Wednesday, March 9, 2011

The Economics of Theater, Part V: Actor, Director, or Playwright

Actor, Director, or Playwright: Which is the worst financial idea?

In a recent New York Times article, Charles Isherwood scooped me (did I ever expect to say that) by writing about the economic difficulties of being a stage actor.  He wrote that stage actors need to supplement their incomes from other sources—namely, shows like Law and Order or other small television and commercial acting gigs.  Because the money made from acting on the stage is so small.

He was being too sunny in his outlook.

What his article overlooked is the great majority of stage actors, who are not working on a salary and who are not receiving significant outside acting income.  They are supplementing their acting habit with their day jobs or by running through their savings.

Using my copy of Theater World, season 2004-2005 (which I have only because it is the year I had my Off-Broadway show, Fairy Tales of the Absurd, but I think it can be at least somewhat representative), I found these statistics:  32 new Broadway productions.  78 new Off-Broadway productions.  Based on those stats, I am going to say that there are about 600 – 1000 working stage actors in the city in a given season.

For Rudolf II, the last show for which I had an open casting call (for two parts, one a young man, one a young woman), I received 600 resumes.

It is conceivable that I could have cast every paying role in the city with those actors alone.  OK, every show would have had nothing but young actors.  And OK, many of them would not be very good.

But some were very good.  I had only time to see 50 – 100 of those actors.  I’m sure there were talented actors I never saw.

If even I eliminated 80% of those applying from even attending my Equity Showcase auditions, what chance does a stage actor have to get paying work?

Of course, the Isherwood’s article does present an upside to being an actor.  There is some supplemental work available.  Even I have done some acting work, and acting is not my main focus.  Most recently, I pretended to have OCD for the sake of some rabbis in training at Yeshiva University.  And yesterday I went for a callback on a non-union commercial gig.

In other words, one can pick up a few bucks here and there.


And I do know some actors who pick up more than a few bucks, who actually make a living at their work.  Maybe from voiceovers, maybe from commercials, maybe from regional theater, but they have managed to make it, in some cases, a well paying career.  Maybe not from the stage work, but from supplemental acting work.


Even if that isn't achieved, one can, conceivably, work at a job full time and also have time to act.  It’s hard, but it’s doable.  I have jokingly referred to my time acting onstage as being on vacation.  One’s main responsibility is oneself.

Which brings me to directing.

Alex Timbers, I have heard, once said that to be a director in New York, one has to have a trust fund.

That is partly because being a director in New York, almost always, is not just being a director.  It is being a director/producer.

I do not have a trust fund.  But I am fortunate in some ways.  My father passed away relatively young, which was not fortunate.  But since he was a lawyer, I inherited some money.  Not by any means a huge amount, but enough that I have been able to use it, over the last ten years, to supplement my sometimes meager income so that I have been able to continue to work.  I would trade it in an instant to have him back.  But it has helped me get through some rocky financial times.  Furthermore, for many years I lived in a family apartment, which meant a relatively modest rent, at least by New York standards.

My money has dwindled, over the years.  Many in my position might have put the money towards retirement.  I have no pension, and since I have mostly worked freelance, I’m not even sure if I will be eligible for Social Security one day.  But instead of the more conservative approach, I have chosen to use the inheritance to help me continue my career.  What will that mean for me one day?  I’m not sure.  What will that mean for me when, sooner rather than later, I run though my savings?  I’m not sure about that either.  Part of what inspired this series is the impulse to stave off that reckoning.

But that inheritance has allowed me to work as a director.  I’m not sure if my father, who was much more conservative in his approach towards money, would be happy about the implicit risk in that decision.  But then again, I think he would have been pleased to see what I’ve accomplished.

The problem with being a director is, of course, there are many fewer jobs in that field than the field of acting.  Using those same Theater World stats I referenced above, there are probably slightly over 100 directing jobs a season.  And many of those directing jobs are taken by the same people over and over again.

The reason why is clear.  One can’t exactly audition to be a director.  Directing jobs happen because one is associated with an institution.  Usually, the institution finds people whose work they know, in some ways.  Whose they’ve worked with at that same institution or, in a rare case, that they’ve seen outside the institution and want to bring in.

With the busy schedule of all theaters, there is not a lot of scouting going on.  But then again, there doesn’t need to be.  There aren’t many open positions, anyway.  Certainly, if a show gets attention, it’s possible that some institutional theater may arrive,. And by attention I don’t mean a rave review in the New York Times, I mean a rave review on the front page of the New York Times, hopefully by at least the 2nd string reviewer.

And the current 2nd string reviewer, the above mentioned Charles Isherwood, is not doing much scouting himself these days.

An alternative is to form a theater company, as I have, and make that big enough to either sustain oneself.  A difficult feat.  Possible, but I hope, but very difficult.

I am not just a director, of course, I am also a playwright.

This may be the worst idea of all.

The one advantage of being a playwright, is there is a correlation to the audition process.  One can submit a script.

When I was just out of college, I took a few jobs as a reader.  I worked for New Dramatists, on a prize they handed out at the time.  I worked for the Williamstown Theater Festival.

What I learned was, it is very easy to say no to a script.  And very difficult to say yes.

At the age of 22, my job was to read as many plays as I could and either say no or pass it on.  I couldn’t say yes, of course.  No one would trust a 22 year old to say yes, it had to be passed through many levels to get to that stage.  But I could say no to almost anyone.  I said no the Joyce Carol Oates and Stephen Disch and a number of other playwrights whose names I recognized.

No one second guessed me, when I said no.  There was too much to read.  They second guessed my yeses, though.  Why did you say yes to this, I was asked a few times.

Because I’ve read 30 scripts and I want to say yes to something, I said.

Only say yes if it is definitely, definitely a yes, I was told.

There are a lot of bad plays.  But after a while, my eyes began to blur, and I couldn’t tell what was good or bad anymore.  I couldn’t write anymore, either, my head was filled with other people’s words.  I couldn’t even keep reading.

I quit.

Rather than submitting to slush piles, one can, like me, form one’s own company and use it as a forum for one’s own work.  In publishing, that would be called a vanity press.  But in theater, it is more accepted, because frankly, it’s the only way a lot of new work can be seen at all.  It’s the same in the film world.  If you raise the money and actually are able to mount a show or film your film, there is something of an assumption that maybe it deserves to be seen.

Or one can try the slush pile.  Despite the quantity of slush, theoretically, an unknown writer can have his work win the lottery, get through all the hoops, and get his or her work onstage.

But if there were 110 productions in that Theater World season, and many of them were revivals, and many of them were old playwrights having their newest work mounted, how much room is there for new playwrights?

Ironically, of course, I was officially an Off-Broadway playwright and director that year.  By my analysis, I was one of the few, the elite.

The production lost so much money I wasn’t able to pay myself that year for either job.

There is one upside to being a playwright.  Royalties.  I have gotten royalties a surprising amount of times, most frequently from my translation of Lysistrata, which seems to have gained a cult following of some sort.  It’s not made me rich.  But $500 arriving unexpectedly every, upon occasion, is always a welcome sight.

And sometimes I’ve thought, if I decided to just be a playwright, I could get a day job and still write.  Or…theoretically…I could sell out to tv, which a lot of the more successful playwright seem to do (because, as I may not have mentioned, even the successful ones have a hard time living on a playwright’s wages).

So then, it’s not so bad, right?

And there’s always teaching work, whichever of the three you are (or better, if you are all three at once.)

So then, which is the worst idea?  I know less about the design and stagehand economics, anyone want to chime in on why one those is a terrible idea as well…

Wednesday, March 2, 2011

The Economics of Theater, Part IV: A Pause for Art

And now, a pause for Art.

I have been thinking for a while of writing a play dealing with economics.  My idea, right now, would be to write a series of sketches, each based on another economic theorist: Keynes, Smith, Marx, Rand, etc.  Of course, my struggles with my own personal economy have been partly the inspiration for that, but one thing that I’ve learned from the recent fiscal troubles is that the field of economics is truly fascinating.  I have started reading whatever I can, listening to Planet Money, Freakonomics, etc.

Or perhaps I will write some and ask some other playwrights to write some of the other sketches.  I’m not sure.  And takers?

Will this idea lead anywhere?  Perhaps.  But since I am writing these essays and theater and art, I felt I might as well try out one, for kicks.  This one’s based on Keynes’ theory that in times of economic hardship, employing someone, even to just dig a ditch and then fill it back up again, is an overall economic good. 


I’ve definitely had day jobs that have felt like I was doing just that…

THE DITCH DIGGER, by JOHN MAYNARD KEYNES

PERSON
What are you doing?

DITCH DIGGER

Digging a ditch.

PERSON
Why?

DITCH DIGGER
For the sake of the country.

PERSON
What are you going to do with that ditch when you’re done?

DITCH DIGGER

Gonna fill up the hole.

PERSON
With what?

DITCH DIGGER

Dirt.

PERSON
What dirt?

DITCH DIGGER

Same dirt I took out.

PERSON
Why?

DITCH DIGGER
For the sake of the country.

PERSON
How does that help the country?

DITCH DIGGER

I dunno.  Just does.  Wanna dig?

PERSON
Why would I?

DITCH DIGGER

Pay’s good.

PERSON
How good?

DITCH DIGGER

Good enough.

PERSON
I don’t like digging.

DITCH DIGGER

Nor me.

PERSON
Why don’t you do something else?

DITCH DIGGER

They won’t pay for that.

PERSON
How come?

DITCH DIGGER
Some man came along and told ‘em that ditch digging would save the economy.

PERSON
Just ditch digging?

DITCH DIGGER

He didn’t say.  They’re keeping to the ditch digging.  Just in case.

PERSON
What would you like to do?

DITCH DIGGER

Me?  I’m a clown.

PERSON
A what?

DITCH DIGGER

Clown.

PERSON
Like…with the big shoes, and the red nose?

DITCH DIGGER

Sort of.  Don’t use the shoes or the nose though.

PERSON
Then what makes you a clown?

DITCH DIGGER

Clowning.

PERSON
Is that worth more than ditch digging?

DITCH DIGGER

Makes people laugh.  Sometimes.  Makes people think.

PERSON
People like to laugh and think.

DITCH DIGGER

Some do.  Some like to dig ditches.  Some don’t like much of anything, at all.

PERSON
Clown for me.

DITCH DIGGER

What?

PERSON
Clown for me.

DITCH DIGGER

Can’t.  I’ve got a job.

PERSON
But you’re just going to fill up this ditch later.

DITCH DIGGER

That’s what they’re paying me for.

PERSON
What if you didn’t dig at all?  Would they even notice?

DITCH DIGGER

Not sure.

PERSON
Clown for me.

DITCH DIGGER

How much are you paying?

PERSON
I don’t have much.

DITCH DIGGER

Me neither.

PERSON
Don’t you miss clowning?

DITCH DIGGER

Yes.

PERSON
Don’t you want to clown?

DITCH DIGGER

Yes.

PERSON
Then clown for me.

DITCH DIGGER

Can’t.  Got a job.
(Pause.)
What do you do?

PERSON
I paint pictures.

DITCH DIGGER

Does anyone buy them?

PERSON
I’m afraid to show them to anyone.

DITCH DIGGER

Do you think anyone would buy them?

PERSON
Maybe.  Not many people have money, though.  And there are a lot of people who paint pictures.
(Pause.)

DITCH DIGGER

Want a shovel?

PERSON
Yes.

Tuesday, March 1, 2011

The Economics of Theater, Part III: Theater Companies


Once, there was only Broadway.

This is not true.  But it is a commonly believed untruth, and a convenient starting point.  Of course, there has always been something besides Broadway, even in its earliest days.  But.  Essentially.

Once, there was only Broadway.

Slowly, a new movement formed, a movement for less traditional, more alternative theater.  The movement grew.  It called itself Off-Broadway.

Those shows were less attended, and less press paid attention, but some did.  Enough.  And the people who did the work grew their theaters, though grants and patronage and box office, so that a core group could make a salary for their work. They became institutions.  Like all institutions, they tried to emulate their own successes. 

Others saw those institutions and rejected what they stood for. Slowly, a new movement formed, a movement for less traditional, more alternative theater.  The movement grew.  It called itself Off-Off-Broadway.

Those shows were less attended, and less press paid attention, but some did.  Enough.  And the people who did the work grew their theaters, though grants and patronage and box office, so that a core group could make a salary for their work. They became institutions.  Like all institutions, they tried to emulate their own successes. 

A new generation arrived, and it saw huge commercial theater on Broadway.  It saw non profit institutions as well that had grown large enough to also be on Broadway.  It saw other large institutions that were the bulk of Off-Broadway.  And it saw institutions, mostly set up during the 60’s wonderful companies like LaMama or P. S. 122 or the Wooster Group or the Ontological.

Slowly, it grew other institutions, which crowded in besides the old.  HERE managed to add itself to the mix  Soho Rep.  The Ohio.  Tiny theaters smaller than the other institutions that still managed to work at least a few salaries out.

But people kept coming.  And the city was crowded.

Even smaller theaters appeared, sometimes just to disappear.  Nada.  Collective Unconscious.  The Present Company.

The Present Company still exists of course, in theory.  But it has, in essence, disappeared into the behemoth of its own making, the New York Fringe Festival.  Which in itself created a model for how a modern theater company could find a way to pay its administrative staff.  By grouping hundreds of smaller theater companies under one giant umbrella.

And still more theaters appeared.  But now there was Broadway.  There was Off-Broadway.  There were the Off-Off-Broadway institutions.  There were festivals. 

How can a new theater get noticed, among all that?  How can it get press attention? How can it get grants?

How, essentially, can it make the money to at the very least pay the people spending their lives running it.

And really, with all the other theater going on, is it even needed?  I barely have the time or money to keep up with a fraction of the theater I want to see, and it’s my passion.  Maybe there’s just too much.  Too many plays I can’t see.  Too many books I can’t read.  Too many art exhibits I can’t attend.  Too many artists.  Period. 

Rocco Landesman said recently that there was a supply and demand problem.  He’s right, of course, though his statement that there are 5.7 million administrators and only 2 million artists is insane, of course. 

What he may have meant is, only 2 million that seem to be able to make any money at it, just as pure artists.

But there is a supply and demand problem.  Too much theater.  Too few audience members.  No wonder it’s so hard to make a living.  EVERYONE ELSE, GO AWAY!

Even in the mythical utopia we know as “Europe” this is a problem.  But in the American reality, and in particular in New York, it has gone out of control. 

And yet…we don’t go away.  Because somewhere in the midst of this mass of work, many somewheres, multiple times over, good and important work is being created.  Important only if you accept the premise that art is important, that theater is important, that creation and thought expressed on stage makes us, as individuals and society, better in some way.  Helps our ideas evolve.  Fulfills one of our most primal instincts, for I do believe that drama is a basic, ancient instinct, and that from those dramatic enactments have sprung humanity’s greatest social and moral advances.

And if you believe that, as I am cursed to, then you can’t go away.  Not if you believe you have something you must contribute to that conversation.

I have run my theater company for almost 20 years now.  In about a year and a half, it will be the 20th anniversary of our first show, which I produced immediately out of college.

I should be excited about that fact.  I am told that it is a milestone to be proud of.  But I also dread it.

Because we should have a bigger budget.  We should be getting more grants.  We should be bigger.  I should be paid a full salary.

Sometimes, I feel as though I have failed. When Havel flew my to the Czech Republic this summer and I met theater artist after theater artist and he praised me and talked about my theater company and my work, I smiled and thought, if only you know.  It’s a house of cards.  It’s a sham.  It’s something I made up, and it’s only real because I pretend that it’s real, and a few people, actors, designers, The New York Times, they all pretend with me.

And yet…we are getting grants.  And we seem to keep getting a little more each year, despite the economy.  We seem to be recognized a little more each year.  Really, I didn’t devote my time in full to the theater company until 2001, the year of our Ionesco Festival.  And since then our budget has increased, we have received a lot more press, and I would even say the overall quality of our work has consistently improved.

Or at least we’ve had a little more money to realize our dreams.

And it is doable.  Despite all the other theaters, I do see, somewhere, the bright and shiny possibility.  Or maybe because of them, because I realize that some of the companies that I work with, side by side, are able to get just a little more funding.  Not much more.  But enough.

In another business, those people would be enormously wealthy.  The top of their profession.  Which means, in theater, they get by.

Getting to that level of funding will mean more time devoted to grant writing, and, ironically, probably less time devoted to art.   That is the conundrum of running a theater company.  Sometimes it feels as if you can either make good work or fund good work, but not both.

It helps when you have some people helping out, and recently, I’ve had that too.  Board members.  My friend and fellow theater delusional Patrice Miller.

And if I can just find the time to write all the grants, put together all the shows, do all the accounting, solicit all the donors, then I do think that I may be able to reach that point.

I am quite sure we are able to do impressive work with people who are impressive artists.  And yes, in magical “Europe,” money would already be flowing.

Now if only I didn’t also need to look for a little money on the side…

Oh Europe, oh Europe.  How I love the utopian vision I have created for myself about you.