’t enough “in” time for me to read her some poetry.

I found story on my journey, none of which will pass the “b” test but if I, as playwright – because I am female, am not only limited by the male dominated theater-world but also by the female constituency because of the content of my work, who gains?  Art should not be held under dictatorship.  I have a distinct voice and my stories are universal in scope.  I am a playwright, I am of color and I am a woman and I tell damn good stories.  I face racism daily – in America – and must shake it off like sand continually.  Truth be told, when I send out my work, I don’t think I may not get picked because I am a female, I think “I hope they don’t ask for a picture then they will know I am of color”.  I have to decide whether or not to send a play that would be considered too ethnic.  I have to say on conference submissions whether or not the characters have to be played by ethnic actors which in some cases can limit or put one out of the running altogether.  I count yellow/brown/red faces on theater company rosters to see if my work will even be looked at in the first place.  I had an actress read a page from one of my works who was shocked when I told her I wrote it for a blond-haired blue-eyed woman, just like her.  She liked the universal story but had assumed the character was written as a woman of color because I am a woman of color.

I want to tell my stories as I find them, how I hear and see them and be able to take them straight through to the next level based on their substance and craft, not my lack of a dick and my failing of the “b” test no matter how many times I take it.

As a habit, I write through the night, so in a sense, I am always riding the Red Eye…

How To Make Theatre Contagious

A Guest Post by Laura A. Shamas

With so many entertainment options available now, the question is: How can we encourage interest in theatre so it will thrive in the twenty-first century?

Recently, I read a bestselling book Contagious: Why Things Catch On. It’s written by Jonah Berger, a professor of marketing at The Wharton School at the University of Pennsylvania. Although Contagious is written as a marketing primer, I was struck by how much of it was applicable to theatre and to the arts in general.

It’s hard to determine what makes things popular today. Berger writes that it’s not merely the quality, the pricing, or the advertising of the projects/products that catch on. He reports that although we spend a great deal of time online, only 7% of word-of-mouth happens via Internet-related channels: “We tend to overestimate online word-of-mouth because it’s easier to see.” Social media may display the interests and activities we’ve chosen to share, so the record is available at a glance, but the activities we have offline are just as important and are just as influential. Most of us do not have the time to respond to every update or tweet. When Berger polled his college students, he found that less than 10% of their friends responded to a message they’d posted online. He reminds us “that Facebook and Twitter are technologies, not strategies.”

So what does work? Berger has found six principles that make things “go wide.” Berger describes the anatomy of virality, although not all components are necessary for each and every case of a popular share. These ideas are easily remembered in the acronym “STEPPS”:

1) Social Currency.
2) Triggers.
3) Emotion.
4) Public.
5) Practical Value.
6) Stories.

1) SOCIAL CURRENCY. Do you know insider info that makes you seem cool? Can you share something that you know will be considered “remarkable” or unique? If so, you will share it; it’s human nature. Berger underscores that we find it “pleasurable” to talk about our interests and attitudes. This makes us “look good,” Berger says; it gives us social stature.

Breaking patterns that others have come to expect also gives us social currency, like doing something in a novel, unexpected way. Leveraging game mechanics (by allowing others to see how well we do in a points system, as with airline miles or Foursquare) is another way to gain currency because games motivate us via “social comparison.” We measure our scores next to our friends’ tallies.

Making people feel like “insiders” also boosts their social currency; this is done by giving scarce, unique, exclusive offers to customers or clients.

Berger’s thoughts on social currency made me think about current theatre practices. Theatres have long used “special pre-show receptions,” a chance to preview a show, or even an opportunity to attend certain rehearsals to give subscribers “insider” cachet, such as in Arena Stage’s Theater 101 class.

But what more could we, as theater professionals, do to promote “remarkability” and innovation? Mixed Blood Theatre’s egalitarian Radical Hospitality is a recent idea that breaks previous patterns related to how theater is “sold” to an audience. Or how about doing a play in one’s living room for only twelve people at a time? What else can be done that’s surprising to change the ways in which theater is experienced today?

What can a specific play do that is “remarkable,” completely surprising, or new?

2) TRIGGERS. Daily, we each share about 16 or more opinions about an organization, product, or service, Berger says. That’s a lot of “word-of-mouth.” Why do we do it? Timing is everything.

Something in the environment “triggers” our need to share. Did you know the sales of Mars bars escalated during the 1997 NASA Pathfinder’s mission? Or that Rebecca Black’s 2011 hit song “Friday” always got more YouTube hits on that actual day of the week than any other? These are examples of “triggers” that resonate in our everyday lives.

Berger explains that even negative reviews can be positive for business, if the reviews introduce a project’s existence by giving it press.

If you want to lay the groundwork for triggers for your product, you can “grow its habitat,” according to Berger, “by creating new links to stimuli in the environment.”  This can be done by directing attention to related messages or associated ideas in your project’s arena. The more often you can make a project come to mind, the better.

In this chapter, Berger notes that movie theaters depend on immediate word-of-mouth, as weekly box office reports convey.

But it is also true that ongoing word-of-mouth or “repeat business” helps to drive entertainment sales. So I wonder: How do we “grow a habitat” for theatre? Is it related to the DNA (or identity) of a specific theater or should it always be more play-specific? Or both? How do you grow a habitat for a new play? What are the environmental “triggers” needed? What is the relationship between the cultural zeitgeist and the community in terms of “triggers” that may need to be seeded and tended?

3) EMOTION. Theatre artists already know this axiom: “When we care, we share.” But Berger attaches a component to emotion that goes beyond empathy/sympathy: awe. This was my favorite part of Berger’s book, as he discusses our love of mystery and “the experience of confronting something greater than yourself” which enlarges one’s own “point of reference.”

This section reminded me of works in depth psychology, where awe is seen as part of the numinous or “mysterium tremendum,” the transcendent spiritual force that both attracts and repels.

Berger cites Albert Einstein’s idea that the mysterious is the power of “all true art and science.” I’ve been in “awe” in the theater many times: in awe of excellence of artistry and aesthetics, in awe at the brilliance of execution, in awe of the communal act of artists joined together onstage to produce drama. Berger’s emphasis on the importance of “awe” as an emotion really rang true for me as an artist. Yes, awe-inspiring projects catch on!

We feel affinity for those with whom we’ve shared emotions and secrets, but also with those who make us laugh, according to Berger. If you can crack me up—well, now we’re connected.

The science of “physiological arousal,” an active state in which we’re ready to move or react as needed, is at the core of why emotion matters in virality. Berger uses the image of “kindling a fire” as a metaphor to express emotion as a marketing force. He also reports that exercise (jogging, walking) promotes more emotional sharing.

In theatre, we’ve long known that emotion is what drives human beings. Berger’s exercise discussion made me think of interactive theater like Sleep No More. There’s always a lot of well-deserved buzz about shows that require the audience to move. Does walking around or being physically active while viewing a show contribute to the audience’s desire to spread the word post-show?

4) PUBLIC. Is your project publically visible? We imitate the behavior of others. Can we observe other people supporting your project? Berger reports that we mimic the behavior of others because it provides information about how to live: “social proof.” If others are eating at that restaurant, it must be good. (I wonder if it’s also related to the idea of crowd-sourcing.)

Where do most people put their theatre tickets? Away, in pockets, purses. One idea that Berger suggests directly about theatre is intriguing: “…if theater companies and minor league teams could use buttons or stickers as the ‘ticket,’ instead, ‘tickets’ would be much more publicly observable.”

Berger also explores the concept of “behavioral residue,” something that lasts after the experience. That made me reflect further: certainly, shirts and swag promoting a show should be categorized as part of this.

5) PRACTICAL VALUE. Berger calls this component “news you can use.” Is your project part of a money-saving “deal”? Is there valuable information to impart? Can it help get a discount? Berger suggests that the precept of “practical value” may be the easiest to apply.

To apply “Practical Value” to theatre-making: we certainly award discounted tickets for Student or Early Rush, or preview sales. There’s a financial “deal” aspect to that, as producers have known for a long time.

But is there another way to explore the concept of “practical value”? Can we make the case for the necessity for the arts (art, music, theater, dance, literature)? Can we show it’s not practical to live without them? Is there a way to impart to twenty-first century audiences that art is “fit for action,” as the etymology of “practical” shows?

6) STORIES. Berger begins this final chapter by relaying the story of Odysseus and the Trojan Horse, a Greek myth that has been retold for thousands of years. It has a message; it’s a good narrative. Berger then uses that myth as a metaphor for the function of story relatable to products and brands: a good story may contain valuable information more entertainingly told, and thus, is more memorable, more sustainable.

Berger believes that a product should construct a “carrier narrative” shell that will get people talking, like the Trojan Horse itself. He also cautions that this narrative should be embedded to the plot, so that it’s directly related to the product—not tangential.

The element of story is easy to connect to theatre-making. Writers certainly know something about “story as vessel” for information, since we often struggle with how to artfully hide exposition in a good tale. We know about the value of story, whether for a one-person show or an ensemble.

But what is the story of a specific project? Often, we limit promotional narratives to the bios of the creators, or an issue that brought the creative team to the project. What if you can create “the story” of a play in performance in order to attract an audience, as a meta-narrative? Should the show have its own origin story?

Berger ends Contagious with an epilogue and a checklist, and the good news that you don’t need a big budget to apply these steps to make your project “go viral.”

As we seek audiences for our art, perhaps some of Berger’s ideas can point the way towards imagining a more “contagious” future for theatre artists and audiences.

Contagious: Why Things Catch On by Jonah Berger, published by Simon and Schuster, New York, 2013.

To see author Jonah Berger discuss Contagious: Why Things Catch On and each aspect in detail, click here.

Laura A. Shamas is a co-founder of LA FPI and currently volunteers as an Outreach Agent. 

A Woman’s Right to Choose

Lately I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about choices.

An actor makes choices — some conscious, some not — about how she or he lives in the moment.  Sometimes the choice happens on its own as a result of information that the actor is given; other times the choice is deliberate.  Whatever the genesis, that decision sets the tone and, ultimately the trajectory for the scene, play, movie, TV show or Youtube video.  Because once that choice has been made, the story gains new life.  It moves in a new direction with new choices — again, some deliberate, some not — that present themselves.  My point is, there’s no going back.  The story is in motion, and you’re along for the ride.

In other words, you can’t go home again.

Or can you?  I’ve recently been exchanging emails with a fellow writer/actress who, after years of slogging it out in The Big Apple, has moved back to her hometown in Kentucky.  She will continue being a writer/actress; she will just do it from a place where she can hear the cicadas at night as opposed to police helicopters.  A place where, upon hearing what she does for a living, people actually respond with “Wow, that sounds exciting!” as opposed to a raised eyebrow.

I am intrigued by people who do what we do outside a major metropolitan area.  I often think about moving back to my hometown of Chapel Hill, North Carolina.  And when I say “think”, what I mean is, I am lured by a romantic notion that includes a rambling house that I either own or rent for next to nothing with a wraparound porch and a slightly uneven wood floor, twilight cocktails on said wraparound porch, quiet walks in the woods unsullied by the sound of cop choppers overhead (yes, this is a serious pet peeve), and a small group of like-minded people all committed to doing good work.  But wait a minute — don’t I already have that?  That last part?

If there is a center in Los Angeles, I live in it.  Hancock Park/Hollywood is, in many ways, both a geographical and emotional center of this vast patchwork of communities.  The copters — yes, those again — idle overhead when Paramount Studios hosts a big to-do.  Through the windows of my Hollywood bungalow I hear my neighbors talk about auditions and scripts and making a video to jumpstart their songwriting careers.  This often unhinges me when I’m trying to write, and lately I long not so much for a wraparound porch but a tent in the woods and no one for miles.  The radio static of all the creative energy and eagerness to “be something” in this town can get to me.  Try as I do not to care about keeping up with the Joneses — or, in most cases, the wannabe Joneses — it’s hard not to be in a state of constant personal evaluation: Am I working hard enough?  Why did she sell a script and not me?

Then there’s just the energy of it all.  If you believe in it — and I do — a city filled with people striving creates a certain energy that isn’t necessarily the kind that calms you down and lets you look inward.  In fact, it pulls you outward, away from your center as you gaze with envy (and then self-loathing for feeling the envy in the first place) at those around you who seem to have it together more than you do.  But there’s another aspect to that energy: creativity.  It’s here and in spades.  Scratch the surface of almost anyone you meet in L.A. and you find they do something interesting.  New.  Freely and without limitation.  An actor has a food blog.  A food writer plays in a band.

And again, if you believe in energy, I live in a bungalow that once housed writers and producers who were under contract at Paramount in the ’20’s.  In the fifteen years I’ve lived here I’ve come into my own as a writer, and more importantly as an artist.  As a person.  I found my voice here.  I found myself.  I credit the bungalow almost as much as my own determination.

Could that have happened in Chapel Hill?  Or Charlottesville or Austin or Louisville?  Possibly.  But as a single woman not hell-bent on getting married and having a family, I found my people here.  “Here” being L.A.  “Here” being at my acting school, an amazing creative community.  “Here” being with my playwriting group, with my writer friends.  “Here” being literally right here, on this blog.

A better question might be: Maybe you can go home again, but do you really want to?