Just a quick note today... so much administrative stuff to do before tonight...
Tonight is our first audience, then our official opening tomorrow night. I couldn't be happier with our show. I really believe we've gotten this very difficult style exactly right, the cast seems to be having an absolute blast, and the whole thing is incredibly funny and wild and aggressive and overwhelming, just the kind of show New Line has become known for.
I also think we've stayed incredibly true to the creators' intentions, which is so important to me with shows like this one, shows that really have their very own style, tone, character, etc.
So a big ol' group Bravo to the cast of New Line's Urinetown -- the "Urinators," as I like to call them -- you all have done an amazing job with this weird, wonderful show. I think a few in the audience may find it sorta obnoxious, but I think most folks are going to have a really great time. I think this is going to be one of those shows that's so wild it'll be like a big, crazy party every night. More so than with most shows, I just can't wait to get this in front of an audience.
I think we're ready. And a little crazy.
Long Live the Musical!
Scott
Bound for that Unknown Place
If there is a primary driving force behind New Line, it's the Rejection of Fear. We laugh in the face of fear. We mock it. We fart in its general direction.
I ask my actors to reject fear, to risk, to experiment, to try things even if they're not sure they'll work. Rehearsal is a time for experimentation and it is a safe place to fail. As the wise men say, only by attempting the absurd can you achieve the ridiculous. We keep all our rehearsals closed to outsiders so it is a safe place for the actors. When they're free to try anything, they're more likely to find those amazing, truthful little moments that make an already great show catch on fire.
But I also ask myself to reject fear, to pursue the path I believe to be the right one, even if I'm not sure how audiences will react to it. With the majority of our shows, I get to a point late in the rehearsal process when I really start to wonder if our audiences will accept the experience we're putting in front of them. Will they feel lost? Will they feel offended? Will they feel cheated? When we do shows like Bat Boy or Urinetown -- and even more so with shows like The Nervous Set and Johnny Appleweed -- I do worry about the reception from the audience.
But my first duty is to the material, to tell the story as clearly and fully as we can. After all, we are storytellers. We have chosen to be an "alternative" company, presenting work other companies won't (or presenting work others may present, but in a very different fashion), and that means audiences who are used to seeing musicals at Stages or The Muny may not like what we create. But I honestly believe that our job is not to give the audiences what they already are comfortable with; it's to give them an adventure, to take them someplace new.
And besides, audiences are like dogs -- they can smell fear! If we back off from a topic or a show because we're worried about audience reaction, if we tone it down or soften it, our audiences will sense that and they'll turn on us. I shit you not. I learned in 1994 with Assassins that if you have the courage of your convictions, if you have artistic balls, your audience will embrace your work. Maybe not every audience member, but the vast majority of them. Audiences want an adventure!
I also reject fear of difficulty or complexity. Urinetown is one of the hardest shows I've ever worked on -- incredibly complex music, a very difficult style to master, and big, complex crowd scenes to stage. But we've tackled Sweeney Todd, Songs for a New World, Passion, Floyd Collins, The Cradle Will Rock, Jacques Brel, some of the most challenging pieces ever written for the stage, and we conquered each of them in turn. Every time a really hard new show presents itself, I get a little scared and then I say to myself, "Ah, fuck it, we did Sweeney Todd, for God's sake!"
The only fear I accept is the fear that we will betray ourselves and our mission, that we will succumb to a fear of rejection. Historically, our most successful shows have always been our most adventurous -- Bat Boy, The Robber Bridegroom, Rocky Horror, Jacques Brel, Hair, and others. It's when we jump off that metaphorical cliff that our audiences most enthusiastically reward us.
Stage and screen actor Laurence Luckinbill once wrote to me, "Go broke if you must, but always over-estimate the public's intelligence. They will thank you for it."
Amen, brother.
Long Live the Musical!
Scott
I ask my actors to reject fear, to risk, to experiment, to try things even if they're not sure they'll work. Rehearsal is a time for experimentation and it is a safe place to fail. As the wise men say, only by attempting the absurd can you achieve the ridiculous. We keep all our rehearsals closed to outsiders so it is a safe place for the actors. When they're free to try anything, they're more likely to find those amazing, truthful little moments that make an already great show catch on fire.
But I also ask myself to reject fear, to pursue the path I believe to be the right one, even if I'm not sure how audiences will react to it. With the majority of our shows, I get to a point late in the rehearsal process when I really start to wonder if our audiences will accept the experience we're putting in front of them. Will they feel lost? Will they feel offended? Will they feel cheated? When we do shows like Bat Boy or Urinetown -- and even more so with shows like The Nervous Set and Johnny Appleweed -- I do worry about the reception from the audience.
But my first duty is to the material, to tell the story as clearly and fully as we can. After all, we are storytellers. We have chosen to be an "alternative" company, presenting work other companies won't (or presenting work others may present, but in a very different fashion), and that means audiences who are used to seeing musicals at Stages or The Muny may not like what we create. But I honestly believe that our job is not to give the audiences what they already are comfortable with; it's to give them an adventure, to take them someplace new.
And besides, audiences are like dogs -- they can smell fear! If we back off from a topic or a show because we're worried about audience reaction, if we tone it down or soften it, our audiences will sense that and they'll turn on us. I shit you not. I learned in 1994 with Assassins that if you have the courage of your convictions, if you have artistic balls, your audience will embrace your work. Maybe not every audience member, but the vast majority of them. Audiences want an adventure!
I also reject fear of difficulty or complexity. Urinetown is one of the hardest shows I've ever worked on -- incredibly complex music, a very difficult style to master, and big, complex crowd scenes to stage. But we've tackled Sweeney Todd, Songs for a New World, Passion, Floyd Collins, The Cradle Will Rock, Jacques Brel, some of the most challenging pieces ever written for the stage, and we conquered each of them in turn. Every time a really hard new show presents itself, I get a little scared and then I say to myself, "Ah, fuck it, we did Sweeney Todd, for God's sake!"
The only fear I accept is the fear that we will betray ourselves and our mission, that we will succumb to a fear of rejection. Historically, our most successful shows have always been our most adventurous -- Bat Boy, The Robber Bridegroom, Rocky Horror, Jacques Brel, Hair, and others. It's when we jump off that metaphorical cliff that our audiences most enthusiastically reward us.
Stage and screen actor Laurence Luckinbill once wrote to me, "Go broke if you must, but always over-estimate the public's intelligence. They will thank you for it."
Amen, brother.
Long Live the Musical!
Scott
It's the Oldest Story -- Masses Are Oppressed
I'm re-reading the Cambridge Companion to Brecht, about the work of German director and playwright Bertolt Brecht, co-creator of The Threepenny Opera, and also the primary target of Urinetown's stylistic satire. Here are a few choice quotes about Brecht's political theatre that relate to the style and theatrical devices of Urinetown...
Eric Bentley on Brecht's theory of "epic theatre" -- The new narrative content signaled by the term "epic" was to be communicated in a dialectical, non-illusionist and nonlinear manner, declaring its own artifice as it hoped also to reveal the workings of ideology. "Alienating an event or character," wrote Brecht, "means first of all stripping the event of its self-evident, familiar, obvious quality and creating a sense of astonishment and curiosity about them." The direct and indirect use of a narrator, the conspicuous use of songs, masks, placards and images set in a montaged narrative sequence would help maintain this level of wonder and alert self-criticism. Beyond this, however, the repertoire of estranging effects would aim to produce a double perspective on events and actions so as at once to show their present contradictory nature and their historical cause or social motivation.
Bentley on Brecht's play The Mother -- The set was "quoting" an environment rather than representing it; there was extensive use of projections and scene titles; the small chorus, in its songs to the audience, commented on the fable and/or the actions shown on stage; there was an enchanting ease and, yes, elegance with which even the most serious scenes were performed.
And Brecht on Singing -- "Nothing is more revolting than when an actor pretends not to notice that he has left the level of plain speech and started to sing."
Wow, huh?
Long Live the Musical!
Scott
Eric Bentley on Brecht's theory of "epic theatre" -- The new narrative content signaled by the term "epic" was to be communicated in a dialectical, non-illusionist and nonlinear manner, declaring its own artifice as it hoped also to reveal the workings of ideology. "Alienating an event or character," wrote Brecht, "means first of all stripping the event of its self-evident, familiar, obvious quality and creating a sense of astonishment and curiosity about them." The direct and indirect use of a narrator, the conspicuous use of songs, masks, placards and images set in a montaged narrative sequence would help maintain this level of wonder and alert self-criticism. Beyond this, however, the repertoire of estranging effects would aim to produce a double perspective on events and actions so as at once to show their present contradictory nature and their historical cause or social motivation.
Bentley on Brecht's play The Mother -- The set was "quoting" an environment rather than representing it; there was extensive use of projections and scene titles; the small chorus, in its songs to the audience, commented on the fable and/or the actions shown on stage; there was an enchanting ease and, yes, elegance with which even the most serious scenes were performed.
And Brecht on Singing -- "Nothing is more revolting than when an actor pretends not to notice that he has left the level of plain speech and started to sing."
Wow, huh?
Long Live the Musical!
Scott
Bobby, Think!
It's the same reason why movies use underscoring for emotional scenes and why commercials use jingles. Words convey information; music conveys emotion, quite often emotion that simply cannot be adequately expressed any other way.
It's also the secret to writing a successful musical, a secret too many people writing musicals these days don't know about... The best way to predict whether a new musical will be successful is to look at whether or not the story is primarily an emotional one. Evil Dead, Debbie Does Dallas, and Silence! are not emotional stories, so their musical versions didn't really work that well. On the other hand, Ragtime, Hedwig and the Angry Inch, Floyd Collins, The Light in the Piazza, Bat Boy, Rent, Spelling Bee are all primarily stories about human emotion, so they all made amazing musicals. You can look back over the history of the art form to see how well this litmus test works -- Carousel works, but not Call Me Madam. Guys and Dolls and Gypsy work, but not Anyone Can Whistle. Evita and Jesus Christ Superstar are wonderful; Starlight Express sucks. Sunday in the Park with George is a masterpiece; Pacific Overtures not so much.
Now hang on, I hear you yell... What about all those cynical but successful satires like Threepenny Opera, Of Thee I Sing, How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying, and The Cradle Will Rock?
True, the love stories in these musicals are superficial and silly. But that doesn't mean the shows don't have emotion -- love isn't the only emotion, after all. These social commentary shows (we can add Assassins, Hair, Chicago, and lots of others to the list) trade in powerful emotions other than love. They give us political passion, anger, empathy, triumph, revulsion, maybe even despair...
In some of these satirical musicals, our emotions are even used against us in powerful and/or funny ways. We fall in love with Velma and Roxie in Chicago, and then at the end, the show slaps us across the face by reminding us that these charming, funny women are heartless murderers! In Urinetown, we get all wrapped up in the Rebels' Righteous Cause, and then at the end, the show points out to us how wrong-headed that cause actually is... and we become the target of the satire ourselves!
But my theory still holds true. It's the emotion of "Look at the Sky" and "Run, Freedom, Run," the thrill of optimism and joy and promise, that keeps us involved. No matter how much the show tweaks us, mocks us, assaults us, there is still the emotion of great music that keeps us on board. It's a fundamental principle of musical theatre.
And it's why musicals are better than plays. (And don't post comments arguing with me on that point -- I'll just delete them....)
Long Live the Musical!
Scott
But What of Tomorrow, Mr. Strong?
So here we sit in the 21st century, we happy few who make theatre, and we're all trying to figure out just exactly where we fit in this brave new world of YouTube, 24-hour cable news, iPods, MySpace, and yes, bloggers. Theatres across the country are experiencing a dramatic drop in subscription sales and even advance single ticket sales. Teresa Eyring, executive director of Theatre Communications Group (which publishes the outstanding magazine American Theatre), wrote a great essay about the challenges ahead, in the current issue of American Theatre.
When we look back on the last century (particularly the second half), we see such amazing innovation, such incredible experimentation and artistic growth, during which time American theatre took preeminence as the most important, most vigorous, most adventurous in the world. As Eyring asks in her essay, what will people be looking back on at the end of this century? What great gifts to world theatre and art will we leave behind?
It seems to me we need to be thinking about two things. First, in order to survive, and in order to really serve our communities as we should, theatre must provide an experience that TV, movies, and the internet cannot. People can get passive storytelling everywhere now, but only live theatre can give them an active, engaged storytelling experience. And we all need storytelling -- as Sondheim says, it's how we make order out of the chaos of the world. Humans have always needed storytelling and that will likely never change.
But too much theatre today is still passive. If it is to survive, theatre has to jump down off that stage and engage its audience! Theatre has to stop separating actors from audiences! Theatre has to stop giving audiences sitcom plays and emotionally dishonest (or worse, emotionally empty) musicals! Theatre must be, once again, about something! (Luckily for St. Louis, we have Hydeware, Slightly Askew Theatre Ensemble, New Line, The Tin Ceiling...) If we don't do these things, why should audiences leave the comfort of Charter-on-Demand?
We have to remember that we are not owed an audience -- we must be worthy of one!
The other thing we have to think about is technology. Let's use the internet (New Line's website has had 1.2 million visitors!), let's use YouTube, MySpace, digital video, podcasts, blogs, and all the other wonders of the last decade. The real value of live theatre is its humanity, but let's use all the tools of human communication at our disposal to reach and connect with potential audiences (especially younger audiences!), to bring them to our stages and get them excited about our work through the limitless power of modern technology.
Art is how we record our civilization, but too many theatres in St. Louis and across the country still seem to be recording the Fifties. It's time to listen to Darwin -- evolve or become extinct.
Long Live the Musical!
Scott
When we look back on the last century (particularly the second half), we see such amazing innovation, such incredible experimentation and artistic growth, during which time American theatre took preeminence as the most important, most vigorous, most adventurous in the world. As Eyring asks in her essay, what will people be looking back on at the end of this century? What great gifts to world theatre and art will we leave behind?
It seems to me we need to be thinking about two things. First, in order to survive, and in order to really serve our communities as we should, theatre must provide an experience that TV, movies, and the internet cannot. People can get passive storytelling everywhere now, but only live theatre can give them an active, engaged storytelling experience. And we all need storytelling -- as Sondheim says, it's how we make order out of the chaos of the world. Humans have always needed storytelling and that will likely never change.
But too much theatre today is still passive. If it is to survive, theatre has to jump down off that stage and engage its audience! Theatre has to stop separating actors from audiences! Theatre has to stop giving audiences sitcom plays and emotionally dishonest (or worse, emotionally empty) musicals! Theatre must be, once again, about something! (Luckily for St. Louis, we have Hydeware, Slightly Askew Theatre Ensemble, New Line, The Tin Ceiling...) If we don't do these things, why should audiences leave the comfort of Charter-on-Demand?
We have to remember that we are not owed an audience -- we must be worthy of one!
The other thing we have to think about is technology. Let's use the internet (New Line's website has had 1.2 million visitors!), let's use YouTube, MySpace, digital video, podcasts, blogs, and all the other wonders of the last decade. The real value of live theatre is its humanity, but let's use all the tools of human communication at our disposal to reach and connect with potential audiences (especially younger audiences!), to bring them to our stages and get them excited about our work through the limitless power of modern technology.
Art is how we record our civilization, but too many theatres in St. Louis and across the country still seem to be recording the Fifties. It's time to listen to Darwin -- evolve or become extinct.
Long Live the Musical!
Scott
So you want HAPPY...?
I've been blogging a lot here about how weird Urinetown is, how many rules it breaks and/or mocks, how it rejects pretty much every element of the Rodgers and Hammerstein model, the model 90% of musicals have followed since the 1940s (including shows like Rent, Les Miz, Avenue Q, and lots more). Urinetown certainly wasn't the first to break some of these rules, but it does the most thorough -- and most intelligent -- job of it. The music of Urinetown rejects the R&H rules for music, the lyrics reject the rules for lyrics, the rhyming rejects the rules for rhyming, the structure rejects the rules for structure, the content rejects the rules for content... I could keep going, but you'd stop reading...
So where does that leave us? How do you stage a show like that? Unfortunately, many companies around the country are producing the show now, but so many of them do it like it's The Pajama Game or Annie Get Your Gun. It's not.
Let me say that again. IT'S NOT.
This is a show literally like no other that's ever been written. It's not just a show that breaks rules; it's a show about breaking those rules. And the primary job of a director (at least in my opinion) is to understand what the creators meant to say and then figure out the clearest possible way to say that. Sometimes that means doing the show very much like its original production, and sometimes it means taking an entirely different approach to achieve the same goals in a new or different context. This is a show that means to tear down the R&H model and leave it in rubble, so that must be our charge as well...
A noble purpose, in my opinion...
With New Line's production of Urinetown, it seems to me that Stephen Sondheim's cardinal rule applies -- Content Dictates Form. This is a show about breaking the rules of musical theatre, so our production must break the rules of musical theatre as well (although we must do that without sacrificing character, story, themes, etc.). We have to question every single convention of musical theatre. Some of those conventions will beg to be broken; others are probably best left intact so as not to lose the audience behind in the dust.
So what are the questions we ask? A lot of them are the same questions we always ask with New Line shows, but we ask more of them this time. Must the playing space be limited to a stage? (No.) Can a show require something from the audience? (Yes.) Can the actors interact with the audience? (Yes.) Do we have to pretend we're eavesdropping on "reality" or can we acknowledge the artifice of our work? (No and Yes.) Must the characters all act naturally? (No.) Must they move naturally? (No.) Must the staging look natural? (No.) Does the plot have to make logical sense? (No.) Can songs be left unfinished? (Yes.) There are lots more like these...
And even beyond that, we've created some staging for this show that purposefully yanks the audience out of the "reality" of the story (whatever that means in the case of Urinetown) and continually reminds them that this is just a show, that it's fake, that these are just actors -- and even more unusual for a musical comedy, that our show has an Agenda. We will not ask our audience to "suspend disbelief" this time. The constant (and often hilarious) acknowledgement of the artificiality of our performance is utterly forbidden under the R&H rules, but if you really think about it, this approach is a much more honest one. A show is artificial, after all. The actors aren't these characters. And by acknowledging all that, we eliminate the Big Lie of the Fourth Wall.
In Urinetown, we're not trying to lure you into getting emotionally involved with these characters. No, our aim (much like Brecht) is to get you to sit up and think about what's happening. You won't get wrapped up in Hope and Bobby's romance because the show doesn't want that; instead you'll be realizing how silly the conventions of old-fashioned musicals are, how corrupt the relationship between government and business is, how foolish and selfish The People can be, and how overly seriously we all tend to take ourselves in the Big Scheme of Things.
Some people won't like our approach. They'll wish they were seeing The Pajama Game at the Muny. (Then again, they did buy a ticket to a show called Urinetown!) Our job isn't to make the audience comfortable; it's to give the audience an adventure. And whatever else it will be, our Urinetown will be an adventure.
Long Live the Musical!
Scott
So where does that leave us? How do you stage a show like that? Unfortunately, many companies around the country are producing the show now, but so many of them do it like it's The Pajama Game or Annie Get Your Gun. It's not.
Let me say that again. IT'S NOT.
This is a show literally like no other that's ever been written. It's not just a show that breaks rules; it's a show about breaking those rules. And the primary job of a director (at least in my opinion) is to understand what the creators meant to say and then figure out the clearest possible way to say that. Sometimes that means doing the show very much like its original production, and sometimes it means taking an entirely different approach to achieve the same goals in a new or different context. This is a show that means to tear down the R&H model and leave it in rubble, so that must be our charge as well...
A noble purpose, in my opinion...
With New Line's production of Urinetown, it seems to me that Stephen Sondheim's cardinal rule applies -- Content Dictates Form. This is a show about breaking the rules of musical theatre, so our production must break the rules of musical theatre as well (although we must do that without sacrificing character, story, themes, etc.). We have to question every single convention of musical theatre. Some of those conventions will beg to be broken; others are probably best left intact so as not to lose the audience behind in the dust.
So what are the questions we ask? A lot of them are the same questions we always ask with New Line shows, but we ask more of them this time. Must the playing space be limited to a stage? (No.) Can a show require something from the audience? (Yes.) Can the actors interact with the audience? (Yes.) Do we have to pretend we're eavesdropping on "reality" or can we acknowledge the artifice of our work? (No and Yes.) Must the characters all act naturally? (No.) Must they move naturally? (No.) Must the staging look natural? (No.) Does the plot have to make logical sense? (No.) Can songs be left unfinished? (Yes.) There are lots more like these...
And even beyond that, we've created some staging for this show that purposefully yanks the audience out of the "reality" of the story (whatever that means in the case of Urinetown) and continually reminds them that this is just a show, that it's fake, that these are just actors -- and even more unusual for a musical comedy, that our show has an Agenda. We will not ask our audience to "suspend disbelief" this time. The constant (and often hilarious) acknowledgement of the artificiality of our performance is utterly forbidden under the R&H rules, but if you really think about it, this approach is a much more honest one. A show is artificial, after all. The actors aren't these characters. And by acknowledging all that, we eliminate the Big Lie of the Fourth Wall.
In Urinetown, we're not trying to lure you into getting emotionally involved with these characters. No, our aim (much like Brecht) is to get you to sit up and think about what's happening. You won't get wrapped up in Hope and Bobby's romance because the show doesn't want that; instead you'll be realizing how silly the conventions of old-fashioned musicals are, how corrupt the relationship between government and business is, how foolish and selfish The People can be, and how overly seriously we all tend to take ourselves in the Big Scheme of Things.
Some people won't like our approach. They'll wish they were seeing The Pajama Game at the Muny. (Then again, they did buy a ticket to a show called Urinetown!) Our job isn't to make the audience comfortable; it's to give the audience an adventure. And whatever else it will be, our Urinetown will be an adventure.
Long Live the Musical!
Scott
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