A few years ago, I had an argument with one of my employees. Arguments at PerformInk are usually esoteric affairs, perpetrated by people who are chronically overeducated, underpaid, passionate, stubborn and incurably curious—in short, theatre artists.

We were choosing a play to run in our Writers issue, something we always did as a staff. The criteria for that issue is that the play be ready for production. Ready. Not good, although good plays into it. Does someone really want to produce a bad show? But I didn’t want PerformInk to be the arbiter of “good.” There are many theatre companies in Chicago with varying styles. And there are many playwrights who might match with any one of over a hundred theatre companies. I was only hoping to be a conduit to that match, the “Dating Game” of theatrical production, as it were.

There was one play that I thought was ready. It was easy, I’ll admit. Very Movie of the Weekish and, in fact, the playwright moved to L.A. some months later—just after the play opened in the Steppenwolf Studio. But, of all the plays that had been submitted, this one was the most ready.

This particular employee didn’t like the play. She has dedicated her career to more risky theatre and this play seemed too blah. I agreed, but pointed out that blah is producible and, in the right hands, blah can even be good. We went around and around, until finally she said, “We just don’t like the same kinds of plays.”

“Like?” I thought. “Like has nothing to do with it.” But I declined to explore the accusation further.

Many months later, I was talking to a casting director I’m friendly with and told her to go see a show that my employee’s theatre company was producing. “There’s some good work happening on that stage,” I said.

The casting director almost gagged, saying that she had never seen anything there that she liked.

“Ah,” I said, “You don’t have to like it. You should just appreciate the work.”

That, I admit, is hard to do. We are all mired in our own theatrical tastes, and we all think we know what makes good theatre. And, for people who run their own theatres, it’s very hard to jump from the creation of their empty space to the creation of someone else’s very different space.

I decided to explore this issue further. What makes good theatre? Starting with this edition, PerformInk will be running a year-long series featuring essays by directors, playwrights, actors, designers, critics and, yes, even a Jeff Committee member or two answering that very question.

This issue features seven directors—six of them artistic directors—tackling, as Michael Halberstam writes “a life’s dedication…in a mere 1,000 words” or less.

Can you see something that makes you really angry and still realize it’s good theatre? Jen Ellison thinks so. Does the definition of “good” change with the hat you wear? BJ Jones thinks so, within limits. Is there a single through-line that appears in all “good” theatre, no matter its genre? Joyce Piven thinks so. I assure PJ Powers that humiliation was the furthest thing from my mind (and I totally agree with him about Compagnie Phillipe Genty).

Give them and us feedback on our message boards. Let’s start a community-wide discussion. What makes good theatre?

What Makes Good Theatre? Archives

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

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