Theatre Red

Whenever someone says they see a lot of theatre, I’m not sure whether it’s a claim to expertise, or a cry for help.

I do not claim to be an expert.

This is not because of a lack of experience.

I’ve been around.

It’s simply because I hear such a claim with suspicion. (There’s a hidden violence to it, like the Australia Day air force fly by;  it’s official, and ominous.)

I imagine there are fields of human endeavour where the claim to expertise can be fairly made. Perhaps stamp collecting.

I don’t think it can be made in theatre criticism.

I’m not arguing that a theatre critic cannot, and will not, amass something that might pass as knowledge. (And I’d certainly argue they should be trying to!)

What I’m arguing is that to identify yourself as an expert is a political act.

You’re asserting an authority to which you have no right. Your knowledge is so tied up with your values and preferences (aesthetic, philosophical and political) as to be best thought of as personal.

And there’s nothing wrong with that. There’s no reason why you shouldn’t share that very personal knowledge with others. It is, after all, what the theatre makers are doing in the first place.

But the assertion that your knowledge transcends your personal perspective and somehow speaks for us all is something a psychologist might indeed describe as a cry for help.

The rest of us could be excused for hearing it as a war cry.

Veronica Kaye

I regularly tell people I don’t want a career in theatre.

I am regularly misunderstood.

It is assumed I’m not serious.

But I’m deadly serious about what the art form can achieve.

I want more than a career.

I’m not suggesting the absurdity that there’s something wrong with being paid for creating art. I’m not peddling the conservative myth that somehow it’s more noble to starve.

And I fully appreciate that being paid for creating art over an extended period of time (which I guess is how you might define a career) could prove to be exactly how some great art is made.

(But there was a poster doing the rounds of facebook recently suggesting something like this: ‘Art work is work and should be paid.’ It struck me more as a mischievous slogan rather than a serious attempt to engage with an issue of economic justice. Of course, if you paint a picture and it sells you should get money for it. But why should you get money just because you paint a picture?*)

When I say I’m not looking for a career in theatre, what I’m saying is simply that the most important thing is not that I get paid.**

And when people speak as though it is, I think it is they who aren’t serious.

Veronica Kaye

* Yes, I’ve answered a slogan with a slogan. More on this later.

** And what is the most important thing? That we give the audience a twofold gift: Joy, and the ability to pass it on. Much, much more on this later.

(An article you’d read – if it was in the Sydney Morning Herald.)

Recently, an acquaintance asked me if it was true that the theatre world was filled with pretentious wankers and self-indulgent children.

‘Of course not,’ I answered, ‘You’re forgetting the stuck up snobs.’

Jokes aside, if you were to come across an example of snobbery or unfriendliness in the world of theatre, the understandable reaction (apart from surprise) would be to ask for its cause.

If snobbery does exist in theatre, it would be for the same reason it exists anywhere – a lack of confidence.

And, let’s face it, in the theatre world, there’s plenty of reason to lack confidence. There’s limited opportunities and loads of competition. Evaluation of our work is arbitrary and therefore unpredictable. And the majority of the population doesn’t even notice what we’re doing.

But why does a lack of confidence so easily lead to snobbery and a general unfriendliness?

In the simplest terms, we choose to fake it until we make it.  If we don’t feel superior, one solution is to act as though we do. Feelings follow behaviour. It’s a remarkably powerful psychological tool. And, in this case, a tragic one. If I choose to deal with the challenge of others by dismissing them, I’m committing a crime against humanity, and I’m the primary victim.

Choose the best view

Snobbery creates the shallowest of theatre. (And that’s probably the least of it.)

So what’s the solution?

Be more confident.

Is that ridiculous advice?

I don’t think so.

If I can decide to act as though I’m better than others, I can just as easily decide to act as though I consider myself their equal.

And then watch the theatre I make.

Theatre that speaks to my audience.

Veronica Kaye

I like to tell people Sydney has a vibrant theatre scene.

Perhaps it’s true.

I say it because I’m working on the principle that if you want a child to be good you don’t constantly tell her she’s bad.

But what, exactly, would make a vibrant theatre scene?

A large number of productions?

A large number of ‘quality’ productions?

A large percentage of original works?

A large number of productions from outside the canon? (Perhaps some Japanese Noh theatre? Or some seventeenth century Spanish tragedy? Or even a production of Shakespeare’s King John?)

Here’s my suggestion for an essential component of a vibrant theatre scene – the existence of boutique theatre.

Ok, I’m coining a term here. What I mean by boutique theatre is independent theatre that does not see itself as a stepping stone to somewhere else.

I have no objection to small co-op actors’ companies putting on a Neil LaBute play in order to show off their wares. But if every indie production was this I think it would be a shame.

Similarly, if you write, direct and produce your original play at somewhere like TAP Gallery and only a handful of people come, it’s quite natural to want one of those handful to be either Andrew Upton or Ralph Myers. Andrew or Ralph or both will then be waiting in the little bohemian bar after the show and they will plead with you to allow them to include your work in their 2014 season. Who wouldn’t want that? However, and I have this on reliable authority, occasionally that doesn’t happen.

Boutique theatre appreciates that every play is not for everyone. It is satisfied with whatever audience it receives.  It does not constantly aspire. It does not say to the audience who do attend you are just part of my career strategy.

I appreciate that some people might find this attitude anathema.

If your small piece of theatre touches one soul, surely it would be better if it it touched more?

A vibrant theatre scene would be one where the answer to that question is allowed to be “No”.

Veronica Kaye