Month: February 2019

“Hello, Dumb Ass!” Vol. 1

On February 28, 2019

Because I have a posting schedule and I stick to it, even if I occasionally bend the rules, I thought today would be a day to do something different on the blog. The last time I did that, I gave my hot take on the solution to the dwindling number of cast recordings, and before that, I addressed the thorny topic of live theater on film. Now… well, now I’m premiering a new feature on the blog!

It’s called “Hello, Dumb Ass!” (to be sung to that quaint tune promising Dolly would never go away again, of course), and it addresses one of the things producers dread more than anything else: pretentious semi-pro industry people — usually drama critics or theater scholars — attempting to suggest a “bold new direction” for the theater, and tripping over their own feet on their way out of the gate. As Harvey Fierstein once said, “You know, I hate doin’ this to ya, kids, but sometimes you leave me no choice!”

The subject of today’s episode of “Hello, Dumb Ass!” is “Ten Things Theaters Need to Do Right Now to Save Themselves (In No Particular Order),” a 2008 article for The Stranger, a periodical that covers “everything you need to know about Seattle theater” (including a theater and performance calendar, weekly reviews, staff picks, etc.), by Brendan Kiley, an area writer/editor whose beats, per his Twitter bio, “include theater, drugs, surveillance, and badminton.” Fascinating.

At the time it was posted, it was touted as a much-needed list of advice for theaters. Admittedly I have no idea how much or how little his advice applied specifically to the Seattle scene, or how helpful it (may have) ultimately proved to be, but a few years later, people began posting about it on theater discussion sites, including Indianapolis Business Journal columnist Lou Harry, and feeling the need to respond as though it was a general advisory. (Let’s face it: people looking for ideas on the Internet, by and large, aren’t considering stuff in context; they might come across an article like this and think what’s good for the goose is good for the gander.)

The response was largely negative, and it’s not hard to see why: articles like this may be provocative, but they’re usually just bad data, which already pervades the industry and knows no bounds. I don’t like to be the balloon pricker, but this idealistic Kiley gentleman, while entitled to his opinion, is full of shit, especially when it comes to advising regional or community theaters on what to do to attract new audiences. And to prove it, I’m going to address his points individually. Let’s begin at the beginning, shall we?

Enough with the goddamned Shakespeare already. Kiley acknowledges that Shakespeare is (in his words) “the greatest playwright in history,” and then goes on to call him an “enabler” and “crutch,” “the man you call when you’re timid and out of ideas.” And he proposes “a five-year moratorium” on Shakespeare. This is designed to encourage theaters to broaden their horizons, foster new material, and “teach [their] audiences to want surprises.” It’s a nice thought, but let’s look at how practical it is. First of all, has he considered that Shakespeare being “the greatest playwright in history” might be why his work is produced so often? Secondly, has he considered the financial resources of the average community theater? The money from these companies doesn’t just come from ticket sales. Sometimes they have donors or investors who have certain expectations; “we give you this money for you to produce something we know has a chance of making that money back.” Sometimes they have sponsors who would feel more comfortable putting their names behind an established work than a new one. Shakespeare is recognizable, free to produce and perform (like any dead author outside of copyright, you don’t have to pay royalties to some agency), a good testing ground for actors, and ripe for experimentation. I mean, maybe Seattle circa 2008 was presenting too much Shakespeare, and it is a good idea not to pigeonhole oneself, but this sounds more like a Kiley problem than a general problem. Nothing wrong with being personally burnt out on Shakespeare, but don’t project it onto the audience landscape.
Tell us something we don’t know. With this suggestion, he continues what he established in his first point, urging theaters, “Every play in your season should be a premiere — a world premiere, an American premiere, or at least a regional premiere.” Again with this emphasis on new plays. Have you taken a gander at new plays lately? I’ve attended a lot of new theater, and it ranks among some of the worst theater-going experiences I’ve ever had. Pushing for new work doesn’t help if the new work is crap. I speak in such general terms, and purely in terms of my subjective opinion because I feel like I already answered many of the pragmatic/commercial concerns that might hold back new work in my response above. I’ll give him this — he takes a swipe at Actors’ Equity for inhibiting union actors from doing work in fringe groups and venues that I think is well-deserved. They talk about creating job opportunities in a changing economy and only address the big kahunas when union actors and fringe groups alike could develop a closer association that would be mutually beneficial.
Produce dirty, fast, and often. This point in particular departs from reality; the author suggests a multiplex approach to live theater that is hardly tenable at a micro level. In attempting to encourage small groups to produce more work, he cites the example of a fringe theater company called Annex managing to produce 27 plays in one season in 1988. Leaving aside the fact that this seems to be anomalous if Kiley has to go back that far for an example, he leaves out key factors that helped Annex and would hold back others. One, Annex had an unusually large group of actors and creatives at the time, numbering roughly in the hundreds or thereabouts in each category. If you have lots of bodies to throw at each play, you can produce lots of them. Thing is, most companies have the same handful of people who keep getting cast in the same kind of roles or coming back for every show no matter what, and that may not be the only hat they’re wearing. Trying to produce a packed schedule with a small group of artists results in burnout, especially considering the logistics of trying to cram multiple shows into one season without enough hands on deck. Speaking of which… when it comes to programming a season, less truly is more. Fewer shows mean a longer run for each, the ability to devote more time to each, and an increased chance to build an audience for each, an audience that may keep coming back. The more shows you add to a season, the more quality suffers due to quantity (the lather-rinse-repeat of rehearsing a show, opening it, closing it, and rehearsing a new show, likely during the performance schedule of the last, is hard enough on performers and creatives in a normal situation; it’d be great to produce 12 shows in one season, but if 6 of ’em suck, it doesn’t help your reputation), and the less chance there is to build an audience. In smaller venues, it may take two or three weeks to start generating crowds. This idea would close shows before they even got a shot. Very flawed point, #3 is.
Get them young. Rather self-explanatory, but outside of urging theaters to pull in a younger crowd (and citing an email from a local playwright, presumably to lend it credibility), Kiley doesn’t explain how. (As for the local playwright, the closest he comes to giving solid advice is that familiar old saw “Do whatever it takes.”) Does “getting them young” equal a ton of new plays? From what he says, they don’t even want to see old plays. Does it mean better marketing that shakes up expectations for established pieces? There are several valid theories out there for how to “get them young,” but he explores none of them. Consequently, the point is unclear, and I am unable to consider its validity, as any reader would be.
Offer child care. I’ve got some problems with this one. On paper, it’s a nice enough idea as he describes it: “Sunday school is the most successful guerrilla education program in American history. Steal it. People with young children should be able to show up and drop their kids off with some young actors in a rehearsal room for two hours of theater games. The benefits: First, it will be easier to convince the nouveau riche (many of whom have young children) to commit to season tickets. Second, it will satisfy your education mission (and will be more fun, and therefore more effective, for the kids). Third, it will teach children to go to the theater regularly. And they’ll look forward to the day they graduate to sitting with the grown-ups. Getting dragged to the theater will shift from punishment to reward.” I like the thought of it, but the potential execution is problematic. How many actors double as licensed care providers? How many parents, especially nouveau riche, would feel comfortable leaving their kids with unlicensed care providers for a couple of hours? Even leaving actors and qualifications out of the picture, small groups mostly rely on volunteers for every position (tending bar, ushering, front of house staff, clean-up crew, etc.), and sometimes have trouble finding enough bodies for those. Will adding another responsibility to the plate make it any easier? And then there’s the question of space, already a constraint for most theaters. A rehearsal room would never be available on a regular enough basis, so the best solution would be a designated childcare area. Now, where does it go? It’s not a laughable idea, but it needs more thought first.
Fight for real estate. This is admittedly a Seattle problem as opposed to a general problem, at least at first glance. Kiley describes cases of noteworthy artists fleeing the scene for friendlier climes because they perceived Seattle as using the arts community and not putting anything back into it. Point #6 is a plea to push the local government for affordable housing for artists and urging readers to support CODAC, a committee aimed at pushing area developers to build affordable arts spaces into their condos. Truthfully, this phenomenon is a double-edged sword that artists face everywhere. They turn cheap neighborhoods into trendy art districts just by being there and doing what they do, which helps create rising property values they can’t afford, being understaffed (all or mostly volunteer, to boot), cash-strapped concerns with tiny budgets attempting to fight a hyper-inflated real estate market. This is an important issue deserving of proper attention, and I’m all for it.
Build bars. Again, on the face of it, a good idea. Many Broadway, West End, and Broadway-level touring venues have bars, and in the small-theater aesthetic, it’s not even so much to get energy or conversation flowing (the Broadway, West End, etc. paradigm) as it is to try making extra money to goose the chance of another show. (Say what you want about theater standing on its own as a conversation starter, even with a sober audience; it takes money to put on theater.) But, also again, it’s a matter of cost: the liquor license, the huge insurance premium, and so forth. Even costs that nobody thinks about. A couple of points ago, he discusses children getting dragged to the theater as a reward instead of punishment; are we encouraging casual drinking for Mommy and Daddy? Do we need to arrange designated drivers for each family, and how much will that cost? Worse, what if the alcohol encourages boorish behavior and ruins everyone else’s experience at a show that isn’t crying out for “audience participation” from a group of drunk people going through the self-important/self-loathing cycle that comes with a few too many drinks? Speaking of which…
Boors’ night out. He encourages “audience participation, on the audience’s terms” “for one performance of each show,” citing precedents as disparate as the Elizabethan era, vaudeville, and The Rocky Horror Picture Show in the same breath. Because, after all, no one came purely to enjoy the show. Sure, let’s encourage rude behavior. Why not suspend the electronic device rule too? I’m sure anarchy’s a fine way to run a theater.
Expect poverty. Just listen to this privileged little shit: “Theater is a drowning man, and its unions — in their current state — are anvils disguised as life preservers. Theater might drown without its unions, but it will certainly drown with them. And actors have to jettison the living-wage argument. Nobody deserves a living wage for having talent and a mountain of grad-school debt. Sorry.” Congratulations on having job security, but let me explain something to you, sir: theater artists provide a service to the community, just as insurance companies, sports teams, physicians, etc., do. Acting is not a frivolous pastime. What other profession would you ask someone who is highly trained to work for nothing or next to nothing? None. Try getting surgery from someone willing to do it for free. Everyone deserves a living wage. Everyone. I am not the staunchest defender of actors for a variety of reasons, but Brendan Kiley, go fuck yourself.
Drop out of graduate school. Really? I was literally about to cut your throat, and you have to go and say something I agree with. I’m gonna elaborate more on this when I get to writing about acting, but this is one point I wholeheartedly agree with. Go for the college training if you’re planning to teach acting, or if you have no skills whatsoever but know you want to do it. If you know you have innate talent, and other people have told you so, the best way to gain skill is to do theater, as often as you possibly can. Get your friends together and do a reading at your place. Pool your resources and do a small show at a local venue that is cleared for public use, like a library or a hall. Make theater, and hone your skills through experience. If you’re really good, a teacher and a piece of paper are not going to add anything you don’t already have, just like Oz didn’t give the Tin Man anything but a fancy watch on a chain.

This has been the first installment of “Hello, Dumb Ass!” Hope you enjoyed the show, and the moral of the story is there’s a grain of truth in every field, but don’t pick the whole field hoping they’re all perfect.

(Note: The above info was originally posted at gdelgiproducer on February 25, 2014. It has been modified for its present audience.)

Resource for Writers: Formatting 101

By performingartsadvice

On February 27, 2019

In Writing

I’m breaking from my usual posting schedule of one day on and two days off to play Columbo: “Just one more thing…” (…yeah, I know, that joke’s not gonna age well. It’s an antique as it is. Lay off.) I couldn’t leave the topic of writing without covering one of the fundamentals: formatting. A lot of new writers have trouble formatting their script for a play or musical, and I thought I’d put in my two cents as a professional producer.

There are some industry standards, but by and large, people have either been following submission guidelines from the Dramatists Guild or Samuel French which have been widely shared across the Internet and held (arbitrarily, I feel) to be the standard, replicating templates by other licensing houses, or just writing it and worrying about formatting later.

One may well find templates to use in garden-variety screenwriting software such as Celtx or Final Draft, and they’re welcome to use those as they like. However, I tend to find such programs confusing and hard to operate, especially with all the keystroke commands, and they never come out looking quite like I want them to. Generally, I want them to look like the scripts I’ve seen in the past; while the screenplay templates of such programs at least look like a standard film script, however technically perfect their stage script template is about meeting its preset standard, it just never looks “right,” know what I mean? Besides this, every licensing agency on earth soliciting submissions is quick to tell one that if they are using screenwriting software, its default settings are not necessarily standard play format. Moreover, if one doesn’t have such programs, they’re dealing with Microsoft Word, or a similar word processing program, which is not equipped to deal with the demands of a play or musical unless one creates a new template.

So… I’ve come up with my own set of general rules that has always served me well, plucking a little here and there from each format I’ve encountered, and one is welcome to give them a shot! Alternately, if one is not savvy with word processing, I can always give it a go on their behalf (for a small nominal fee, if one can afford it; if not, for free). For the record, nobody is married to this. It’s just a pointer for those who have no clue. I always re-format the scripts created by my office this way, largely because I want to set an example and it’s what I have arrived at after years of trial and error.

Click here to read those rules!

(Note: The above info was originally posted at gdelgiproducer on June 6, 2017. It has been modified for its present audience.)

The Thin Line Between Translation and Adaptation

By performingartsadvice

On February 25, 2019

In Writing

Wrapping up my series of thoughts on writing (and, to a certain extent, composing), I couldn’t properly address that subject without touching on translation and adaptation. In that sense, it’s kind of fitting that most of this post is going to be a “quote share”; translation and adaptation are both all about conveying the ideas of other people to a different audience, after all.

Some of my favorite theater pieces are foreign in origin (Tanz der Vampire comes most readily to mind, for reasons that are obvious to anyone who knows me), and many fans, myself included, appreciate them in their native language, but translation is still important. Why, you might ask?

Not everybody speaks a foreign language with dexterity. Just because they can speak some of it, doesn’t mean they understand it well enough to handle every situation. Holding a basic conversation is one thing, but easy and effective communication is another. At the pace a play or musical is performed, if one sticks with a language in which the audience is not fluent, one runs the risk of losing their attention.
People generally prefer their tongue; almost without exception, people respond better to the language they grew up speaking. To effectively sell something — especially a piece of entertainment — to people, it’s not enough to speak a language that they understand (especially if their understanding is limited). You have to reach them in the language their heart speaks.
Most importantly, translation allows ideas and information to spread across cultures, sometimes changing history in the process. Without Arabic translations, the ideas of ancient Greek philosophers wouldn’t have survived the Middle Ages; no matter what your religious belief, part of the reason the Bible has had such an impact on history is the sheer number of translations (one count had it at 531 languages); sports teams and organizations use translation today, regularly, to overcome language barriers and transcend international boundaries.

In the vast majority of cases, an officially licensed translation of a piece of entertainment — a book, a play, a film, etc. — is done by professionals. However, in the world of anime (and in certain musical theater fandoms), there are also enthusiasts of a show (either stage or television), film, or literary work who create translations, called “fansubs” — a term derived from said fan translation being added to videos as subtitles — in the anime community. Often, this fan work is the result of the pros “screwing it up,” from the fans’ perception. (This was especially true for American anime fans, who watched in dismay as a handful of American entertainment companies licensing Japanese animation at the start of the anime boom in the States mistakenly assumed that anime, being cartoons, was meant for kids, and consequently “carved up” their favorites into kiddie fare more appropriate for their target audience.)

In either case, pro or amateur, translation is a delicate art. And professional translators are divided on how much of themselves or their own culture they bring to a piece. Translators of the Bible call this question of how closely one reflects the source text in the target text the difference between “formal” and “dynamic” equivalence. Or, as Don Bartlett, who has translated Danish, German, Norwegian, Spanish, and Swedish books into English, put it in a piece where several translators were interviewed for The Guardian, “There’s always a tension between being true to the original and being readable.” On the one hand, translating the meanings of words and phrases in a literal way maintains fidelity to the text; on the other, translating sense-for-sense, taking into account the meanings of phrases or whole sentences, can improve readability. And that’s just books… imagine doing this for theater or film!

I subscribe to the assessment of Edith Grossman (also interviewed in the aforementioned Guardian piece), who once said: “…the most fundamental description of what translators do is that we write — or perhaps rewrite — in language B a work of literature originally composed in language A, hoping that readers of the second language — I mean, of course, readers of the translation — will perceive the text, emotionally and artistically, in a manner that parallels and corresponds to the aesthetic experience of its first readers. This is the translator’s grand ambition. Good translations approach that purpose. Bad translations never leave the starting line.”

You might say, that’s all well and good, but this blog is about plays and musicals. It might be more important to hear from those who are especially practiced in the art of translation and adaptation in that area. To that end, I unearthed some quotes from a couple of authors that make essentially the same point.

The first two are from Herbert Kretzmer, who has been the English adaptor of such popular foreign musicals as Les Misérables, Marguerite, and Kristina. He has certainly not been silent in his view of a translator’s role.

Back in the day, The Barricade, which was the in-house zine of worldwide Les Mis companies, interviewed him about his work on the show, and he had this to say:

I offer this advice to any lyricist invited to adapt or translate foreign songs into English: Do not follow the original text slavishly. Re-invent the lyric in your own words, remembering that there may be better ways of serving a master than trotting behind him on a leash. Working on Les Misérables I did not see myself as a translator, but as a co-writer… an equal among equals.

He further elaborated on this line of thought in an interview with The New Yorker around the time of the Les Mis film’s release:

The show I inherited from Paris ran for just two hours. The show I wrote in English ran for just over three hours. You don’t need to be a math whiz to calculate that at least a third of the play did not exist before I got my hands on it. I feel the show belongs as much to me as it does to the French. […] Words have resonance within a culture, they have submarine strengths and meaning. If I wanted a literal translation, I would go to the dictionary. Translation — the very word I rebut and resent, because it minimizes the genuine creativity that I bring to the task.

Another solid example is Wallace Shawn. My average reader might know him best as a performer (such noteworthy film roles as a fictionalized version of himself in My Dinner With Andre, John Lahr in Prick Up Your Ears, Vizzini in The Princess Bride, Mr. Hall in Clueless, and the voice of Rex in the Toy Story franchise, or TV roles like Grand Nagus Zek in Star Trek: Deep Space Nine or Cyrus Rose in Gossip Girl, will come readily to mind), but he’s also an accomplished writer, with plays like the Obie-winning Aunt Dan and Lemon, The Designated Mourner, and Grasses of a Thousand Colors among his many credits on that count.

More to the point of this post, in 2006, his version of Brecht & Weill’s Threepenny Opera, which starred Alan Cumming and Cyndi Lauper and was produced by the Roundabout Theatre Company, enjoyed a celebrated Broadway run at Studio 54. Critics were divided as to the quality of his translation, but I don’t feel that makes his advice any less worthy of note. In a study guide for that show, he elaborated on his working process (emphasis in italics is mine):

Could you talk a little bit about how you begin adapting somebody else’s work when you are an artist and a writer yourself?

Well, it’s a translation initially; obviously, for the purposes of production, we have made a lot of cuts and shaped it somewhat. But initially, it’s trying to write what the original writer wrote in your language. But obviously, his writing was quite lively and funny and sort of exciting. So the only way I know how to be lively and funny and even vaguely exciting is in my style. I don’t just put down the dictionary definition of each word that he used. That’s not automatically going to become exciting or funny. That could make it rather boring, and his original was not boring; his original was electrifying. Shocking, amazing, and so you take it as your responsibility to translate the amazingness as well and try to make it something that the viewer would find interesting. If your only goal is to learn the language, then you, in a way, would translate each sentence using the dictionary definition of each word without any interest in whether the final sentence in English is an exciting sentence or a boring sentence. And of course, a lot of what is in a play or any work of literature is suggestive, it’s meant to suggest something. For example, in German somebody might say, “Well, this isn’t worth any more than a big pile of glue,” which is a German expression. But that’s not an English expression; it doesn’t have any interest to us because it just is not an expression that for us means anything. Whereas for them, the phrase “a big pile of glue” has taken on kind of a bigger meaning. So you have to think of interesting ways to make the point that you think the original author was making. And of course, with lyrics that rhyme as in The Threepenny Opera you couldn’t possibly come up with the same meaning as the original writer because you have to use the same music, and it has to rhyme.

So in working on the lyrics of the songs you distilled the meaning of the German for yourself and then brought yourself to the new version, yes?

I think that’s fair enough, yes. I studied the German text and I wrote a version of my own that I hoped Brecht would have enjoyed had he been alive. I would hope that he would say, “Yes, that’s what I was trying to say,” but it can’t be exactly what he said.

Bearing this in mind, what advice do I have on the ideal way to proceed when translating from the foreign source material?

Become adept at the source’s form. If you’re not well-versed in how your source operates (e.g., its structure, tone, style of the writing, etc.), you need to work. Keep pushing and pulling at it until you reach the finish line, and are as good at the form as you can be.
Distill the meaning and the spirit of the source for yourself. It’s important to fully understand the work you are translating/adapting at a literal level, don’t get me wrong, but as has been made clear above from no less than two noted adaptors and a couple of translators, the literal won’t always be most effective — sometimes the exact word won’t make sense. So get to the root of what is meant; capture the thought, and consider the spirit in which it was expressed and how it is meant to be taken.
Be creative. Use your unique sense of poetry and language. At the end of the day, when considering the above (and the input of a creative team if you’re working with one, of course), the only writer you have to work with is you, so be yourself and do what you do. At the end of the day, even with help, you’re the one putting the words on the page.
Remember your audience’s sensibilities, and adapt accordingly. Even if this is one of your all-time favorites, you’re not just writing for your fellow fans. Especially on a professional basis, you have to consider the wider audience and what they’re able to swallow while doing your best to stick to the basic form, meaning, and spirit of your source as much as you possibly can. There’s even something to learn from bad prior translations if you’re willing to take the initiative. Case in point (since I cited it above): I love Tanz der Vampire, and I hate what the many cooks who worked on the Broadway version, Dance of the Vampires, did to the resulting soup. But those same cooks did know their audience to a certain extent. I can quibble all day about how “Original Sin,” Jim Steinman’s English lyric to “Gott ist tot,” doesn’t make sense for Krolock to sing from a character POV, but — even if it was just to recycle a lyric of his that he loved — Jim did realize that, in an American environment which has its puritanical elements, you can’t put a song quoting liberally from Nietzsche called “God is Dead” on stage, or at least not without some degree of adaptation. Similarly, while many hated the new book’s vast departures, it was rewritten in response to an accurate assessment of possible audience reception: sung-through pop-operatic musicals were no longer in vogue on Broadway, and some reshaping of material was always going to occur as a result, even if only in the form of cutting (as some later productions of Tanz have done). Hopefully, you’ll do a better job than the people behind DOTV, but even if they executed their intentions badly, they weren’t wrong about the importance of knowing your audience and meeting them where they are.

(Note: The above info was originally posted at gdelgiproducer on May 11, 2016. It has been modified for its present audience.)

Song Structure and Anatomy

By performingartsadvice

On February 22, 2019

In Writing

This entry begins in answer to a specific question I was asked and is addressed to a special group of people: composers and lyricists (and, naturally, those who do both).

A year or two ago, I was gossiping on Datalounge (don’t judge, that’s only one of many ways I could be considered a throwback) and someone asked me a general question about the field:

I write poems by vocation (confessional, monologue-style) and lyrics for local bands I know, usually indie-rock groups. I have been toying with the idea of taking a libretto to a friend of mine who writes music for stage and wants to make a musical, but I’m worried my style of lyrics is too obscure and not suited. I’ve never written for pop or for opera, so I feel very unqualified as much as I’m confident about the character ‘voices’ I want to use and the lyrical style. I am a big fan of mainstream contemporary pop, however. Could you share some tips for adapting a basic lyric to a good, memorable musical number?
R189, Datalounge thread

Luckily, I’d already written on this subject before, and so I was able to recycle that advice, which I’m doing here now, as I’ve done with the first several entries and will be continuing to do, sprinkled with new stuff of course, for the foreseeable future. Take it with a grain of salt, as I have no musical training whatsoever. This is just based on my observation of recognizable musical theater song forms, especially those of contemporary (let’s say rock/pop for convenience) vintage.

Whenever I give this advice, I tend to base it, to some extent, on the instructions in the anatomy of a pop song that legendary record exec Clive Davis once gave Jim Steinman before he turned down his (and Meat Loaf’s) debut album, Bat Out of Hell. You might well say, “How does that apply to theater?” Glad you asked. The reason I use these instructions so much is that a) most songs in general, no matter the genre, tend not to deviate from this formula, it’s a very simple structure, and b) any new theater score that wishes to have a contemporary sound will need to rely in part on this style of songwriting.

Before I begin, though, I should say that it’s important not to get too hopped up on style. A lot of well-meaning contemporary theater composers (Dave Malloy in The Huffington Post pre-Great Comet among them) preach about how a musical purporting to have contemporary music should have songs in the “authentic” vernacular of a rock, hip hop, or country song, and not follow a dumbed-down middle-of-the-road style that takes the basics of those vernaculars and makes it palatable for an audience used to “traditional” theater sounds.

As wonderful and idealistic as that sounds, those well-meaning contemporary theater composers are full of shit. No one can put a definition on what is “authentic,” any more than one can describe “normal.” To pretend to do so is very condescending and somewhat insulting. All that really matters, regardless of the style or the rules you’re following, is that the melody and lyric are truthful, and are relevant to character and/or situation. To do otherwise is to miss the profound point of what a good theater song is. Besides, you’re not married to the first lyric you write anyway; a good composer will write a melody that sort of fits, and then you will work together to adjust the lyric until words and music fit like a hand in a glove, and this process may repeat as many times as it takes to come up with a good song for that spot, or even to decide if a song is necessary for that moment.

At any rate, I promised a lesson in typical structure, and here it is:

You start with a verse (we’ll call that “A”). Some may have a second verse (and that can go anywhere; this placement is not set in stone, none of them are except for starting with a verse and the repetition of the chorus, but we’ll get to that in a sec), but for the purpose of brevity, we’ll consider that “A” as well.
Then there’s a bridge (oh, how funny; the bridge is “B”). A bridge, much like the structure for which it is named, gets us from one place to another, in this case from the verse to the chorus.
The chorus (“C”… I’m noticing an unintentional pattern here…) will sell the song if written well. This is the part everyone tends to remember, so the industry calls it a “hook” because it lures them in. In a theater song, this is where you get across the main idea the song is trying to convey.
An instrumental part is optional, but often used (“D”). In a theater song, one may tend to sneak in dialogue over this, either to further a plot point or to have the character come to some realization that they will then wind up the song with. (A brilliant example is Fredrik’s statement to Desiree in “Send in the Clowns” from Sondheim’s A Little Night Music that he shouldn’t have come when he had no intention of “being rescued.” Without that moment, Barbra Streisand opined that the song in a pop context didn’t make sense, which is why her version on The Broadway Album has a new bridge and a slightly revised final verse — to get the singer to the same point in the song without losing essential characterization.) This is also used, in something that isn’t necessarily vital to the story, for dance breaks or similar entertainment purposes.
Then from the instrumental, you come back to a point earlier in the song (the hook, the verse, whatever, usually with new lyrics that reestablish what the character has learned) and fade out with it, so that everybody remembers it.

A short-hand example of this structure at work, as described above, would be A-A-B-C-D-C-C-C.

Now, you don’t have to do it the way I just described. Even in contemporary scores, theater songs will — of necessity — take on slightly different constructs from this at times (although, if you want to write a contemporary-sounding score, learning contemporary conventions like this is certainly a good idea). The important thing to remember, as I said, is that the lyric is both truthful and relevant to character and/or situation. As long as you don’t sacrifice truth and relevance, you’ll be fine.

(Note: The above info was originally posted at gdelgiproducer on August 9, 2013. It has been modified for its present audience.)

[Insert Random Hot Take on Cast Recordings]

By performingartsadvice

On February 19, 2019

In Random Topics

I’m momentarily taking a break from the series of posts I’ve made about producing, marketing, and writing (posts on directing and acting are going to follow in the not-too-distant future; there is a pattern here) to focus on a theater-related phenomenon and my thoughts on how it might be improved. Just a little something different to keep things interesting. Today, I’m going to talk about my idea for revitalizing the cast recording.

Background

Properly defined, a cast recording is a recording of a stage musical that is intended to document the songs (and, occasionally, dialogue) as they were performed in the show and experienced by the audience. Ever since the 1940s, when Decca Records decided to document the original cast of Oklahoma!, cast recordings have served as mementos of countless stage musicals, and, of course, there have been some innovations within the genre — for example, original cast recordings, which, as the name implies, feature the voices of the show’s original cast.

Also, though they are often lumped in with the Soundtracks section, either in physical stores or on digital services, it is important to note (because if I didn’t, I’d catch flak) that a cast recording and a soundtrack are not synonyms for one another. As theater writer/historian Mark Robinson puts it on his blog, “The great faux pas of young musical theater enthusiasts is that they will use the words ‘soundtrack’ and ‘cast recording’ interchangeably, or omit the latter and defer to the former as a catch-all. Let’s clear things up, once and for all: if it’s a recording of a movie musical, it’s a motion picture soundtrack. If the recording is of a Broadway show, it’s an original cast album or cast recording. Never the twain shall meet.” (I’m not nearly so stringent, but not covering it would be noted.)

Typically, cast recordings are a product of the studio rather than a live performance, an idealized rendering without audible audience reaction, more glossily perfect than any live show could be. (That’s understandable; the material will be manipulated to cultivate the most perfect sound possible, as this is pretty much the only posterity the show may receive.) The recorded song lyrics and orchestrations are identical (or very similar) to those of the songs as performed in the theater, but performers, not so involved with playing to spectators, adjust their portrayals to play for the ear alone; dialogue is often (moderately) altered, as are song intros/endings and tempi (usually increased, aiming for a gain of enthusiasm and excitement); and, back in the glory days of cast recordings, album producers even enlarged the orchestra for a richer, fuller sound. All of this combines, ideally, to create a certain excitement, a “you are there” quality where one feels like they’re actually in the room listening to these people perform for them.

Slipping into personal opinion for just a moment, I feel the best of the best cast recordings, especially the classics, are those that favor a lively performance over a clean sound. I’m averse to the pitch-perfect American Idol style of singing; I’d rather hear character than staff lines. To me, it’s sort of like how you can hear if someone’s smiling while they sing (their voice takes on a certain ebullient quality), and I think obsessively scrubbing a performance can kill that.

The Present Reality

Unfortunately, the glory days are well in the past. In recent decades, cast recordings have become an endangered species due to a variety of changes in the music industry. Chief among them, the market (which was already niche to begin with, as the days of Broadway shows spawning radio hits are mostly gone, the success of outliers like Hamilton notwithstanding) has shrunk drastically, largely because of the change in how music was sold. Most music sales — before the advent of streaming, which has shrunk those numbers even more — have been coming from digital downloads, which retailed for way less than a physical product like LP’s/CD’s/tapes, a reduced price that was the result of an underestimation on the record industry’s part as it entered the digital age. Further, as the market shrank and parent companies shrank alongside it, many of the labels that were producing cast albums have gone under, or been sold, or folded into other departments

Even before this sweeping industry-wide change, however, major labels largely saw cast recordings as unprofitable, a far cry from the days when labels paid recording costs and even invested heavily in shows for a shot at a coveted album product. In 2002, Denis McNamara, then senior V.P. for Decca Broadway, a cast recording-focused subsidiary of the Universal Classics group, told The New York Times, “It is very difficult to record a new Broadway show for under $300,000 and, quite frankly, it can be much more than that. You have to sell more than 150,000 units to see a profit. […] There are easier ways to have a hit. Boy, for that million dollars spent recording and marketing one show, you could make an awful lot of pop records.” Because of this, most labels aren’t even paying to make the album anymore; happy to release it and throw a marketing campaign at it, but sticking the show’s producer(s) with the bill. And it’s a considerable one: union minimums for cast and musicians, arrangers’ fees, copyist’s fees, fees to use production photos and artwork in the packaging, among many other costs. Oftentimes, the production is unwilling to shoulder the cost, especially if the show isn’t doing well and an album seems unlikely to sell better. Even popular revivals are less likely to be recorded these days because they could compete with the original cast recordings, further cutting down the potential sales of newer editions.

Quality Control =/= Job One

As a result of The Powers That Be attempting to keep their overhead low, so costs can be more easily recouped and they can turn a profit, the quality of production on the few cast recordings that do appear has suffered as well. Most Broadway cast recordings nowadays sound thin: cheap, dry, tinny, and very low budget, like they were recorded in a concrete room with a keyboard, which is pretty much how all recordings are done these days. (After all, when the bulk of the industry is four guys, a couple of guitars, and a drum kit, how much room do you need?) The rich, full sound one gets in the theater is gone. There’s no sense of space. It’s as if every performer is standing directly beside you in a small soundproof padded booth and speaking directly into your ear. Attempting to artificially create that “space,” reverb is added in the studio which is annoyingly present during any dialogue sequence.

And now we have recordings with 10-member “orchestras” and the cast brought in separately to record over it, with electronic enhancement (i.e., AutoTune) applied to the whole thing to make it “perfect.” It’s “perfect” alright. Perfectly plastic. This “pursuit of excellence,” to borrow a phrase from Stephen Schwartz’s Children of Eden, has led to obsessive cleanliness in modern cast recordings that stamps out the live aspect of theater. Even at the loss of its “theatricality.” Even if it means bad acoustics, poor quality microphones, an overall cheapness of sound, and talent that can’t sing on key without the benefit of technology (not always lesser talent, I must stress; sometimes that’s just the difference between a singer’s effect live vs. in the studio) rule the day. And what feedback can they expect to the contrary? Record producers in the heyday of cast recordings were theater people. Now they’re popular musicians moonlighting on a console.

The listener who has attended, or become otherwise interested in, this live show expects a cast recording to be an accurate souvenir of the experience (even if that’s never technically been the case truthfully). How does one save this dying art form? Is there a new way to address the audience’s desire for this direct souvenir of their experience? As a young producer whose company’s catalog is filled with original stage musicals, I knew I must one day confront this problem.

A New Hope

Ironically, what I think might be the beginning of the answer came when I was engaged in something virtually unrelated to my love of theater. I was perusing the Internet looking for Thin Lizzy bootlegs (I dunno about you, but I love me some Phil Lynott), and in the process, I discovered Concert Live, a unique service currently based in London and centered in the UK. To quote their website, “Concert Live enables fans all over the world to relive the experience with instant audio recordings of live gigs available within minutes of the last note being played. [We] are dedicated to providing high-quality collectible items featuring band-commissioned artwork, exclusive content, and premium sound quality.”

Founded in 2005 by Adam Goodyer and James Perkins, they do exactly what it says on the box: they patch a multi-track into the soundboard that regulates a show’s sound, and rather than the muddy noise that may result from just taking a raw dump from the board, they get clean channel feeds. Bear in mind, these are not recordings that would only be good for archival purposes. They are the proverbial “real deal.” The Concert Live team can record a whole show in high quality with the help of the sound engineers, make CDs of the same show everyone just saw (burning the extracted audio as the performance continues and utilizing pre-made artwork and covers), and have them pressed and ready for sale just in time for the fans to leave. Some bands do this for every gig, even in venues that hold as many as 1,000 people. Thanks to signed deals with record companies allowing them to create and sell instant live music, Concert Live has recorded such artists as Alice Cooper, Elton John, Gang of Four, Kasabian, KISS, Public Image Limited, Robbie Williams, and Ronan Keating, creating one-of-a-kind souvenirs available for fans to pick up after attending a concert, recorded from that very same show.

In reviewing my collection of cast recordings, and those of peers and colleagues, I discovered many theater fans possess plenty of officially released, live-recorded cast albums off the soundboard (usually from Europe) that sound fantastic. Per sound engineers in the field, it requires some work in the set-up, but listening shows it’s worth it, even with shows I don’t like. A friend urged me to compare the London cast recording of Legally Blonde to the Broadway one, and judge live vs. studio. Despite some iffy mixing and the fact that I’m not a particular fan of the show, I had to admit I was impressed. Recording a show live captures a kind of magic that’s not there in the studio. And the recording technique helps the performances in a way the studio doesn’t. Viewing pictures of recent cast album sessions, singers are placed in isolation booths, so not only do they record as isolated tracks, but they also lack interaction with co-stars. The placement of microphones and the separation between singers is an issue, and in the studio, performers have to learn to adjust their performances accordingly and at the same time translate the feeling of a live performance from stage to record, which isn’t always a breeze. Record it live, and you don’t have to create “live” magic — it’s just there. The vivid theatricality is communicated without trickery.

So, thanks to my discovery of Concert Live and my reevaluation of live cast recordings, I had a burst of insight. Rather than play the waiting game and wager on a major label being interested enough to invest in a conventional cast recording, we could create something much more collectible for the audience: record every performance live, nightly, and offer it for sale in the lobby (for those who still prefer physical product) or online (with the help of a special access code) afterward.

Pros

The first shows to utilize this method would have a built-in advertising gimmick from the new practice alone, which would enhance word-of-mouth.
This practice would destroy the bootleg market almost completely, something companies have been trying to do in various media for years. Why go to the trouble of making an audience bootleg of variable quality (indeed, some bootlegs are in such an execrable state that one is almost required to follow along with a script to understand every line), when you can just buy the CD on the way out or access a personal digital copy later? And why share the item in question illegally on the Internet when its uniqueness is a moot point owing to the wide availability of other performances?
Tracking after-show sales numbers would be useful data for indicating audience interest to a bigger label and allow for the possibility of marketing a “definitive” recording to the wider audience (i.e., the majority of cast album purchasers outside of New York who may never get to see the show live), created by going back through a few live performances and selecting the best cuts from each.

Cons

Actors can be sensitive enough about their performance without the pressure of being recorded every night. Even if we wanted to accommodate them, there’s a limit to the bag of tricks engineers can employ en vivo before the point of sale.
Mixing out audience noise (i.e., removing watches beeping, cell phones going off, etc., which no one wants to be preserved on a cast album) is an added concern that would always be an issue. Further, it’s questionable whether any proper mixing and miking practices would ever lose unwanted stage noise, such as performers moving about the set.
Worst of all (from a producing standpoint anyway), no major savings would result. Remote engineering is quite expensive, and the above-mentioned costs to a single cast recording would still apply, possibly proving astronomical if applied to recording on a nightly basis. My working theory for dealing with that, at the present moment anyway, unfortunately, passes the cost down to the consumer by factoring every item into the overall financial scheme (e.g., ticket prices structured to cover the cost of sale, increased salaries for cast and musicians with union minimums factored in, and attendant fees for arrangers, copyists, production photos/artwork, etc.).

It’s a work in progress, but it can only get better with outside input. What do you think?

(Note: The above idea was originally posted at gdelgiproducer on May 15, 2013. I subsequently adapted it for a LinkedIn article that was initially published on June 25, 2014, with a subsequent revision posted on March 10, 2016. Needless to say, it has been further modified for its present audience.)

Writing: The ARKOFF Formula

By performingartsadvice

On February 16, 2019

In Writing

In my post about marketing and more specifically a type of marketing called the “Peter Pan Syndrome,” I talked about the practices of a low-budget film studio called American International Pictures (AIP) and how they strongly informed many strategies adopted by today’s entertainment industry. I’m going to be talking today about a formula AIP used for generating content that may prove useful to writers of plays and musicals who are facing a common authors’ predicament.

A frequent criticism of current theater by the sensitive aesthetes who call themselves “purists” is that new theater is horrible from a textual standpoint — episodic, with a trite, sophomoric point of view. Like it or hate it, this is a result of the popularity of television and film, both of which benefit from this streamlined style, and its effect on new writers, who try to emulate it onstage.

I don’t agree with the so-called “purists.” The audience for live entertainment is shifting, and it’s important to bear that in mind. A production will often play to a crowd that doesn’t normally go to the theater, has never gone before, may never go again, and doesn’t know what it’s about; they couldn’t tell you the difference between a cast recording and a soundtrack, they probably don’t own any movies based on a play or musical (unless said play or musical is adapted from a movie they own, and they’ve come out of either genuine interest or morbid curiosity), and if they have a favorite show tune they have little to no idea it came from a show, to begin with. The only thing they care about is the appearance of culture — they weathered the (often pricey) proposition of buying a ticket, be it to legit theater, dinner theater, university theater, any kind really, because theater is like nothing else on the planet in that it is truly live, and they’ve had it jammed down their throats that they must try and experience that. What does it matter if the writing style is that which might have a chance of entertaining them instead of some antique form?

My point? Authors always beat themselves up about the choice between art, which they equate (often rightly) with their truth, and the public’s preference as filtered through the demands of commerce. The truth is, the audience buys what it is sold. With much practice, a writer can deliver what the suits want, while ticking off whatever boxes suit their fancy as well. And a possible answer lies in a formula AIP relied upon, apparently with much success, for generating content.

During a 1980’s talk show appearance, Samuel Z. Arkoff, entertainment lawyer and co-founder of AIP, elaborated on this formula. Not exactly short on ego, he called it the ARKOFF Formula. Even more amazingly, he made that bacronym work. AIP’s ideals for a movie included (definitions are his):

Action — “exciting, entertaining drama.”
Revolution — “novel or controversial themes or ideas.”
Killing — “a modicum of violence.”
Oratory — “notable dialogue and speeches.”
Fantasy — “acted-out fantasies common to the audience.”
Fornication — “sex appeal, for young adults.”

Per AIP, the right mix of some — or all — of these elements generally produced success, and proved especially fruitful at the box office if their producers managed to keep the budget micro-investment size. And, though it may be defined somewhat differently, it still exists as a basic Hollywood formula today. (For example, author Gregory Benford, in his novel Rewrite: Loops in the Timescape, calls it “the law of thermodramatics,” meaning “To get more audience, turn up the heat. Go back to the pulps, use a touch of wit, do the Lucas-Spielberg scrub, and presto! The land of megabucks.”)

Cerebral appeals to intellect may make a person think, but it’s not selling out to also entertain the audience, especially if doing so prevents an artist from literally starving. AIP’s example is felt today in all kinds of popular entertainment that also deals with deep concepts. The motion picture Dogma, for example, self-described by its writer-director-co-star Kevin Smith as a “dick and fart joke movie” (which it certainly is, no doubt about that), is also a brilliant exploration/deconstruction of Catholic theology and Christian beliefs.

If you don’t believe me, here’s an exercise that might prove my point: apply ARKOFF to any of your favorite stories (or your own, if you write original material), and tell me if it fits the principles. Does ARKOFF fit all works or only some? Would it improve your work to the point of selling if you took some cues from it? It’s worth a moment’s consideration.

(Note: The above info was originally posted at gdelgiproducer on June 21, 2013. It has been modified for its present audience.)

On Filming Theater, and Why It Doesn’t Happen More

By performingartsadvice

On February 13, 2019

In Producing

In spaces where the performing arts are discussed, there are only so many topics under the sun. A number of them come up so often that resurrecting the subject is likely to be seen as beating a dead horse.

Among such well-trod ground is the debate over whether or not professionally filming plays and musicals for commercial release should be standard practice. Time and again, I see posts on the Internet that make arguments more or less along the lines of those captured in this screenshot:

Tumblr user sarahexplosions: "if Broadway doesn't want bootlegs floating around then they need to get their act together and make legal recordings. you can say all you want that theater is meant to be enjoyed live, but the fact of the matter is not everybody can get to NYC to go to a Broadway show. not everybody can afford to take the time off of work and buy a plane ticket to NYC and buy a night in a hotel AND get the ticket to the show. people wants to see the shows, that's why there's a bootleg market in the first place, but it's unreasonable to expect that everyone has the time, money, and ability to make it out to the one place in the world to see something on Broadway, especially if it's a limited engagement. so record that shit, slap some subtitles on it, and sell it so we can buy it legally."

Tumblr user actyourshoesizegirl: "Reblogging this every time I see it. Copyright is important for creators but it should not support cultural elitism. Affordability and accessibility of cultural content is key unless we want to live in a very divided society."

At the time of capture, this post had garnered 184,556 notes. — A sample argument on the subject of professionally filming plays or musicals. Something along these lines is posted nearly every time the subject comes up. (If the image did not load, the posts captured in it should appear as alt text; if not, please leave a comment.)

Needless to say, as a working producer, I can tell you it’s not nearly that simple. I’m more than willing to elaborate.

Before I begin to describe the ins and outs of professionally recording a show, however, let me start by unpacking the notion that a lack of accessibility to Broadway shows (specifically) constitutes cultural elitism. Considering how egalitarian the people who post this stuff usually are when it comes to such a viewpoint in other areas, they inevitably treat “Broadway tickets should be cheaper and shows should be filmed” as the be-all and end-all of accessibility, when no one talks about supporting the local theater/arts scene, petitioning for more governmental support and funding for the arts, fighting for changes in how licensing agencies operate so newer shows are made available sooner and licensing shows, in general, becomes cheaper so companies are more likely to put them on, encouraging more work from new playwrights and new companies so the overall talent pool is bolstered, etc. Yes, “theater is more than Broadway” can be an elitist viewpoint for some people, but there’s so much more to the issue of accessibility than focusing specifically on Broadway.

Since we are focusing, however, let’s unpack one more common argument from the “everything should be filmed” side that falls apart under closer scrutiny. While such taping could theoretically expand interest in theater, from a purely economic standpoint, Broadway is not dying. Grosses increase in record numbers every year, flop rates generally have remained the same for a long time, and rather than the massive ticket price hikes of the past few years causing Broadway to buckle under its own weight, the audience has simply shifted to the tourists flocking to New York as a vacation destination. As much as one would like it to be true to bolster their argument, even if one’s favorite shows are closing, the industry simply hasn’t gotten to a point of “adapt or die” for media accessibility, and an “evolution” where we move more toward taped theater will only be necessary when theater-going as a hobby/tourist attraction falls in both ticket sales and gross.

Having said that, the people against taping shows for commercial release have bullshit arguments as well. The question is not, and hopefully never will be, “Why can’t they make legally available recordings of Broadway shows?” We absolutely can, and most of the major complaints other producers make about why it’s unwise to do so are bogus. For example, the argument that, given the rise in ticket prices, someone might opt for the filmed version instead and take money out of their pocket, or worse, convey the idea that the filmed version is a reasonable substitute for the live show, was proven wrong just over a decade ago with the release of the movie versions of Chicago and The Phantom of the Opera, both long-running Broadway shows, both of which saw an upward spike in ticket sales because of the film releases. It’s intelligent not just in terms of preservation, but in terms of revenue.

Now, “Why don’t they…. (etc.)” — well, as Dr. Lanning’s hologram frequently says in I, Robot, “That, detective, is the right question.” We don’t do it as often as we theoretically could because the actual sales rarely return the cost of investment, and a filmed record of a live performance is a serious investment, both of time and money, with little chance of return. And to explain why — here’s the part you came for — I’m going to break down the hard and expensive process for you:

Securing the rights. Film/broadcast rights are not automatically granted to the producers of the show, so one would have to work out an arrangement with the author(s) and composer(s), both in terms of an initial upfront payment and in terms of royalties.
Union costs before, during, and after filming. Bear in mind I’m not just talking union salaries which get a substantial bump due to filming (one has to contend with Actors’ Equity, the Stage Directors and Choreographers Society, United Scenic Artists, International Alliance of Theatrical Stage Employees, and so on when it comes to salary hikes), but also the copyright issue. The work of a creative team on each production (blocking/staging, choreography, production design, etc.) is copyrightable, and that means the director, choreographer, designer, and so forth are owed royalties after the fact. This isn’t something we can avoid, and it gets pricey. (Nothing wrong with unions at all, I’m all for ’em, but look into what Equity asks for filming a 30-second commercial [or watch the Chorus Line documentary, Every Little Step, and learn about the hoops the filmmakers had to jump through just to shoot the audition process for it], realize that a small Broadway musical costs at least ten and a half million dollars, and that many shows only finally tie up enough capital to get past opening night at the eleventh hour, and realize how big of a pain in the ass that is.)
The filming itself, and production costs. Filming of a really good pro-shot feature tends to be a three-day affair, minimum. Day 1 is done so that they can make sure all the equipment is working, and so the crew can see the show and get an idea of what they want to film, how best to shoot a specific scene or song, etc. Days 2 and 3 are actual recordings, and they do two days so they can cut together the best of what they get. As for the audience, on infrequent occasions, at least one of the days is a normal performance where people have paid to be there, but the majority of the time, the audience for filming is chosen from a paper service like Black List, 1iota, or others (to rule out any of the conceivable unpredictable mishaps involving a real live audience), and tickets are free for all the shows, which is more money out of the producers’ pockets. Aside from that, a fully realized filming costs real money, not only including paying everyone but also for the entire bucket of what it costs to make a “professional” movie. Whether released before or after a show closes, someone has to pony up the huge cost of filming, editing (and any other post-production), and releasing, which — on the low end — is at least $500,000 or more. All of it money they will likely never see back in their lifetime. (Even the stuff preserved by the New York Public Library’s Theater On Film and Tape Archive, which is only available for viewing to serious researchers at minimal cost and is far from release quality [usually aiming a camera at the stage, with the occasional pan, and that’s it] and often not subject to the same setup, editing, and post-production costs as a result, still has a ballpark cost of around $15,000 average, for which the producers are on the hook. If the show is already hemorrhaging money at an alarming rate, they may not see the worth of an extra few grand for an archival tape that few will ever watch.)
Finding a distributor. That’s a whole other issue, as, especially today, with the evolution of other entertainment media which is still spreading, theater simply doesn’t have widespread appeal. The only shows that could potentially turn a profit from these would be the mega-hits (name brands like anything by Cirque du Soleil, or shows like Les Mis, Phantom, Rent, Cats, etc.), which hardly need it. Releasing a recording of a newer, comparatively obscure piece, no matter how much one loves it, would never be anything but even more money down the drain. Here’s an example of an artistically-successful-but-commercially-D.O.A. Broadway show that got filmed: Passing Strange. Exceptionally well-filmed (by Spike Lee, no less), well-reviewed, a fine film recording of a show. So explain why the interest level is such that the video cannot be found among the top 10,000 titles on Amazon. One can point to newer distribution platforms, like online streaming (Amazon, Hulu, iTunes, Netflix, etc.) or made-to-order DVDs, both of which sound like safe bets for profitability to the layman, but the problem with those is mainly that the technology is too new for theater as a whole to catch up with, and especially so concerning unions (who haven’t even begun to split hairs over royalties and other issues on digital platforms).

What all of this boils down to is that, after all is said and done, the relatively few people who purchase it don’t constitute enough revenue to create a good profit margin. Why set aside money to professionally film even a hit, when it’s hard enough to fund a show as it is without throwing in the additional cost of filming a video which is probably even less likely to be profitable than the show itself?

There are always exceptions to what I’ve said above, but they also always have a reason that they are the exception and not the rule:

What about BroadwayHD / Great Performances or Live From Lincoln Center on PBS / Metropolitan Opera / NT Live? (to mention just a few)

Well, firstly, it’s worth noting that this largely falls under the category of “theater filmed by not-for-profit entities.” Those groups have generous donors who can foot the bill and pay for shows to be recorded without worrying about a return. Secondly, they often neatly sidestep for-profit production issues such as royalties, marketing costs, distribution, etc., by just doing a limited broadcast, be it standard definition or high, instead of a commercial release.

Okay, fine. But what about Shrek?

Like Passing Strange had Spike Lee in its corner, Shrek had DreamWorks, a major animated feature motion picture company, with more to gain in the long term by investing in the creation of a high-definition video of their musical. It’s more likely than not that, on a very basic level, they lost hundreds of thousands of dollars in the process, but it’s also safe to assume that DreamWorks saw it as an important, long-term investment, the accepted “price” of increasing exposure for its film/merchandise franchise to a larger audience.

But Legally Blonde…

…was never made available for sale? Is that how you were about to finish that? Because it wasn’t; it was just broadcast on MTV a few times. It costs more for retail/direct-to-consumer distribution than to just have MTV pay to broadcast your show on their channel. In this case, the producers of Legally Blonde, who covered some (or, likely, most) of the filming production expenses, were guaranteed a set amount from Viacom for broadcast rights. Likely, they were then privy to additional fees pending the achievement of certain rating benchmarks. That’s cash in the bank, as opposed to waiting for sales numbers on a commercial release and ending up “in the red.”

Do I dare ask about the closing night of Rent?

You can, but all that will do is give me the chance to talk about how Rent was a popular property with a guaranteed audience, that said audience had made the film successful enough a couple of years prior that Sony thought it worth the risk of signing on to distribute, and that it had added “X factor” just by being a special event. (Sometimes that makes all the difference; special events or limited runs, for example, the Les Mis anniversary shoots, get some priority because that potentially increases the already limited purchasing demographic.)

What about non-universal brands? (Examples: Elisabeth, Boy George’s Taboo, Our House, Jerry Springer The Opera, etc.)

Is Elisabeth a name brand like the above-named shows over in Europe? Do you remember the shit-storm and ratings that ensued when the BBC announced it would air Jerry Springer The Opera (which certainly deserves its title, more opera than musical theater)? Were Boy George’s Taboo or Our House big enough in the UK that some sales to those who might not buy a theater ticket may result, complete with recognizable pop song catalogs as scores? Not to continue answering a question with a question, but is this starting to make sense?

Don’t get me wrong — I want to resolve this issue in my lifetime, and we will. I just completed a production budget for a high-definition video feature version of one of my company’s original musicals, which we would make a line item of our standard show production budget. But our colleagues sneer at us for being unrealistic, and from a business standpoint, it’s hard to argue with them at present.

We need your enthusiasm, but we need you to be clear on what’s involved, too. Hopefully, now you are, and will bear this in mind the next time you ask about a pro shot of a show becoming standard practice. Help us figure out these hurdles, and we’ll be able to help you.

(Note: The above info was originally posted at gdelgiproducer on August 4, 2015. It has been modified for its present audience.)

The Art of Writing a Press Release

By performingartsadvice

On February 8, 2019

In Marketing, Producing

The next in my informal series of posts on marketing a play or musical covers how to write the proper press release. This one is a particular area of expertise for me; as part of the small staff of Richard Haase’s Two Per Cent Solution, one of my primary responsibilities involves the handling of publicity and public relations. The key to writing a good press release is understanding what a press release is and is not, the purpose it serves, the different types of press releases (and which to deploy at what point), what information to include and not to include, and where to direct the release when sending it out.

(Note: This will be specifically focused on crafting a press release for a theatrical event, such as a play or musical, and one taking place in the U.S. in particular, but most of the information in this post is clear and common sense enough to adapt to your specific needs, and many of the web sources I list as potential recipients of a press release have international interests as well.)

The Main Purpose

In technical terms, a press release is a written communication reporting specific, but brief, information about an event, circumstance, or other happening, released to the media through a variety of means. In addition to the standard opening and closing announcements, generally, a press release is used to promote something specific about your show, such as an accomplishment or other significant change/happening.

In marketing and promotional terms, a press release serves a single basic key purpose: to let the media know about an event, in hopes that they’ll pass the information along and promote it, be it through a reporter seeing a story in your press release and writing an actual news article about it or through direct readership publicity.

(“The media” here, for reference, includes blogs, websites, social media, etc. A press release is not a guaranteed marketing tool, in that just putting it out doesn’t guarantee mainstream sources pick it up and pass it along anymore, but bloggers/Tweeters/others may read it and find it worthy of promotion within their circles, so don’t neglect the important ones in your field when it comes time to send it out.)

Less is More

There is a difference between “news” and “press releases.” Although the differences are not as clear-cut as they once were in pre-Internet days, media professionals understand the difference, and more importantly, they give enough of a shit for you to learn it. What do I mean exactly? A press release is not a fact-filled news article. Press releases should not be written as any type of news article or feature; leave that to the people who cover your show as a result. This is — and should be — just a teaser with the necessary info about your show, designed to elicit interest from other sources in addition to providing the basics.

The Elements of Style (with apologies to Strunk & White)

When it comes to writing a press release and submitting it to media sources, there are a few rules of thumb worth following:

Timing is everything. If you deliver a release on too short of notice, no one will know your show has opened until it has already done so. Some sites have requirements for listing requests. For example, Talkin’ Broadway will only consider posting information about your production if there are a minimum of five public performances, and the request is received at least three work days before the first public performance. Bear that in mind as a general rule of thumb. (And, honestly, consider carefully whether or not your event needs a formal press release if it’s below those numbers. This may seem counterproductive advice in a post about writing one, but a shorter-lived show might only need grass-roots marketing, which may employ other faster methods, usually involving social media.)
Assess the level of importance beforehand, and choose wisely. The nature of a press campaign dictates that you’re not always releasing info to the media for instant distribution. (There are such things as exclusives, after all.) You may well design all press releases for “immediate release,” e.g. anyone can repeat the information as soon as it is made public; on the other hand, you may sometimes opt for time limits that allow only certain media sources to repeat the info immediately, and at a later time, said release is offered to other news services or websites, blogs, etc., for publication. This isn’t rocket science — in most cases, the nature of your particular campaign will dictate how and when press releases are deployed — but it still requires careful thought.
Press releases should always be written in the third person, with no exceptions. Anything requiring a personal position (“I,” “we,” et al., anything first person) is a statement — a different form of media, though often submitted to the same sources to which you’ll send your press release.
In all press releases and listing requests, the minimum required information that must be included is: the complete title of the production, the venue name and complete venue address, the box office hours (if the venue has a box office which will be opened during the week), the date of the first public performance (if the production will be playing previews, this means you include the date of the first public preview performance and the date of the official opening performance), the closing date (or a statement that the production is an open-ended run), the ticket broker for the venue (or a phone number, email address, etc., for reservations and ticket sales), a running time for the production (if it is known or can be estimated) and whether or not an intermission is scheduled, a weekly performance schedule with days and times of all performances, and information on standing room or rush ticket availability (if applicable). Minus the opening or preview dates if the show is still running (they are included again only in the closing notice, in the past tense, post-opening), this information will appear at the end of every press release.
When submitting via email (unless otherwise requested): write your release in plain ASCII text in the body of the email, do not include any PDF, text, photo, or graphic attachments, and do not include any photographs or graphics in the email’s body, do not use any elaborate or multi-column formatting. No frills or filigree, just get the info out; each publication or website will have a different way of presenting it anyway. But if production photos or graphics for the production are available, give a URL link to them or an email address where they may be requested; just because attachments are generally not considered necessary, doesn’t mean they don’t want what you have! (Note: this is adapted specifically from Talkin’ Broadway’s submission protocol. It only applies to one of many publications or websites to which you may submit. However, I find it easy to follow, so I use it as a “one size fits all” kind of deal, with the exception that I do write ahead of the release to ask if a publication or website other than Talkin’ Broadway minds attachments, which saves me part of the job.)

Who You Gonna Call?

(You just resisted the urge to scream “GHOSTBUSTERS!” Don’t lie.)

In the theater world, many submissions are electronic in this day and age. To that end, you don’t call anyone, per se; you send an email. But how do you know who to write to? Well, I’ve got the answer! Here is as comprehensive a list as possible of publications and websites to whom you should direct your press releases.

(This list is only accurate and complete as of February 8, 2019. This info may be periodically updated. I’ll see how much things change over time. Also, I’m based in the U.S., so any European readers will note this list is U.S. website- and publication-centric; if you have any contributions, please feel free to pop them in the comments section below!)

Playbill Online: Any press releases may be sent to Editor-in-Chief Mark Peikert at mpeikert@playbill.com. If you wish to advertise your show through Playbill, ad-mag@playbill.com will connect you with Magazine Advertising and ad-online@playbill.com will connect you with Online Advertising, Marketing, and Business Development. To get your show included in listings, broadway@playbill.com (Broadway), offbroadway@playbill.com (Off-Broadway), listings@playbill.com (U.S. regional), and tours@playbill.com (national tours) are the places you want to write.
BroadwayWorld: Send to newsdesk@broadwayworld.com. (Or post it on their forum; it’s an open secret they get much of their breaking news from there anyway.)
Broadway.com: If you wish to advertise your show through them, advertising@broadway.com is where to drop a line, and info@broadway.com will connect you with their Marketing, Media and Public Relations, who, if they don’t handle press releases, will at least direct you where to send them.
New York Times: Contact the culture section directly at thearts@nytimes.com.
Associated Press: Check out the AP bureaus list, with particular attention to the New York (or another major city in your locality) listing.
Reuters: The alternative to the AP. Mainly covers financial publications, but even the Wall Street Journal has a theater section, so it’s worth a shot. For time-sensitive and other material, PR Newswire, Business Wire, GlobeNewswire, or MarketWire are the best ways to land it in one of their publications.
Talkin’ Broadway: Their submission protocol, from which much of this entry is adapted, can be found here.
There are many free online press release services, such as PRWeb, that may be of use. However puny in comparison it may be to the rest of the press drop, a good share on Facebook or any other number of social media could cause the calls to pour into the contact blurb of such a release. Every little bit helps!

This info merely scratches the surface, but hopefully, you’ll have a better idea of how some of this works!

(Note: The above info was originally posted at gdelgiproducer on November 2, 2013. It has been modified for its present audience.)

Marketing: “The Peter Pan Syndrome”

By performingartsadvice

On February 6, 2019

In Marketing

Continuing with the notion of de-tangling mysterious aspects of theater, this will be the first in what will likely become an informal series of posts on how to market a play or musical. You raised the money, you assembled the cast (and musicians, in the event of a musical), you booked the venue, and your show is ready to go… now all you need to do is inform the public!

I feel that much of modern marketing, for good or ill, is determined in part by past practices. Further, I believe that some people or companies were ahead of the curve for their day, as evidenced by the fact that the larger players eventually adopted many of their practices, causing what used to be radical techniques to become commonplace in today’s entertainment industry, techniques that Broadway has adopted as well. Such is the case with “The Peter Pan Syndrome.”

“The Peter Pan Syndrome” was the brainchild of a studio called American International Pictures (AIP). Formed in April 1956 by James H. Nicholson, former Sales Manager of Realart Pictures, and Samuel Z. Arkoff, an entertainment lawyer, AIP was dedicated to releasing independently produced, low-budget films packaged as double features, primarily of interest to the teenagers of the 1950s, 1960s, and 1970s. Stuff like Invasion of the Star Creatures, It Conquered the World, Zontar, The Thing from Venus, and all those cheesy B-movies that you love because you grew up laughing at that type of entertainment on MST3K.

Among how AIP foresaw many of today’s entertainment industry techniques, they were the first company to use focus groups, polling American teenagers about what they would like to see and using their responses to determine titles, stars, and story content. As a result of their attempts at early market research, they narrowed down their audience as follows. (Think about current marketing, and you’ll realize this became the barometer by which many advertising campaigns in the entertainment industry today have been measured.)

The AIP publicity department discovered that a younger child will generally watch anything an older child will watch. On the other hand, an older child will generally not watch anything a younger child will watch. On a similar note, a girl will — theoretically, mind you, and this was in a less enlightened time — watch anything a boy will watch, while a boy will not watch anything a girl will watch.

From this data, they concluded that the demographic to which their advertising (poster art, tagline, etc.) most needed to appeal was the 19-year-old male audience, thus the label “The Peter Pan Syndrome.” You can argue with the logic, especially whether or not it still applies to audiences today, but AIP made a bundle during its decades of operation, and once Hollywood saw their success, it more or less adopted that attitude to marketing full-stop (as can be seen by the annoying sameness that taints today’s product and the way it is advertised).

On this matter, I turn to my reading audience and open the floor for discussion. Do you think “The Peter Pan Syndrome” is the only way to successfully market a play or musical? What plays or musicals do you think are using the techniques of “The Peter Pan Syndrome” in their marketing today? How successful do you think they are? Is there room for improvement?

(Note: The above info was originally posted at gdelgiproducer on June 21, 2013. It has been modified for its present audience.)