“What makes good theatre?” That was the question posed to me on the phone by PerformInk editor Carrie Kaufman. And, would I mind writing 500-1,000 words on the subject. “Good lord,” I replied, and then followed up half-jokingly with, “How about if I write about what makes bad theatre? I can get you 1,000 words by 5 o’clock today.”

But despite my hesitation at having to articulate a response to this ultimate unanswerable question (and even worse, knowing that my response might end up in print to be fodder for my peers in the industry), I said that I imagined I could come up with something.

After hanging up the phone, the task suddenly seemed even more daunting. It sunk in that this type of question might really just be a terrific set-up to make myself look, at worst, like a completely pretentious idiot, and, at best, like a very precious, cliché-spouting, pompous prick.

Excellent. Where do I begin?

Surely, I must have some strong opinions about this as an artistic director of a theatre company. Isn’t that why one decides to be a part of starting a company—because they and their colleagues feel that they have a perspective to share that is somewhat different from the other 1,732 theatre companies in the Chicagoland area?

Indeed.

In that case, shouldn’t the body of work that TimeLine has built and continues to build shed some light on what I and my fellow company members think makes good theatre? Isn’t our job to try to tackle that question day in and day out, and to try to find new stories, new ideas, new issues and new artistic voices to put on a stage to hopefully achieve the “good theatre” stamp of achievement?

Knowing that such an answer was not what PerformInk was probably seeking, I started to think about what additional intelligent, bigger-picture things I could articulate regarding the hunt for theatre that is “good.”

I certainly have a wealth of theatre-going experiences that will forever be lodged in my brain as revelatory for various reasons. There was 1992 when I was still somewhat new to Chicago, and I wandered into the old, magnificently claustrophobic Shattered Globe space on Halsted and sat with about a dozen other audience members to watch Lou Contey’s production of A View From the Bridge. That was some damn good theatre, partially because it was a totally new experience for me to see a show in that type of environment.

Or there was 1997 when I ventured to Glencoe to see Bill Brown and Shannon Cochran in Private Lives. That was some great theatre, and I laughed harder than I ever imagined I would while sitting in, essentially, the stockroom of a bookstore, as Writers’ Theatre began to build its great reputation.

Those two experiences immediately jump to mind as moments that made me glad to be a part of Chicago’s theatre scene. So, considering those two initial memories, perhaps my common thread for “good theatre” is small, intimate spaces. Or seeing “the classics” done by great actors. But no, that’s not what it’s all about because I can easily fill a page with vivid memories of shows in large spaces, or the incomparable thrill of discovering a new play or new playwright—that first time you experience a Brett Neveu, a Bruce Norris, a Kate Fodor, a (fill-in the blank).

And it isn’t even necessarily a “well-made play” that gets my juices flowing, despite my initial mention of Arthur Miller and Noel Coward. I’m sure I’ll never forget the first time I saw the great Compagnie Philipe Genty—a show of puppetry and movement and music and wild imagination, and nary a single word uttered. Or seeing the Salzburg Marionette Theatre and believing that every actor I knew could learn a great deal from the simplicity and honesty coming across by marionettes doing Hänsel und Gretel.

So with that motley list of memories, is there any common thread in that handful of defining theatre experiences?

When I was a student at DePaul’s Theatre School, a teacher asked our acting class another seemingly impossible question: “What do you want to get across in an audition, when you’ve got your 2-minute monologue to make some impression?” The room fell silent for a moment as this question seemed like he was asking us to split the atom.

“Show that you have talent,” one student replied (whatever that means).

“You should try to show your range as an actor,” another said (and if it’s possible to show your entire range as an actor in a 2-minute monologue, I think there are larger problems on the horizon).

More and more inane answers followed, some of them, no doubt, by me. Finally, when our teacher could take no more he said, “How about showing them a bit of your humanity? Show them that you are a human being with the ability to honestly communicate and share things about yourself with others.”

It sounds so simple, (and yes perhaps I’m fulfilling my prophecy of spouting clichés) but I suppose that’s what it’s all about. When I go to the theatre, I want to see a bit of humanity that resonates somewhere in my mind and heart. However that might be manifested—through song, laughter, movement, argument, tears, intellectual debate, probing questions, rage, outrage, hope, inspiration, instigation, blue face paint…the list can go on and on— the goal at the end of the day is to hopefully see ourselves somewhere up on that stage—what we are, what we wish we were, what we hope never to be, what we kid ourselves that we aren’t…this list is also endless.

Ideally, that dose of humanity should be combined with a great deal of skill, craft, attention to detail and artistry among the players and the production team, as well as a clear point of view that connects with the social and political landscape in which we live. But perhaps now I’m getting pushy and asking too much. I would hope not.

As we all know, despite the best of intentions and a great deal of blood, sweat and tears, the best laid plans don’t always generate outstanding theatre. If I had the formula for how to create (and continually re-create) “good” theatre, I’m sure that I would be a very rich, very unhappy man. Fortunately, I’m a very not rich, yet remarkably happy guy who has the great fortune of getting to be a part of continually trying to produce memorable theatrical events. At TimeLine I’m incredibly lucky to get to go to work every day at a theatre and collaborate with some immensely talented people (most of whom are smarter than me in a wide variety of areas and disciplines), and together we work to put up plays that we think matter—plays that hopefully have a strong dose of humanity and a social and political consciousness, framed by moments in history. Whether or not we succeed and receive the “good” stamp ultimately lies in the eye of the beholder. Or the ticket-buyer. Or critic. Or award judge. Or whichever of those gods one chooses to worship.

I do know, without question, that I’m unbelievably honored and humbled to be among the many players in a city that is filled with artists who have many things to say—a city that allows you to give it a shot and try to make an imprint with your idea of what is important and worth experiencing. It’s a community that thankfully keeps opening my mind up to new opinions of what “good” theatre should be.

So now that I’ve surpassed my word count and fulfilled all of my paragraph-three prophecies while rattling off a lifetime’s worth of clichés, precious quotes and quips to be embarrassed about for days to come, I am still (forever) grappling with the initial question. What makes good theatre? Today’s answer is listed in the paragraphs above. Ask me in a week and, god willing, I’ll have some new ideas to add to the mix.

PJ Powers is the artistic director of Timeline Theatre Company.

What Makes Good Theatre? Archives

Joyce Piven
Lou Contey
BJ Jones
Jen Ellison
PJ Powers
Michael Halberstam
Sean Graney

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