Since I’m de-mystifying a handful of things about theater on this blog, I thought it might be a good idea to untangle the pre-production process on a musical or play for my readers, especially as one phase of development is starting to get a lot of attention in the news lately.
How did I realize how important this topic was? A few years back, I had the privilege of associate producing the staged reading of a new evening of one-acts, American Asylum. The experience was quite successful, in that it resulted in a signed deal for a Broadway company. (You haven’t heard of it? Look, development takes a long time, people.)
But when I got home from NY and began explaining what I’d just been working on to a layperson friend, I did something that troubled me a little bit. As I tried to clarify, I found myself using the terms “reading” and “workshop” interchangeably, yet insisting that they weren’t the same thing. They pressed me to articulate the specific differences, and I struggled to come up with an answer. The more I asked around, both within and without the industry, the more I realized I wasn’t alone. And with disputes between Actors’ Equity and the Broadway League over “developmental labs” now forming a big part of show biz news, I began to feel that maybe it was about time someone sat down and explained it.
More than one developmental process is now considered fundamental to a show’s creation, though they are relatively recent in origin. They’re all technically different, but people tend to use the terms for them fairly loosely; this is understandable, as these days there is considerable bleed-through of each into the others. Still, the distinctions are important at a contractual level and a… I’ll call it spiritual… level, so it’s worth the lesson. (My very loose definitions of readings and workshops, as well as their origin stories, are derived from Stephen Sondheim’s book Finishing the Hat, a good source in any event, but are not particularly binding, and indeed the two overlap at points.)
Readings
During the development of Larry Gelbart, Burt Shevelove, and Sondheim’s musical comedy A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum, they were courting legendary director/choreographer Jerome Robbins (who had just collaborated with Sondheim, with much success, on West Side Story and Gypsy) to lead the creative team. Unfortunately, due to Robbins’ busy schedule as a ballet choreographer, he was unable to commit to definite meetings about directing the piece, and he informed the authors that since he had several questions about both the script and the unfinished score, it might be a good idea to assemble a group of actors and have them read through the show while the composer played and sang whatever songs he had written.
To quote Sondheim: “The reading, of course, turned out to be a revelation. Unadorned by scenery and costumes, unrehearsed, sung (by me) with no refinement and only approximate pitch, the show was stripped naked, plain for all of us to see at both its best and worst, as well as the dangerous territory in between. […] in that large, empty room we could see the show for what it was […] So much that had to be rewritten or filled out or cut down was suddenly clear. And, best of all, it was still malleable. […] What we had effectively done was to save ourselves large amounts of time that would have been spent fixing the show in the customary rushed, exhausted late-night ambiance of out-of-town hotel rooms. […] The notion worked so well that [they frequently repeated the process subsequently], and over time other producers and directors started to recognize its value. Before long, every gestating musical held readings…”
(Incidentally, Robbins, for whom the process was created, ultimately could not commit to the show but came back to fix a few things last-minute out-of-town, and his improvements led it to be one of Sondheim’s earliest hits.)
At its barest essentials, a reading can be as simple as actors sitting around a table with scripts they’ve barely had time to read and a composer singing solo at a piano. This type of reading, predictably enough, is commonly referred to as a “table reading.” Generally, there is little rehearsal; maybe some private sessions, a music rehearsal or two if the cast is singing as well as reading the piece.
A variant of this process, the “staged reading,” differs in that the actors are for sure singing the score (in the case of a musical), they have around a week of rehearsal, and they present the material at music stands rather than seated around a table. The rehearsal period for each actor can’t be more than 29 hours according to Equity, and there are to be no props, costumes, sets, choreography, or production values period. Everyone involved gets paid for these, and it’s generally very low.
Workshops
Workshops are something else again, the “inevitable afterbirth” (as Mel Brooks put it in History of the World: Part I) of the reading, and not quite so simple as all that. As Sondheim put it, “What had begun as a learning experience for the authors became transmogrified into a thinly disguised backers’ audition […] so that the producers can raise the production money and start the highly desired (and overrated) anticipation known as ‘buzz.'”
Don’t get me wrong, workshops are equally aimed at the authors being able to discover the strengths and weaknesses of their work, but there are a few more moving parts, to understate it considerably. Today, a workshop can be — and often is — a semi-production, a full presentation of the material in a rehearsal room with a carefully chosen full-sized fully-miked cast, skeletal sets, suggestions of costumes, minimal props, elaborate staging and choreography, and an orchestra in the form of a small or even full-sized band (in the case of a musical). Throw in a large invited audience, usually of deep-pocketed strangers hoping to be entertained, and let it be the kind of event with performances scheduled to run sometimes as long as two weeks, and you’ve got the average workshop. It’s not unlike seeing a rehearsal of a finished production before it moves into a theater and they start adding the design and tech elements.
The actors are pretty well paid, though there is ultimately more money down the line than upfront, as they receive a small collective percentage or “points” in the final production and all subsequent productions of that script, which dates from the kerfuffle over Michael Bennett’s development of A Chorus Line, a process that consisted largely of using the stories of actual dancers (initially) without proper compensation. It’s certainly not unfair, as the project in question being work-shopped is in development and changing based on everyone’s work, with actors frequently inspiring, say, changes to the script, like cuts or even actual lines. It is for this reason that the right of “first refusal” (i.e., they ask the actor in question to play their role in the final production before anyone else) is built in as well; if the character is cut or changes enough that casting someone else is a better idea, the producer is obligated to buy them out with four weeks’ salary.
(In all honesty, under either this or the following conditions, I feel not all actors in all situations deserve a cut of the show’s future profits; it should be treated on a case-by-case basis. But that’s unlikely to change any time soon.)
Developmental Labs
Developmental labs… where do I begin? They’re fairly new to the game, and it shows. To this day, no one has been able to adequately explain to me what a developmental lab accomplishes that a reading or workshop doesn’t. There is no earthly reason for this distinction to exist, contractually or otherwise.
There is a wide range of options for what a finished lab would look like, with differing levels of rehearsal time, staging, and memorization (on the actors’ parts), the idea being that a given lab is devoted to whatever is deemed most useful to the creative team at that specific phase of the show’s development, but who said a workshop or a reading couldn’t have a specific aim? Provided one has the backing, one can do as many readings or workshops as necessary en route to the desired destination, focusing on whatever one wishes.
The primary difference, as far as a producer is concerned, seems to be the money. As of this writing, under a developmental lab contract, actors are paid more weekly upfront, in part to compensate for the fact that they do not receive any percentage/points in the final production of the show and are not guaranteed the first refusal on their part. Actors’ Equity OK’ed this arrangement because shows no longer follow a predictable route to Broadway and there are more developmental steps needed in the current commercial climate. (“…Are there?” is usually my response.)
Producers have taken huge advantage of this lightened financial burden; rarely if ever is a show developed under a traditional workshop contract anymore. Sound business sense, to be sure — when the majority of productions are not profitable, producers don’t want to gamble even more money. Equity, realizing too late that they’ve made a mistake and are interested in preserving union work, has recently begun a campaign (trending as “#NotALabRat” on Twitter) to restructure the developmental lab agreement to better include the actors who helped create the show. They’ve gone on strike, putting developmental labs, workshops, and readings on their “do not work” list and stating further that any non-union person who takes part in a lab, due to producers not being able to afford union performers due to Equity’s demands, will be banned from ever being able to join Equity. Union actors, for their part, are divided in this fight on whether it’s better to work more or be paid more.
Speaking for myself, I agree with Annoying Actor Friend’s words on the subject in 2015. I don’t see why the developmental lab agreement exists, or who thought this was a good idea. Further, you can’t say that Equity isn’t doing exactly what a union is supposed to do in this situation. Section 7 of the National Labor Relations Act states in part, “Employees shall have the right […] to engage in other concerted activities for the purpose of collective bargaining or other mutual aid or protection.” This fits the bill.
I also feel, however, that Equity is having the wrong conversation with the Broadway League. For no discernible reason, they’re fighting to adjust a shit contract that shouldn’t exist to resemble a fine contract that already exists (i.e., putting labs on virtually the same level as workshops). Not to shit-talk, but I’m sure this is why the leaders of Equity are described as “smart fellas” by dyslexics. The more logical choice would be one of two options: 1) fight to abolish the developmental lab contract option, meaning we’re back to just readings and workshops, and if producers switch to readings because workshop money is prohibitive, then that can lead to a whole other discussion (namely, a fight for better compensation for readings), or 2) move to amend the existing workshop contract in some way to reflect today’s economy and bring it somewhat in line with the “advantages” of the developmental lab agreement. I would picture the latter conversation being along the lines of “Look, we’re done with developmental labs, it was a bad deal in the long term, there is no earthly reason for this distinction to exist contractually or otherwise, how about we amend the workshop contract to two options: standard salary, percentage, and right of first refusal, or take more money upfront, agree to a smaller percentage down the line (which is still substantial money if it’s a Wicked or Phantom), lessen the buyout amount commensurate to the other new math, and everybody goes home happy.”
Additionally, I think that striking from anything not directly related to a lab such as workshops or staged readings is horseshit, especially as the negative publicity surrounding labs will almost certainly lead to producers — even temporarily — pursuing the more lucrative workshops or more stable readings instead, and you would think they’d encourage making fair money under those agreements, but clearly, neither I nor anyone else can tell them how to run their railroad.
And lastly, I don’t believe it’s morally correct for Equity to threaten non-union performers in this way. It doesn’t surprise me in the least (Google “AFL-CIO” and “strong-arm tactics”), but I also don’t know what they hope to accomplish by doing so. For one thing, there are many talented actors, some of them legends (for example, Ted Neeley, who dropped his union status in the mid-Nineties to continue with a North American tour of Jesus Christ Superstar that went non-union and has never rejoined), who make rather a decent living without being in the union. Further, unless SAG-AFTRA backs them up in solidarity (and, as this is so solidly a theater fight not affecting any of their status quo, I doubt they will), non-stage union performers will have no trouble finding film work. Or they join up with AGVA and stick to other performing arts, some of which overlap Equity jurisdiction anyway. For another, we’ve already heard, several times, of Equity performers taking non-union roles under other names to make ends meet, particularly in the present economy. If they seriously think that a person who thinks working more now is more important than making more money later won’t cross the picket line if they need the dough, they’re sorely mistaken.
Then again, one cannot always credit Equity for intelligence; Lord knows they did the same thing when they invented the tiered and SETA national tour contracts that have virtually decimated the use of the full production contract on the road.
So, what is the best way to go?
Stephen Sondheim, in his book, thinks that such a process is most valuable only when used for the creators’ education and that a workshop (or developmental lab) that is practically a mini-production is virtually worthless and nowhere near as instructive as a simple little reading; he’s not the only one of this persuasion.
As far as I’m concerned, I think that each — at least for as long as people think developmental labs are a thing — is effective for different reasons, and rather than hew to just one or the other style, I believe that any original work would benefit from all of them, repeated various times in the production process, both to chart the progress of where the show is at for interested investors and to educate the creators.
(Note: Some of the information above was originally posted at gdelgiproducer on May 20, 2013. In the wake of Equity’s #NotALabRat campaign, I thought it singularly appropriate for this to be the next entry ported over. It has been modified for its present audience.)
