The discussion on Monday about the poor economic model of theatre in America brought back an idea that I'd had before but never really explored in depth: the idea of a Boston Theatre Endowment. There are foundations in our area that currently fund some theatrical work, but none devoted exclusively to funding theatres and theatres artists. In my ideal world, we'd set up a Boston Theatre Endowment that would do just that.
Part of this is just an acknowledgement that the economics of theatre, especially smaller, non-commercial theatre, just don't add up. In an economic world where growth and increased productivity is key to survival, working in an artform where it still takes the same amount of people to put on a play as it did a century ago, for the same sized audience, is not going to work without outside help.
The Boston arts community has proven that it's capable of raising large sums of money to build new theatre buildings. But what about money for the people who are to work on the stages of those theatres?
My fantasy also acknowledges the fact that the NEA is unlikely to return to strength, and unlikely to fund individual artists in a meaningful way (at least in my lifetime).
A significant amount of energy is spent raising money for small and mid-sized theatres around town. But most of these theatres have a relatively limited life cycle. They're around for a few years, the money raised got used for their productions, and is now gone.
What if some of that fundraising energy was put into raising money for a permanent endowment that handed out half its earnings to individual theatre artists and half to theatre companies? And the money received by theatres could only be used to pay artists--this would enable some small theatre companies to move up the food chain a little and have access to Equity actors that are normally too expensive.
For the individual artist grants, I'd want to see significant funds given out, rather than $1000 here or there, maybe $10,000, and maybe a handful of large grants ($30,000), so some of these people could really focus on their art for a stretch of time. They could be Boston's theatrical MacArthur awards, if you will.
The MFA raised what, $500 million for their new wing? Good for them. The new Arsenal Center for the Arts cost $7.5 million. The BCA cost a pretty good chunk. Various parties are putting $70 million into renovating the Paramount. It's great to have all these buildings, but we have a town where most actors can't afford to pay their rent by acting on these stages. What if we had a $10 million Boston Theatre Endowment, paying out $500,000 in grants to artists and small theatres every year? $20 million in the bank, giving out $1 million in grants every year? Fundraising for the Endowment could be a continuous process, trying to get it to keep growing.
I know the conventional wisdom is that buildings get built because it's easier to get people to donate when they know they'll see their name on something concrete. Too bad. Because the impact from funding artists directly would have the potential to affect hundreds of artists, hundreds of productions, and thousands and thousands of theatre-goers.
Anyway, that's my latest theatre fantasy. (There's no reason why this couldn't work for other cities. But I think it's important to have the Endowment focus on a local region, because theatre is an inherently local artform.)
Showing posts with label theatre. Show all posts
Showing posts with label theatre. Show all posts
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
thoughts on directors
No, I'm not writing to complain. A few of my best friends are directors (and I even direct sometimes, too, though rarely).
One thing that really struck me in the symposium on Monday was when directors spoke up and said that they were pretty much doing it all by the seat of their pants, and that they weren't sure what everyone in the room was talking about when actors talked about various problems within the process, because they never get to see other directors at work.
This makes sense in some ways because I know how busy directors are, and when they move from job to job, they barely have time to eat and sleep, let alone drop in on rehearsals by other directors. On the other hand, theatre is certain to suffer if directors, both old and new, are not taking the time to observe how other people attack the same job. Again, it comes back to my same concern--how do we improve what we do, unless we are consciously trying to define and evaluate how we make plays for/with audiences and how we can do it better.
There are, of course, certain difficulties with other directors sitting in--ego and innate competitiveness between the two directors, and an understandable shyness about sharing what can be an extremely intimate process. Observers can be deathly when it comes to vulnerable human beings up on stage feeling willing to expose themselves and make mistakes, to look stupid and slow and ugly, if necessary.
This may be something that StageSource can address here in Boston, to try to set up some sort of director-to-director exchange (it may already exist for all I know). It's certainly something that directors themselves could do on their own. It would certainly require a fair amount of trust on the part of everyone concerned. But, to be honest, Boston is a small theatre town (as are most cities) and most of the directors and actors all know each other anyway. The actors are all aware of how various directors work. Maybe the directors should suck it up and see what they can learn about themselves.
(on a side note:)
Personally, I adore rehearsals. I like watching how directors work with actors, and I love watching actors stumble through discovering the story and characters of any play (especially mine). I watch directors intently, trying to understand how they do what they do. The question was raised a bit over the weekend about how much time the writer should spend in the rehearsal hall. While I think it's important for the playwright to get out of the room, for everyone's sake, I'm always reluctant to leave, because I just like being there.
One thing that really struck me in the symposium on Monday was when directors spoke up and said that they were pretty much doing it all by the seat of their pants, and that they weren't sure what everyone in the room was talking about when actors talked about various problems within the process, because they never get to see other directors at work.
This makes sense in some ways because I know how busy directors are, and when they move from job to job, they barely have time to eat and sleep, let alone drop in on rehearsals by other directors. On the other hand, theatre is certain to suffer if directors, both old and new, are not taking the time to observe how other people attack the same job. Again, it comes back to my same concern--how do we improve what we do, unless we are consciously trying to define and evaluate how we make plays for/with audiences and how we can do it better.
There are, of course, certain difficulties with other directors sitting in--ego and innate competitiveness between the two directors, and an understandable shyness about sharing what can be an extremely intimate process. Observers can be deathly when it comes to vulnerable human beings up on stage feeling willing to expose themselves and make mistakes, to look stupid and slow and ugly, if necessary.
This may be something that StageSource can address here in Boston, to try to set up some sort of director-to-director exchange (it may already exist for all I know). It's certainly something that directors themselves could do on their own. It would certainly require a fair amount of trust on the part of everyone concerned. But, to be honest, Boston is a small theatre town (as are most cities) and most of the directors and actors all know each other anyway. The actors are all aware of how various directors work. Maybe the directors should suck it up and see what they can learn about themselves.
(on a side note:)
Personally, I adore rehearsals. I like watching how directors work with actors, and I love watching actors stumble through discovering the story and characters of any play (especially mine). I watch directors intently, trying to understand how they do what they do. The question was raised a bit over the weekend about how much time the writer should spend in the rehearsal hall. While I think it's important for the playwright to get out of the room, for everyone's sake, I'm always reluctant to leave, because I just like being there.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Brain Overflow (and gratitude)
The last two days of a theatre symposium here in Boston have definitely left my mind a little overflowing. The topic was Actor as Collaborator, and featured actresses Olympia Dukakis and Lynn Cohen as leaders/instigators of the discussion. The talk dealt a lot with the feeling of marginalization (and infantilization) that actors are feeling in the theatrical process, a lot of the time (not in every case). Though the focus was on actors, directors, playwrights, designers and others were invited to be part of the conversation (100 people were invited, plus students from Emerson).
Some of the talk was emotional, with people sharing horror stories from their careers. Some students expressed their confusion about what path to take out of school--starting something small and underground or heading to commercial theatre. On Monday, we sat in a big circle, of probably more than 60 people, and went around for hours, with each person having a chance to speak. A lot of it was just about getting ideas and pent up emotions out there, but what I really appreciated was the strong sense that no matter who was speaking, the assembled crowed really listened and thought about what was being said (which gets hard after multiple hours of this).
Late in the day on Monday, we split into breakout groups, and I was in the playwright/actor group. We had about ten people, split evenly between actors and writers. The conversation was warm and generous, and confirmed yet again how much I enjoy working with and talking to actors. I think we all recognized the importance of the director in the process, but all hope for the ability and opportunity to work more closely together in the future. We talked a bit about how collaboration depends upon possessing a common vocabulary and a respect for each other's artistic process. In Rhombus, our rule is always "impressions not suggestions," which I think could be amended to say "impressions and questions, not suggestions." Trying to rewrite someone else's play is a tough impulse to resist, and the same applies for playwrights wanting to give actors easy answers (thereby short-circuiting their discovery process).
So much was said on both days, it all tends to sort of blend together into a buzz in my brain. I was struck over and over again how much we all want to work together better. However, when I spoke on Sunday, I brought up that one thing I feel is lacking in our process is a better formal (or at least semi-formal) process for when the show is over to assess how we did. It's extremely rare to be invited to a post-production post-mortem, where the entire group of people who were involved in the production gather to say, "the way we did this really worked for me." Or else that it didn't and why. Directors don't say to the actors, "how did this work for you, when I did so and so?" Or does the director ask the playwright, "How was our communication? How could it be better next time?"
An essential lack in our theatrical process is this conscious intention to learn from our successes and mistakes, in order to intentionally mold the process that we use to create theatre. Effective collaboration requires more than just everyone dumping in ingredients when the soup is being assembled. Often folks are pressed for time and money and have already moved on to the next show, but our artform suffers for neglecting this final, crucial step. What I want is a theatre scene in Boston where audience members can't wait to tell their neighbors, "you must go see this show!"
Anyway, that's something that's been on my mind lately, and it mixed together with all the other theatrical goulash of the weekend.
One last point: Jaan Whitehead, a member of Anne Bogart's board (among many other smart things she's done) talked a bit about the economics of theatre in our society, and the fundamental conflict that the arts in our society face with market capitalism and popular democracy. Basically she reminded us, in very clear language, that the economic model for theatre in our culture stinks. I knew this, but I liked the way she explained it.
Several other actors in the audience talked a fair bit about finally coming to terms with the fact that they need day jobs in order to practice their art--and we're talking about incredibly talented, well-respected actors in the Boston theatre scene. Their comments, and the whole weekend, reminded me how much I appreciate my life, and all that I'm able to do artistically, even though it may not make me much money. I wouldn't trade it. I owe the assembled horde of actors and theatre folk a big thanks for that reminder.
Some of the talk was emotional, with people sharing horror stories from their careers. Some students expressed their confusion about what path to take out of school--starting something small and underground or heading to commercial theatre. On Monday, we sat in a big circle, of probably more than 60 people, and went around for hours, with each person having a chance to speak. A lot of it was just about getting ideas and pent up emotions out there, but what I really appreciated was the strong sense that no matter who was speaking, the assembled crowed really listened and thought about what was being said (which gets hard after multiple hours of this).
Late in the day on Monday, we split into breakout groups, and I was in the playwright/actor group. We had about ten people, split evenly between actors and writers. The conversation was warm and generous, and confirmed yet again how much I enjoy working with and talking to actors. I think we all recognized the importance of the director in the process, but all hope for the ability and opportunity to work more closely together in the future. We talked a bit about how collaboration depends upon possessing a common vocabulary and a respect for each other's artistic process. In Rhombus, our rule is always "impressions not suggestions," which I think could be amended to say "impressions and questions, not suggestions." Trying to rewrite someone else's play is a tough impulse to resist, and the same applies for playwrights wanting to give actors easy answers (thereby short-circuiting their discovery process).
So much was said on both days, it all tends to sort of blend together into a buzz in my brain. I was struck over and over again how much we all want to work together better. However, when I spoke on Sunday, I brought up that one thing I feel is lacking in our process is a better formal (or at least semi-formal) process for when the show is over to assess how we did. It's extremely rare to be invited to a post-production post-mortem, where the entire group of people who were involved in the production gather to say, "the way we did this really worked for me." Or else that it didn't and why. Directors don't say to the actors, "how did this work for you, when I did so and so?" Or does the director ask the playwright, "How was our communication? How could it be better next time?"
An essential lack in our theatrical process is this conscious intention to learn from our successes and mistakes, in order to intentionally mold the process that we use to create theatre. Effective collaboration requires more than just everyone dumping in ingredients when the soup is being assembled. Often folks are pressed for time and money and have already moved on to the next show, but our artform suffers for neglecting this final, crucial step. What I want is a theatre scene in Boston where audience members can't wait to tell their neighbors, "you must go see this show!"
Anyway, that's something that's been on my mind lately, and it mixed together with all the other theatrical goulash of the weekend.
One last point: Jaan Whitehead, a member of Anne Bogart's board (among many other smart things she's done) talked a bit about the economics of theatre in our society, and the fundamental conflict that the arts in our society face with market capitalism and popular democracy. Basically she reminded us, in very clear language, that the economic model for theatre in our culture stinks. I knew this, but I liked the way she explained it.
Several other actors in the audience talked a fair bit about finally coming to terms with the fact that they need day jobs in order to practice their art--and we're talking about incredibly talented, well-respected actors in the Boston theatre scene. Their comments, and the whole weekend, reminded me how much I appreciate my life, and all that I'm able to do artistically, even though it may not make me much money. I wouldn't trade it. I owe the assembled horde of actors and theatre folk a big thanks for that reminder.
Thursday, May 3, 2007
Theatrical Joy
Just got back from the annual PTO play at my kids' school. This is an annual event that both serves as a fundraiser and a way for the grown ups in the school community (mostly parents, but the principal had a role, too) to get up on stage and entertain each other. We're new to the school, but I've been told that this event has been going on for years and years (20 plus?). Two parents write the script and another directs.
We're talking a two-hour show, with a seven piece band (who were great!), a cast of about two dozen (some of whom had to sing). The energy and enthusiasm of the performers came through so clearly, as they performed for their peers and children, in a story that was pretty complicated (about the namesake of our school and a time machine, and two love stories (one between a cave man and an ad exec and another between an exec and a19th century woman)).
The show had joy and music and bristled with the raw human energy that makes theatre feel vital. Sometimes I feel like these qualities end up getting squelched in small to medium professional theatres, where we sometimes take ourselves too seriously and ask the audiences to take us too seriously. And we can't afford a band with three electric guitars and a base and a keyboard, bongos and drums. I got a rejection from a company last week accompanied by submission guidelines that state that they're not considering any plays that require more than four actors.
I know that constraints aren't all bad for artists, but sometimes it's good to be able to just cut loose and play. That's the business we're in after all. Tonight I got to watch a whole bunch of people playing. They had fun and so did I.
We're talking a two-hour show, with a seven piece band (who were great!), a cast of about two dozen (some of whom had to sing). The energy and enthusiasm of the performers came through so clearly, as they performed for their peers and children, in a story that was pretty complicated (about the namesake of our school and a time machine, and two love stories (one between a cave man and an ad exec and another between an exec and a19th century woman)).
The show had joy and music and bristled with the raw human energy that makes theatre feel vital. Sometimes I feel like these qualities end up getting squelched in small to medium professional theatres, where we sometimes take ourselves too seriously and ask the audiences to take us too seriously. And we can't afford a band with three electric guitars and a base and a keyboard, bongos and drums. I got a rejection from a company last week accompanied by submission guidelines that state that they're not considering any plays that require more than four actors.
I know that constraints aren't all bad for artists, but sometimes it's good to be able to just cut loose and play. That's the business we're in after all. Tonight I got to watch a whole bunch of people playing. They had fun and so did I.
Saturday, April 21, 2007
Odd Audience Reaction at Mike Daisey's Show (at the ART)
This weird thing happened at Mike Daisey's show.
I heard about it from Adam's blog, and now Malachy's has a video of this very weird audience response to Mike Daisey's monologue performance at the ART. A good chunk of the audience leaves, apparently in protest, though it's unclear why. (He uses the "f" word, but to be honest, the content that's on the video seems fairly mild.) On Mike's site, he says they were a Christian group (but I'm not sure how he knows this).
Mr. Daisey handles the whole thing extremely well (the protesters pour water on his desk and script on their way out). I don't know what I would have done. I wondered sometimes during the production of Pieces of Whitey, if we might get angry audience response (it's a comedy about race and well-meaning white people) (but that mostly seemed to happen from the critics) (and they were angry), but nothing every happened.
What's so weird is that this group leaves en masse, but when Mike tries to talk to them about what's happening, they don't answer him. And he's acting calmly and reasonably, really, considering the situation. It seems a strong violation of the unspoken audience/performer contract: he's doing his best to engage and entertain them, and in return expects an honest answer in return. You could say that their leaving is an honest response--they apparently hate it. Pouring out the water on his stuff shows that they really, really hate it. But, especially with the water, they don't take into account that he's a human being (one in a vulnerable position) with feelings. It's not like he was berating the audience or treating them disrespectfully. But they chose to disrupt his performance and the experience of the other members in the audience.
I'm especially disturbed that this happened here in Boston. I've always found audiences here polite, if a little reserved. I just don't get it.
I heard about it from Adam's blog, and now Malachy's has a video of this very weird audience response to Mike Daisey's monologue performance at the ART. A good chunk of the audience leaves, apparently in protest, though it's unclear why. (He uses the "f" word, but to be honest, the content that's on the video seems fairly mild.) On Mike's site, he says they were a Christian group (but I'm not sure how he knows this).
Mr. Daisey handles the whole thing extremely well (the protesters pour water on his desk and script on their way out). I don't know what I would have done. I wondered sometimes during the production of Pieces of Whitey, if we might get angry audience response (it's a comedy about race and well-meaning white people) (but that mostly seemed to happen from the critics) (and they were angry), but nothing every happened.
What's so weird is that this group leaves en masse, but when Mike tries to talk to them about what's happening, they don't answer him. And he's acting calmly and reasonably, really, considering the situation. It seems a strong violation of the unspoken audience/performer contract: he's doing his best to engage and entertain them, and in return expects an honest answer in return. You could say that their leaving is an honest response--they apparently hate it. Pouring out the water on his stuff shows that they really, really hate it. But, especially with the water, they don't take into account that he's a human being (one in a vulnerable position) with feelings. It's not like he was berating the audience or treating them disrespectfully. But they chose to disrupt his performance and the experience of the other members in the audience.
I'm especially disturbed that this happened here in Boston. I've always found audiences here polite, if a little reserved. I just don't get it.
Friday, April 20, 2007
Winnie the Pooh and Missing Pieces from Grown Up Theatre
Yesterday started out wet, for our sixth day of rain. When the sun finally appeared in the sky, we, of course, had tickets to go spend a few hours inside a dark theatre.
My seven-year-old enjoyed the production of Winnie the Pooh at the Wheelock Family Theatre, a fine professional theatre within walking distance of home. The set was colorful and elaborate, with a huge tree filling half the stage. The costumes made for cuddly a Pooh, Piglet, Tigger, etc. And the show was well-miked (some of the actors were children, so this was important) so it was easy to hear what was going on. The actors were energetic and engaging. The bees were a neat effect, and the kids liked it when Pooh flew in to the air with his balloon and (spoiler) Tigger jumped out of the birthday cake at the end.
The adaptation, by Kristin Sergel, seemed a bit odd to me. Kanga is new to town, and everyone is afraid of her because she's a neat-freak, and comes hauling her own bathtub and soap. By mid-show, she's kidnapped Piglet, cleaned him up and won't let him go. Later Roo runs away, and Rabbit and Pooh basically decide to hold him hostage and swap him back for Pooh. Who thinks of this stuff? (I'd better go check the original books, I guess.)
Probably my biggest problem with the show is that it ran about two hours, including intermission. My son, who has definite problems sitting still, ran out of sitting power at around 1:45. Overall, the show served as good practice for kids to get used to going to theatre, which is, I guess, part of what children's theatre is for.
The show reminded me that in many of the small theatres where I tend to work, we just don't get (or don't choose) to spend enough time and effort on the spectacle of theatre. Watching children's theatre reminds you that we need to have something interesting to look at on stage. Something colorful is nice, if you can swing it. I do my fair share of complaining that big theatres spend more on fancy sets than they do on royalties to playwrights, it's not always wasted money. Small theatres could do a lot better and are cheating audiences of an essential part of the theatre experience (yet another reason why people don't go to plays).
My seven-year-old enjoyed the production of Winnie the Pooh at the Wheelock Family Theatre, a fine professional theatre within walking distance of home. The set was colorful and elaborate, with a huge tree filling half the stage. The costumes made for cuddly a Pooh, Piglet, Tigger, etc. And the show was well-miked (some of the actors were children, so this was important) so it was easy to hear what was going on. The actors were energetic and engaging. The bees were a neat effect, and the kids liked it when Pooh flew in to the air with his balloon and (spoiler) Tigger jumped out of the birthday cake at the end.
The adaptation, by Kristin Sergel, seemed a bit odd to me. Kanga is new to town, and everyone is afraid of her because she's a neat-freak, and comes hauling her own bathtub and soap. By mid-show, she's kidnapped Piglet, cleaned him up and won't let him go. Later Roo runs away, and Rabbit and Pooh basically decide to hold him hostage and swap him back for Pooh. Who thinks of this stuff? (I'd better go check the original books, I guess.)
Probably my biggest problem with the show is that it ran about two hours, including intermission. My son, who has definite problems sitting still, ran out of sitting power at around 1:45. Overall, the show served as good practice for kids to get used to going to theatre, which is, I guess, part of what children's theatre is for.
The show reminded me that in many of the small theatres where I tend to work, we just don't get (or don't choose) to spend enough time and effort on the spectacle of theatre. Watching children's theatre reminds you that we need to have something interesting to look at on stage. Something colorful is nice, if you can swing it. I do my fair share of complaining that big theatres spend more on fancy sets than they do on royalties to playwrights, it's not always wasted money. Small theatres could do a lot better and are cheating audiences of an essential part of the theatre experience (yet another reason why people don't go to plays).
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Thoughts on theatre and money (started by Adam S.)
Check out this thoughtful post by Adam Szymkowicz on class and theatre (and follow the links).
I have many of the same concerns about trying to make a living from theatre, and also about who, ultimately is my audience. Do I relate to the wealthy, white, upper-middle class patrons who pay big bucks to see the more commercial productions in LORT and Off Broadway theatres? Will they be interested in what I write?
Hard to say. This is something of a concern, if I want to make more than a tiny bit of money from theatre. Much of my work is more suited to smaller venues. But smaller venues mean smaller audiences, which means smaller paychecks. Not that I expect to make a full-time living from writing plays, but more than a pittance would be nice.
I worry about theatre sometimes. Even at the bigger levels (above where I currently operate), there doesn't seem to be enough concern about making sure that playwrights can earn a living wage by writing plays. There has been an incredible building boom around America, in the construction of new spaces over the past ten years or so. Sadly, it's easier for a big theatre like the Huntington to raise a few million dollars for a new theatre space, than it is for them to, say, fund an endowed position for a resident playwright or two.
The Huntington's made a big deal about its Calderwood Fellowships, which are great. They offer four writers $4,000 and development time, over two years. $2,000 a year? That's not going to get a writer very far. Now, if they offered $40,000 over two years, that would be something.
If theatre doesn't find a way to pay playwrights better and to financially support developing writers, they're going to have a lot of very nice theatre spaces, and fewer and fewer great new plays written for them. How many full-time administrators work at a big LORT like the Huntington? What theatre needs is a more organized farm system, really, to allow people to write plays and earn enough to support themselves and their families. That's right, families. What happens to playwrights when they start having kids? Good luck. Go write for TV, if you live in NYC or LA.
The economic issues of theatre extend to the most basic level. Ticket prices continue to rise out of reach of many. Hell, I can't afford to pay $35 or $45 to go see a play. I have to shoot for free tickets. (Thank you StageSource!) Compare this to film--I can get all the movies I can watch for a month from Netflix for $20. I can read all the books I can carry, for free, thanks to the public library. Any writer needs lots of exposure to new and exciting work in their form. For playwrights to improve as writers, they need to see lots of plays and get lots of productions of their work, simple as that.
Wouldn't that be a cool program--if all the major U.S. theatres started a "playwrights passport" program, where legitimate playwrights (say, Dramatists Guild members who have been produced) could attend any show for free? It's not offering huge fellowships, but it would make sure that they keep writers coming in the doors. Just a fantasy, I suppose.
I have many of the same concerns about trying to make a living from theatre, and also about who, ultimately is my audience. Do I relate to the wealthy, white, upper-middle class patrons who pay big bucks to see the more commercial productions in LORT and Off Broadway theatres? Will they be interested in what I write?
Hard to say. This is something of a concern, if I want to make more than a tiny bit of money from theatre. Much of my work is more suited to smaller venues. But smaller venues mean smaller audiences, which means smaller paychecks. Not that I expect to make a full-time living from writing plays, but more than a pittance would be nice.
I worry about theatre sometimes. Even at the bigger levels (above where I currently operate), there doesn't seem to be enough concern about making sure that playwrights can earn a living wage by writing plays. There has been an incredible building boom around America, in the construction of new spaces over the past ten years or so. Sadly, it's easier for a big theatre like the Huntington to raise a few million dollars for a new theatre space, than it is for them to, say, fund an endowed position for a resident playwright or two.
The Huntington's made a big deal about its Calderwood Fellowships, which are great. They offer four writers $4,000 and development time, over two years. $2,000 a year? That's not going to get a writer very far. Now, if they offered $40,000 over two years, that would be something.
If theatre doesn't find a way to pay playwrights better and to financially support developing writers, they're going to have a lot of very nice theatre spaces, and fewer and fewer great new plays written for them. How many full-time administrators work at a big LORT like the Huntington? What theatre needs is a more organized farm system, really, to allow people to write plays and earn enough to support themselves and their families. That's right, families. What happens to playwrights when they start having kids? Good luck. Go write for TV, if you live in NYC or LA.
The economic issues of theatre extend to the most basic level. Ticket prices continue to rise out of reach of many. Hell, I can't afford to pay $35 or $45 to go see a play. I have to shoot for free tickets. (Thank you StageSource!) Compare this to film--I can get all the movies I can watch for a month from Netflix for $20. I can read all the books I can carry, for free, thanks to the public library. Any writer needs lots of exposure to new and exciting work in their form. For playwrights to improve as writers, they need to see lots of plays and get lots of productions of their work, simple as that.
Wouldn't that be a cool program--if all the major U.S. theatres started a "playwrights passport" program, where legitimate playwrights (say, Dramatists Guild members who have been produced) could attend any show for free? It's not offering huge fellowships, but it would make sure that they keep writers coming in the doors. Just a fantasy, I suppose.
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