12-22-06
All About the Benjamins
In one of my favorite novels, Dawn Powell’s “The Wicked Pavilion,” an eager neophyte arts journalist diagnoses the state of contemporary fiction.
“The trouble with most novels is that they don’t tell you the things you want to know about people. Now the minute I meet a man the first thing I want to know is how much money he makes, what rent he pays, whether his wife has a salary or income and if there’s any inheritances expected. That’s what makes him the way he is. I notice how he tips and what he considers the most important item on his budget. No matter what else we talk about, it’s a person’s financial status that forms his point of view about everything else. I propose to X-ray each character’s bankbook as soon as they enter, so everything falls into place. Is that so crazy?”
Well, is it? In thinking about the past year, two intertwined issues keep pushing up to the front of my mind (not that it’s overly crowded in there). One is the reluctance of contemporary playwrights to address the world of work – you know, that world where many of us spend a good bit of our waking hours? The other is the squeamishness of theatre artists (and of course, administrators) to talk honestly about money – who has it, who gets it, and why.
There were a few notable exceptions this year to the fiscal code of silence. Like many, I was surprised to see Jay Whittaker speak openly in the pages of the Chicago Tribune (in a Sid Smith feature on “unsung heroes” of local theatre) about the difficulties of getting by on what Chicago Shakespeare (among other theatres) pays. Then I was surprised that I was surprised. I mean, everyone in theatre is dirt poor, right? You can make a killing in the theatre, but you can’t make a living. We all know that. Who talks about it? But then when Deanna Isaacs wrote a piece in the Reader about whether or not Whittaker was now on a de facto blacklist with Chicago Shakes, it was distressing to read the vitriol in some of the subsequent letters taking Whittaker to task for daring to complain. One writer said, “He’s no different than the millions of other Americans working for billion-dollar corporations also not being able to make ends meet.” So that’s a good reason NOT to talk about it? We’re all getting screwed, so we should all shut up? That makes things better how, exactly?
The fact is, the central domestic story of our times isn’t Blue State vs. Red State, or fundamentalism vs. secular humanism. It’s the same story it’s always been – haves vs. have-nots. As the discrepancy between the salaries of those at the top (let alone those who inherit all their wealth and then whine about “death taxes”) and those in the middle and bottom grows ever larger, American playwrights spend precious little time exploring how that affects all of us. I’m not asking for Marx: The Musical!, or Lou Dobbs touring in some kind of neo-Brechtian one-man lehrstuck on the declining middle class. (Okay, I lied. I TOTALLY want to see that last one.) But it would be nice, once in a while, to see someone on stage who talks about what they do to support themselves, in between screeds about how Mom and Dad didn’t love them enough and how hard it is to commit because of that.
Of course, I spend most of my time writing about theatre for newspapers, so I’m two-for-two in the endangered-workplace derby. Occasionally, I’m asked to speak to college classes about what it’s like being a theatre critic. I always start by asking the students how often they attend theatre. The answer is usually in the vicinity of “never.” Then I ask them how often they pick up a newspaper, rather than read it online or watch television news, and the answer isn’t much more encouraging. This is the point at which I wonder if what I’m about to talk about will be as fascinating for them as a tutorial on churning butter or carding wool.
And yet, the plays keep coming. As of this writing, I saw 150 shows last year. That’s far fewer than many of my peers, and not nearly as many as I would have liked, judging by the regrets I have about what I missed. I’m not complaining about my workload (so save the letters), since I recognize I make more in a year writing about theatre than most theatre artists will make creating theatre. And if arts coverage in print is declining overall at the national level, there are a number of blogs willing to make up the difference. Lately, the theatre blogs have been abuzz with another money story: the heated debate over whether or not the director and choreographer of the Broadway production of Urinetown should be able to sue over perceived plagiarism in subsequent productions at the Mercury here in town and in Akron, Ohio.
To me, this is closely related to the issues Whittaker raised: whose contributions to theatre matter most? Who should be best compensated? Should interpretive artists be allowed the same copyright protections now routinely granted creative artists (even though those creative artists often spend many years writing and composing without seeing a dime?) In the case of Urinetown, it seems likely the courts will get involved (and the issue is now further clouded by the allegations of the director of the original New York Fringe Festival production that the Broadway team ripped off his ideas). The fact that this stink (pun intended) is being raised over one of the few original shows in recent years to address, however puckishly, issues of economic injustice and environmental scarcity is almost painfully ironic, and it will be near-tragic if the overall effect is to make regional producers even more loathe to bring in new shows, rather than those penned by dead white guys who can’t sue. (“Barkeep! Set up another round of A Midsummer Night’s Dream with A Christmas Carol on the side, and keep ‘em coming!”)
So what I want this year is the courage for theatre companies and theatre artists to look calmly and clearly at the bottom line, to take an X-ray, if you will, of the underlying structures. I want board members to start asking if the money paid to actors (and designers, and stagehands, and musicians, and front-of-house staff) is fair, and how it measures up to the money spent on, say, patron amenities. I want corporations to stop setting up false dichotomies between donating to the arts and other social goods, like living wages and health benefits, especially when they have no problem paying eight-figure salaries with exorbitant stock options to their top executives. I want to never hear the phrase “unpaid internship” again – particularly if it’s coming from well-heeled cultural institutions that then wring their hands over how hard it is to build diverse audiences. And I want to see a few plays that suggest that maybe, just maybe, what we do to earn our living matters, because it has some effect on who we are, how we live, how we feel about the world, and how we contribute to the greater community good.
Is that so crazy?
Kerry Reid is the listings editor at The Reader, and reviews for The Reader and The Chicago Tribune.
All About the Benjamins
Off the Screen and In Your Face
The Lost Art of Listening: Can You Hear Me?