Parabasis

Re: Old Wine, New Bottles

by 99 Seats

What Josh Marshall says:

The Obama presidency has led the GOP to make verboten a series of policies it either pioneered or which at least some significant segments of the party embraced. So it’s not just that the GOP is living in the ‘past’. I agree with their stalwarts that this is a sort of misleading way to put it. But the ‘Iron Wall’ policy vis-a-vis Obama has put the party in a position in which it is quite hard to play in a national (as opposed to a midterm) election.

I say this ad nauseum: conservatisim never fails, it is only failed. The post-election discussion is already hovering around the idea that Mitt Romney was a bad candidate, that the GOP needs a better standard bearer or better messaging. This ignores the basic fact: the GOP needs new ideas.

Mitt Romney was not a great candidate (though he was also clearly the best candidate of the GOP field), but, in the end, what hog-tied him was the policies. Focusing on his lack of connection or robotic demeanor downplays that people rejected his ideas. I've talked about the Romney campaign's failure in transactional politics before. I think we can expect that on a larger scale, especially as the demographics of the nation continue to shift. Lindsay Graham was right: they're not making enough angry, white men anymore. And besides angry white men, who benefits from the current GOP platform? Pretty much nobody.

Selling that, selling racial and gender resentment, with a brown face or a female face won't solve the basic problem. When people hear about the ideas, they will recoil. This isn't a problem of marketing. It's a problem of the soul. The GOP needs to search for one.

Today in Shameless Self/Cross-Promotion

by 99 Seats

One of the great things about moving to a new city is making new friends. I had the very good fortune of meeting the ever-awesome Amy Spalding recently and she asked to write a little something for her ongoing Musical Theatre Monday series. (You should check out some of the other posts, too. All are grand!)

And thus I did. Fair warning: it's about grief, loss and 9/11. But it also has this, one of my favorite songs ever about a theatrical hero of mine. So there's that.

An American Horror Story

by 99 Seats

I'm a smart guy. I feel comfortable saying that. I'm a smart guy with a pretty sharp sense of humor and satire. But sometimes I miss a joke. It happens to the best of us. A piece of satire is so good, so sharp, so well-done that I miss the satire and take it at face value, the way some people do with, say, Swift's A Modest Proposal. So I'm open to being corrected. I'm hoping, very, very much that someone will tap me on the shoulder and say, "Uh, dude, it's a joke" about this piece by Jason Robert Brown. I'm fine with being embarrassed by my sheer, volcanic, thermonuclear rage at this thing, I'm fine with being shamefaced for going full-on medieval and looking like a jerk for missing the joke. Because I'd rather it be a joke. I do not want this to be earnest, honest advice to young artists and theatre critics. I do not want this to be portrait of how theatre artists are expected and allowed to behave. I do not want this piece to be true. So please, if you read this and get the joke, if you posted it on Facebook because you think it's so ironic and satritiric, please, please, please, publicly shame me. I'm begging you.

Because otherwise? This is why theatre sucks to work in, why theatre is rapidly becoming an artistic backwater and playground for people of privilege. This is why theatre criticism is being killed off by inches. This is why terrible artists are promoted and talented, intelligent people are fleeing the theatre by droves. This is what's wrong with theatre.

Go ahead. Go read it. Or don't. I can sum it up: When Jason Robert Brown was 23, he was invited to see a show by Stephen Sondheim that he didn't like. After the show, at dinner, he left Sondheim with the impression that he didn't like it. He felt terrible about this, called Sondheim to talk about it was given this advice, advice when JRB is offering up to young (and old!) theatre people everywhere:

Nobody cares what you think. Once a creation has been put into the world, you have only one responsibility to its creator: be supportive. Support is not about showing how clever you are, how observant of some flaw, how incisive in your criticism. There are other people whose job it is to guide the creation, to make it work, to make it live; either they did their job or they didn’t. But that is not your problem.

If you come to my show and you see me afterwards, say only this: “I loved it.” It doesn’t matter if that’s what you really felt. What I need at that moment is to know that you care enough about me and the work I do to tell me that you loved it, not “in spite of its flaws”, not “even though everyone else seems to have a problem with it,” but simply, plainly, “I loved it.” If you can’t say that, don’t come backstage, don’t find me in the lobby, don’t lean over the pit to see me. Just go home, and either write me a nice email or don’t. Say all the catty, bitchy things you want to your friend, your neighbor, the Internet.

Maybe next week, maybe next year, maybe someday down the line, I’ll be ready to hear what you have to say, but that moment, that face-to-face moment after I have unveiled some part of my soul, however small, to you; that is the most vulnerable moment in any artist’s life. If I beg you, plead with you to tell me what you really thought, what you actually, honestly, totally believed, then you must tell me, “I loved it.” That moment must be respected.

This has long been an "unwritten rule" in theatre, and now it's been written, I suppose, and we can talk about it. So let's talk about how dishonesty and lies kill an art form. Because that's what Sondheim is asking for: not gentle critism or encouraging words. He's asking for people to lie to him. And he's apparently lying to them. Look at the first line of the quote: "Nobody cares what you think." Except, of course, Stephen Sondheim, who invited Brown and his friend to the show, presumably to ask them what they thought. It's just that he only wanted to hear "I loved it!" and nothing else. He does care what they think...as long as they liked it.

An artform can't grow under these circumstances. And artists can't grow. It's one thing, if you're talking about a friend, someone you know, and you see a show that you don't like or that doesn't work. I know that dilemma. It is always awkward and uncomfortable. But, here's another unwritten rule: we've all settled on a series of phrases that tell that person you didn't like it without saying "I didn't like it" like "Great work!" or just "Congratulations!" And then you flee. And people know. Which is cowardly. But not as bad as the outright lying that Sondheim is encouraging.

In a culture that feeds on that kind of dishonesty, flaws in plays go unspoken of and uncorrected. Imagine a world where Sondheim asked two young, smart, talented artists what they thought and they gave him smart, cogent suggestions and he used them. Wouldn't that be better? What does it benefit the theatre to have young artists so filled with terror that they apparently can't cogently crititique a work by an artist they love, even years later. JRB doesn't indicate what his criticism were, or if they would have been helpful. He's apparently still so scared of Sondheim that he can't even name the friend he went with. How is that healthy for an art form?

How is it healthy for an artist to be a hothouse flower, so delicate and vulnerable that only warm air can support them? How does that encourage growth? We're building a community of mutual sycophancy, daisy chains of artistic blowjobs and calling that support. What this also means is that when you seek out real criticism of the work, even at the lower levels, it's nearly impossible to find. No one wants to say a bad thing about anything. Oh, we say it's because we don't want to hurt the work, but really? It's because we don't want to hurt someone's feelings and get the freeze-out that JRB got from Sondheim after their awkward dinner. Yes, part of it is the human nature of not wanting to hurt someone, but part of it is purely venal and career-focused. We don't want to close a door by being critical. So we're not.

All of this enshrines something that's even more pernicious: privilege. When access, success and career advancement are based as much on manners and social convention, the people who succeed are the people who master that, not actual talent. Telling young artists to keep their opinions to themselves is basically telling them, "It doesn't matter about the work, it matters how you treat your betters." We're just maintaining a good old-fashioned caste system. If you can't play the game, you can't play the game. People who aren't good at sucking up to the right people lose out.

This piece fills with an incandescent rage, sure. But it also makes me very, very sad. Even if it is satire (and I hope it is!), people I know and respect, some of the bravest, smartest artists I know, have been pasting it on Facebook approvingly. And this vision of an artist, above all, makes me so very sad. It's so timid and small, really. We're not talking about JRB being invited to Sondheim's house to hear early sketches of songs and then trashing them. We're talking about the opening night of a Broadway show. Yes, I know, I have had productions, you're a ball of tension and nervousness, there is so much riding on the line, all of that is true. But...you're having a show open on Broadway. Shouldn't we be tougher? Shouldn't we have a better sense of what's good and what's bad about it? Shouldn't we be conscious, clear-eyed artists who can take a 23-year old's dislike? Maybe even ask them about it? Are we really going to wither in the face of that? It says such sad things ab0ut us playwrights. Such sad things.

For an artform to be relevant, you need brave artists. You need artists who are going to look hard into the essence of human experience and talk about what they see there. And yes, bravery needs support. But it also needs feedback and criticism and honesty. If we as artists close our doors to those things, then we close our doors to growth. And the art form atrophies. Our vision closes down to spot. If all we're doing is looking for approval from our fellow artists, we're looking for the wrong things. To tell artists that's what's expected of them is a crime against theatre, if you ask me. It only breeds more nervous artists, more deluded artists, more cowardly artists who crave protection when they should be courting danger, who are thinking about safety nets when they should be flying. It breeds a theatre that isn't talking about the big things because we can't talk honestly with each other.

I have nothing but the utmost respect for Jason Robert Brown's artistry. The Last Five Years is one of the bravest, smartest, most honest musicals I've ever heard and I kick myself on a daily basis that I didn't see it when I had the chance. And I still do have a ton of respect for him and his work and for his bravery in maintaing a blog and saying what he wants to say. That's all awesome. I just think this piece is awful, absolutely awful. That's my honest criticism of it. I hope he can take it.

Now, again: maybe it's all a joke. Mr. Brown, please drop by the comments and tell me it's all a joke. I'll even leave this post up as a monument to my shame, if it is. If not, I think your piece is a monument to yours.

Declassified

by 99 Seats

I have been crazy-super-busy of late, but I did have time to see ARGO. Which is a pretty fine film, all told, despite the very bizarre choice of casting Ben Affleck as a man named Tony Mendez (it's funny watching the movie hold back his last name as long as it possibly can). Affleck is a confident, assured director, the movie looks good and the story is pretty compelling. It also fits in the sweet spot for "based on a true story" type deals: the story is new and unknown enough that the outcome is in doubt the whole time, even if you kind of know that it's not in doubt at all. The supporting cast, particular John Goodman, Alan Arkin and Scoot McNairy, is all grand. So...yay, good movie!

But, of course, during the movie, I couldn't get the other spectacle of the week out of my head: Mitt Romney's attempt to "gotcha" President Obama during the town hall debate over the administration's shifting rationales for the attack on the embassy in Benghazi. It was clearly one of the most compelling moments of the debate and, even the campaign. And, ahead of the "foreign policy" debate on Monday, it's looking to loom large in the rest of the campaign.

The moment was interesting not just for the failed gotcha, or the live fact-checking, but also because it offered a quick glimpse into the fevered world of the far right. Romney was caught completely flat-footed by the facts. He was totally convinced that President Obama hadn't used the phrase "act of terror." This is a shibboleth on the right, something that, over the last few months, has become an article of faith. Except for the fact that not only is not true, it's easy to show that it's objectively not true. And yet, conservatives believe it. In fact, it's so important to their beliefs that they're now engaged in semantic hair-splitting to back up their larger point: for some nefarious reason, the administration is invested in covering up the circumstances of the Benghazi's attack.

Josh Marshall and Talking Points Memo have done really great work following this line of thinking on the right. They also note that, in the WaPo, David Ignatius is reporting that the CIA supports the "smoking gun" of the Benghazi myth: Susan Rice's description of the attack as at least partially springing from protests over the much-reviled Innocence of Muslims video, hastily arranged and not professionally carried out. Of course, there remains an ongoing investigation, so it's likely more facts will come to light.

But, after seeing ARGO, I think there's a larger point about how government works, especially in regards to national security, to consider. Because this isn't the first time the charge of "shifting narratives" has come into play for the Obama administration: similar charges were made about the story of the assassination of Osama bin Laden. I think it's easy to lapse into cynicism and paranoia about all of this, especially after the Bush years and their vast politicization of the national security infrastructure (threat level Orange, anyone?), but, beyond that, there's the very real question of how much honesty does our government owe us, particularly about actions outside of our borders.

For those who don't know, Argo tells the story of the rescue of six US embassy workers and diplomats from Tehran after the fall of the Shah and the taking of the US embassy there, when 52 hostages were taken. The film does a great job of capturing the chaos and unpredictability of that time, both here in the US and in Iran. Revolutions are messy, sometimes scary things, as we all know, and the Iranian revolution was no different (for another great take on it, you simply must read/see Persepolis, if you haven't). At any time, the US diplomats in Tehran could be captured, killed, tortured. A CIA agent develops a just-crazy-enough-to-work plan to get the 6 diplomats, who are hiding in the residence of the Canadian ambassador, out: have them pretend to be a film crew, complete with a whole fake movie. The play is indeed just crazy enough to work and so it does...at great personal and professional risk for all of the CIA agents involved. And when it does work, their great job is celebrated in their office for a few seconds and then classified and buried. In the film, that indignity is compounded by the official cover story: that the Canadians (CANADIANS!) pulled it all off on their own. (In addition to the casting issue, there does seem to be some legit controversy about the portrayal of the Canadian ambassador who is mostly seen nobly cowering in fear.) It's grimly noted that, if the CIA had taken credit, the remaining hostages would have paid the price. So no credit was given, an award was given in a secret, private ceremony and then immediately taken back and not conferred until the '90s. There's a great, stiff-upper-lip, all-for-country feel to the latter part of the movie. They don't do it for the glory, these CIA agents.

I'm kidding a bit, but it does raise the obvious question about current events: is it really so implausible that the CIA (and the FBI, which is investigating the Benghazi attack) would want a false story about our working theory of the attack to be the "official" word? Let's say you're the person who pulled off a successful, well-planned and coordinated attack and you hear that we're looking at a disorganized spontaneous attack. Maybe you'd lower your guard a little bit and not expect to get caught. I mean, I just watch a whole lot of cop shows and this is a pretty common ploy. Let's remember that this is still the investigation of a crime.

But there is also the larger picture. A lot of the current dissatisifaction with the administration from the left comes in the realm of "national security," how wars are prosecuted and how the government decribes it. I'm not arguing that the government has complete latitude to tell its people untruths (again, see the Bush years for the worst of that), but...isn't there some room for, well, less than truthiness, in service of larger goals, that may not be obvious to us here? I can see how attractive the charges of "liar" are, especially to the GOP, whose standard bearer has, shall we say, a bit of a problem with that. But I can also see how compelling the desire to "get to the bottom" of things is. It's just not always appropriate. Argo hasn't really entered the political conversation (and it shouldn't...it's a pretty apolitical movie), but it does reflect our time. Carter lost the 1980, in no small part, because of his perceived weakness on the Iran hostage crisis. Having the Canadians take credit for a major coup must have added fuel to the fire, but still, they took the hit. I'm glad that the Obama administration is standing up with some passion (I don't think he needed an anger translator for that section of the debate), but I'd also like them to articulate a little more clearly how it fits into his vision of how government works.

Dispatches From An Alternate Universe

by 99 Seats

I want you to remember these two articles. Read them both now. I'll wait.

Did you read them? Okay, let's discuss.

In six months, if President Obama wins re-election, I will send these links to my liberal friends who don't understand why, after receiving a public rebuke at the ballot box, the right remains in thrall of the "crazies." They will wonder why there wasn't a purge of the fringe elements and why the congressional GOP, most likely a few members smaller, aren't moving to the center and compromising. These two articles explain why perfectly.

The first, the polling article (h/t Isaac), is basically gibbering insanity. But the kernel of it is this: any poll showing Obama with a lead is oversampling Democrats and therefore skewed and not can that poll not be trusted but the polling outfit is in the tank. This is the beginning of the "Obama stole the election" meme that we'll be dealing with. We got a small taste of that with the campaign against ACORN, but with no ACORN to blame, it will actually get larger and more elaborate.

The second, primarily about Sarah Palin advising Romney to "go rogue" (whatever the hell that means), is also indicative of everyone's old friend, epistemic closure. First off, it assumes that Romney's struggles have nothing to do with his policies and statements, but instead with how he's framed them, with the added implication that he's hiding some worse truth. We're talking about a candidate who has repeatedly implied that the US is on the path towards becoming Greece. I don't really seeing how he's underselling the state of our economy. (For the record, we are not in any danger at all of becoming Greece. Not even slightly.) In the world of dog-whistle, there is the idea that Romney needs to take the gloves off and start running Jeremiah Wright and birther ads. But more importantly, the machine is starting up with another hoary old chestnut: conservativism never fails; it is only failed. Romney, who advocates low regulations, low taxes on top earners, voucherizing Medicare, privatizing Social Security, turning Medicaid over to the states, a federal ban on abortion and marriage equality, self-deportation and war with Iran, is insufficiently conservative. If only he would publicly hold some conservative ideals and see how popular they would be.

The other part that amazes is this:

“They not only need to use [Ryan] out on the trail more effectively, they need to have more of him rub off on Mitt because I think Mitt thinks that way but he’s gotta be able to articulate that…. I think too many people are restraining him from telling [his vision],” Wisconsin Governor Scott Walker told a radio interviewer Friday.

Where’s the evidence of Romney’s so-called “bold choice” in picking Ryan? others ask.

“Even in Wisconsin, I think he’s being underused,” Charlie Sykes, the radio host who interviewed Gov. Walker, told Politico. “I guess what’s frustrating is especially now that we’re embroiled in this conversation about the makers versus the takers, where is Paul Ryan? He is eloquent, he knows the numbers, he can frame this in a very compelling way. The fact that he is not front and center on some of this is, I think, a lost opportunity.”

Um. There was a time that Paul Ryan has a chance to express his beliefs and ideas in a very public forum. Remember how that went? Remember this? Apparently GOP consultants don't. They seem to believe that Paul Ryan can be some kind of honest broker or straight-talker. This is simply crazy. And completely ignores reality. What kind of reckoning can there be when there is practically a cottage industry generating opinions that have nothing to do with reality?

So...remember this. Remember these stories when you're trying to understand what's happening in our politics.

Everything I Say Is A Lie. Including That.

by 99 Seats

I was thinking about posting a comment to Isaac's post here about believability and lies, but I decided to just do a separate post, because the issue of truth and lies is, well, important, especially in politics right now.

I have a few "libertarian" or "independent" or "apolitical"* friends in my FB and Twitter worlds (and I know we have a reader or two here from the right end of the spectrum) and I've noticed in recent weeks a common thread popping up. When the discussion about honesty in politics comes up, usually one of them chimes in with a dismissive post about how ALL politicians lie, so you can't trust anything any of them say at any time. This response usually comes up like this: a liberal or left-leaning person points out an outright un-truth that someone on the right has said, the "libertarian" says Obama lied about something, too and then it's pointed out that that "lie" isn't really a lie, then we get, "Well, everyone lies, so it doesn't really matter." Except it does. I think it matters a lot.

Isaac ends his post with this:

I guess the real question I have here amidst all of this is... how are we to determine what candidate statements we take seriously and which we don't?  Obviously, I like Obama so I'm inclined to believe him. I don't like Romney so I'm inclined not to. But that seems a very poor way to go about judging this whole thing. 

Here's the thing: it isn't really a matter of personal like or dislike. I'm a big ol' leftie, so I find Obama's arguments persuasive. I understand how someone who is right-leaning can find Romney's arguments persuasive. Those are things open to personal feelings. Facts, though, are not. When we're talking about whether or not something is true, it's pretty simple: it's either true or it's not. And that is often fairly apparent, if you take more than one second and do the minimum amount of research. Just Google it. And then (and this is actually key) read the things that come up.

The "independents" I'm talking about, as far as I can see, don't seem to want to do that. They make a statement, hear an alternate statement, then throw their hands up and walk away. That's also how our press acts. We're reaching a point, as many, many people have noted, where our political pundit class is helpless to confront outright lies. The push to remain "neutral" and "cordial" means not actually calling someone a liar when they are. But it also means that the very idea of lies has changed.

I'm not a Pollyanna. All of my life, politicians have bent, altered, sweetened, curved facts to fit the narrative they're selling. You couldn't quite trust what they said. In the most famous example ever, it depended on what meaning of the word is. They promised the moon, possibly knowing they can't deliver it. Okay, fine. Not exactly honest, but not lying. Not really. When people say Obama lied, they point to the claim that he created 4.5 million jobs, repeated regularly at the DNC. It's, at best, truthy. This is often paired with the Romney "claim"** that Obama has sought to waive work requirements for welfare recipients. By all objective measure, there is no truth to that "claim." It's an actual lie. Can we really say that both politicians are "lying?"

And yet...we do. Obama promised a number of things, particularly in the realm of indefinite detentions, Gitmo, Bush-era anti-terrorism policies and didn't follow through. Disappointing, yes. But not lies. Paul Ryan's RNC speech was full of statements that are objectively not true. Those are lies. There is a difference between those two. If we let liars continue to determine what is true, we do so at our peril.

 

*I use the quotes here because, in general, these people parrot right-wing memes and ideas, hold right-wing values, and yet claim not to be right-wing. I'm unconvinced.

**For obvious reasons, I refuse to honor that lie by using the weasel word "claim."

If It Bends...

by 99 Seats

While I'm not wading into the very worthy conversation about the validity of comedy or tragedy, one thing that comes up often is why is there so little conversative comedy. The realm of satire seems to belong entirely to the progressives and the left side of the ledger. Last week, we had a pretty good example of this, and, I think, an object lesson on where conservatism loses its comedy mojo. Via Yahoo! News:

Two spoof Twitter accounts for President Barack Obama emerged from speeches at the Republican convention last week. The first, @FadedObama, was inspired by this line from Republican vice presidential nominee Paul Ryan: "College graduates should not have to live out their 20s in their childhood bedrooms, staring up at fading Obama posters and wondering when they can move out and get going with life." As of Tuesday afternoon, it had been mentioned on Twitter 182 times and attracted 194 followers.

The second, @InvisibleObama, sprang (of course) from Clint Eastwood's interview with an absent Obama Thursday evening. That account has 66,797 mentions and 68,193 followers.

(Emphasis mine.)

The Yahoo! article says that the difference between the two was timing; the @FadedObama went up 13 minutes after Paul Ryan's speech while @InvisibleObama went up within seconds. Yeah, that may account for it. There's also a part of it about narratives: after Paul Ryan's speech, most of the conversation focused (rightly, I would add) around the many, many falsehoods and misrepresentations in his speech, not one small, throwaway metaphor, while after Clint's performance, well, the chair was the whole game, wasn't it? It was the key part of the event. But there's another part of this.

@InvisibleObama is funny. @FadedObama isn't.

I say this not as a progressive. I say this as a kinda-sorta funny person. I don't think there's any argument on this. Here's a typical @FadedObama post:

You know I'm going to fade. My hair literally faded during my first term

— Faded Obama Poster (@FadedObama) August 30, 2012

And here's an @InvisibleObama post:

On this Labor Day, take a moment to remember that today is the last day it's appropriate to wear invisible seersucker anything.

— Invisible Obama (@InvisibleObama) September 3, 2012

Actually, that wasn't fair. That was one of the funnier @FadedObama posts. I put my finger on the scale and it's still lost (sort of like arguing with an empty chair and losing, but I digress).

The @FadedObama Twitter feed is nothing but recycled Obama jokes and jabs: birther stuff, media star stuff, food stamp jokes, a Nancy Pelosi joke. Stuff that really only appeals to conservatives and re-inforces the conservative world view. And pretty much just stated outright. It's a collection of talk radio lines.

The @InvisibleObama feed? Yep, partisan jabs. But also a personality. And a personality that fits Twitter. The voice of @InvisibleObama is similar to the other Twitter faves, like @SarcasticRover: snarky, spiky and, well, sarcastic. But it's also a lot of regular comedy about being invisible.

Conservative comedy tends to be much more like @FadedObama: jokes that make conservatives laugh. Good satire, though, like good comedy, has further reach, builds better gags. Conservatives would do well to put comedy above party.

The Life of the Party

by 99 Seats

So, yeah, that happened. And yeah, we all watched it. Except for the folks who watched the US Open. And it was as bizarre, as unsettling, as disturbing as everyone said.  When I watched, I was confused, certainly. And then I got the gag and it was...lame, yes. Occasionally funny-adjacent, with built-in laugh and applause lines. But mostly, I was confused. And I still am. I'll get to that in a second. It did, though, show the exact problems with the modern Republican Party and modern conservativism that I was talking about.

Most of the post-show talk has hovered, probably rightly, around Mitt, his reaction and the decision process that ended with Clint Eastwood on stage, doing improv with an empty chair for eight minutes. It does say a lot about Mitt, his speech, our politics and our media that we're all talking about the appetizer and not the main course. But that's not what I'm wondering about, nearly 24 hours later. Here's my question: Why did Clint Eastwood do this?

Let me be clear: I'm a fan of Clint Eastwood, as an actor and a writer/director. I get the complaints that people have about his recent work, but I still like him. I'm under no illusions about his politics, though and never have been. I thought I knew his politics pretty well, in a basic way: he's a moderate Republican in the classic modern mold. Pro-choice, pro-gay marriage, pro-women's issues (relatively), environmentally conscious. And the record bears that out. He identified more as a "libertarian." Which is how most of my right-leaning friends identify and often with the same basic profile: to the left on "social" issues, big on a lack of government influence in their lives, hawkish on war. He's eschews labels and such, has endorsed Dems and Republicans, votes the person, not the party. And yet...he endorsed both McCain and Romney and, at the very least, agreed to introduce the guy who was going to introduce Mitt Romney at the RNC in a significant primetime slot. Why would he do that? I'm asking seriously. Mitt Romney is running as a pro-life, hard right on social issues, who is hawkish on war and "pro"-business. In terms of beliefs, there doesn't appear to be a lot of overlap there. What was Clint endorsing?

For the last few years, there have been near-constant conversations about the end of the moderate Republican, the person exactly like Clint Eastwood (and, frankly, like Mitt Romney of a decade ago). Giving a moderate a prime spot at the convention seems like the perfect time for a full-throated defense of moderate conservatism. Or at least to have a major American figure stand up and say, "I don't agree with Mitt on everything, but we share these values and that's important. This party can stand disagreement." That would have been an impressive thing that we'd all be talking about. Even if it wasn't about Mitt (pretty much like all of the other significant speeches), it would have been about something.

Instead, what did Clint say? A cheap joke about the "lefties" in Hollywood. An Oprah joke. A Biden joke. Jabs about Obama being a hypocrite, an attorney, his inauguration. A complaint about Obama not closing Gitmo. A complaint about trying terrorists in civilian courts, followed immediately by noting that Obama doesn't actually do that. A complaint about Obama both not bringing the troops home from Afghanistan AND about Obama setting a date for the troops to come home. He did also note that 23 million people are out of work. That was largely it. And the crowd ate it up. Seriously. I watched it and they all loved it, every second.

What does that say about what's important to the Republican Party. Not policies, reality, the problems facing the country. Jokes and jabs that get laughs and cheers. Substance-and logic-free attacks. And attacks that are mostly about things that are about how Republicans feel about things. Even if the bit had worked perfectly, cleanly and clearly, it doesn't seem like the substance would have changed.

I can hear the arguments winding up right now. "But...it's the convention! It's a big show! It doesn't mean anything!" Except...it does. Because the question still stands: why would Clint appear here? Why would he want to endorse someone who doesn't agree with a number of his beliefs? Why would he stand on a platform that calls for the outlaw of abortions, gay marriage and critical thinking? (No, really, the GOP platform speaks out against critical thinking.)

Parties are supposed to be about the things you believe, the way you want the world to be. Does Clint want to live in Mitt's world? Does Mitt want Clint to have a say in his? It doesn't seem like it.

But Mitt was glad to trot out a cardboard cut-out of a tough guy to make jokes and throw cheap shots and pretend that it's tough talk. And Clint was certainly happy to go along with it. I'm willing to bet that, for Clint, it had to do with the Super Bowl Chrysler commercial, which, in conservative circles, was seen as an endorsement of Obama. (Odd enough that we get the whiplash of Obama both being blamed for not keeping a factory open and for being blamed for saving Detroit in the first place, all by people who claim that the free market should have no interference from the government.) It doesn't strike me as impossible that Clint felt his brand was damaged by the Chrysler ad and wanted to make peace. Maybe not. Maybe he just wanted to do it.

Either way, given a national stage and audience, he opted for nastiness and cruelty, for an incoherent litany of things that largely add up to "We don't like you, President Obama." And his party loved it. Because, at the end of the day, modern Republicanism is defined by that: they don't like things. Period. They don't have solutions to problems, they don't have answers to questions. They're trading on dislike, disdain and anger. Lindsey Graham said as much. It's a party of pure id.

The other moment that should define the Republican Party was this:

That is the modern Republican Party. Doing something about global warming is a silly, silly notion that has nothing to do with helping your family. Which should come as a surprise to the good people of Louisiana. And Tampa.

Jamelle Bouie nailed the line of the night about Clint Eastwood: "This is a perfect representation of the campaign: an old white man arguing with an imaginary Barack Obama." I say take it one step further: Clint Eastwood's speech was the perfect representation of our politics. Tearing down someone who believes most of the things you believe in defense of someone who looks like you and makes you feel better about yourself. It's not a good place for us to be.

I Think It's Time To Admit It

by 99 Seats

I've largely avoided political talk around here because, well, I find myself alternating between depression and anxiety as the Silly Season unfolds. But, after the Ryan pick, the Niall Ferguson article, the Todd Akin mess, the welfare flap, the serial mendacity of Mitt Romney, and after a few months of watching the politics unfold in the single worst arena for discussion, Facebook, I feel like I need to say something. And I think we need to face something.

The Republican Party no longer exists. Not as a political party. Conservatism no longer exists, not as a governing philosophy. It's a marketing campaign.

Earlier this year, Steve Benen at the Maddow Blog noted that Mitt Romney had very little to offer the constituents he met. Benen wrote:

But Romney's in a tough spot, because he doesn't have much of anything to trade in exchange for votes. He meets a struggling firefighter, but Romney can't promise to boost salaries for first responders, because the his platform calls for the opposite. He meets struggling college students worried about tuition costs, but Romney can't promise more Pell Grants or expanded access to student loans, because he fully intends to end the federal government's role in helping young people afford higher education.

This continues today. Outside of the very wealthy, there is nothing in the Romney-Ryan budget that helps actual people. It includes less money for public services, less money for student loans, less money for healthcare, less money for just about everybody, except the very rich. It's tempting to think that the Republican Party is the party of the rich, but that's not really true, either. Because the rich will hurt, too.

This matters for artists, too. When pressed to say what he plans to cut in order to balance the budget, Romney goes after the NEA (and Amtrak and PBS). Which is ridiculous because those programs make up a miniscule part of the federal budget. This is not a serious plan for deficit-cutting. And, if you are among the super-rich, you're more likely to enjoy and support the arts. Which means your opera, your symphony, your theatre will want more money from you. Yes, you'll get a tax break on it, but it's still money out of your pocket.

A couple of things about all of this: it does no good. Slashing funding for education, tecnnology, scientific research, health care advancements, none of that actually makes America stronger. It's counter-productive to Romney's "rebuild" America rhetoric. It also doesn't actually make the deficit any better, since it includes massive tax breaks. It's also, all of it, largely unpopular. The American people are a confused, difficult people to govern. The number one thing on our list to cut to balance the budget, foreign aid, is just about the smallest drag on the budget. We don't want to cut the other stuff, but we want the budget cut. It's a hard row to hoe, I get that.

But what the GOP and the Romney campaign are doing isn't threading the needle. The Obama budget tries to do that. What the GOP and Romney campaign is doing is, well, A) lying. Straight-up lying to the people they met. And B) marketing to a demographic, not serving a constituency.

The Romney campaign's rhetoric of "freedom," "accountability," "ending bureaucracy," "rebuilding America" is pitched perfectly to attract a certain kind of voter, to make a segment of the population feel like Romney is one of them and has their concerns in his heart. He's not and he doesn't. Like McDonald's pandering to a community struck by obesity and diabetes, he's offering people the worst possible choices and presenting them in coded ways that make them think he really knows them.

This extends to modern conservatism, which has morphed into a cult that believes government should be small enough to fit in a woman's uterus or a gay person's bedroom, that believes that any restriction on the 2nd Amendment at all is an assault on the Constitution, but invasive searches of certain segments of the population are totally fine. Who exactly are they serving? Whose best interest? Again, it's tempting to say "straight white men," but, as was pointed out during the debates on the Montana abortion law, the lack of available abortions means, if you knock a woman up, you have to marry her (or at least take care of the child). We like to say it's a party of business, but global warming, a lack of immigrant labor, products that sicken and hurt your customers are generally not good for business in the long run. Like lowering taxes by cutting services, eventually, this costs you.

But hearing it makes a certain population feel good. I'm not going to get into psychologizing that part. But it does. They listen to this rhetoric and feel good, good about their lives, their choices. So they vote for it. From 2000 to 2008, we saw how that worked out. Hell, we're still seeing how that's working out, since the same people are basically in charge of our government now, no matter who is in the White House. They're calling the shots and are still calling the shots on the basis of what makes their audience feel good, not what's actually good for them.

For a while now, I've been referring to the GOP as the Party of Your Asshole Uncle. "Pissing off liberals" has been a major part of their raison d'etre since William F. Buckley's days. Which is, I suppose, fine...if you're a jerk who likes needling your city mouse brother and his kids at Thanksgiving. It's not really when you plan to lead a country of 300 million people. To do that, you need a governing philosophy. Not a bunch of slogans and cheap jokes. Until the Republican Party can actually come up with a governing philosophy that makes sense for an incredibly wealthy, increasingly diverse, unimaginably powerful and influential, modern nation of 300 million people, I don't think they should be treated as a serious party.

TV Land

by 99 Seats

So. I'm here. I'm alive. I'm coming around the bend on my 7th week in Los Angeles. It's been an interesting journey. I don't know if I've mentioned it, but I started a tumblr about it, from a more personal perspective here. It's mostly pictures and quick hits and "L.A. is like this, NYC is like that" kind of stuff. Me processing suddenly living somewhere else.

But I haven't forgotten about you all. I do plan to tell you about theatre out here...once I figure it out myself. I'm seeing my first show here in L.A. this Friday. One thing I've noticed is that there is a LOT of theatre. Or at least a lot of theatres. Seriously. The rap that L.A. gets is that it's 27 suburbs in search of a city. Well, each of those suburbs has one or two theatres in it. There are a few clusters of theatres, but it seems like on every main drag, there's a theatre or two. I can not vouch for the quality. But then again, I can't vouch for the quality of every small theatre in New York. Once I get more into it, I'll let you all know.

Theatre, however, is a sideshow in this town and everyone acknowledges it. It lives in the shadow of the film/TV industry. Actually, right now, it seems like most everything out here lives in the shadow of the TV industry. I've talked with a lot of people since coming out here, some are friends I haven't seen in a while, some were recommended by friends and colleagues. Nearly all are looking at or currently working in TV. It's become the 500-pound gorilla out here. As others have noted, we seem to be in a golden age for television. Particularly driven by the very high quality in writing. Plus the economics for a young writer are in television's favor. For movies, right now, there are really two bandwidths: cheap movies and big budget movies. When you add in the loss of control of your story, TV is way more attractive.

Now, I know that a large segment of the readers of this blog are, shall we say, less interested in television. (At least I assume they still read this blog.) I've never been among them (obviously). But there's an interesting artifact about the way theatre people view television. Several people I've met with have asked what shows I like. I can get through that okay, despite being vaguely sheepish about the shows I watch religiously: Fringe, Happy Endings, Community, Justified are all at the top of my list. Yes, yes, I know, I know, Breaking Bad, Mad Men, etc. I haven't gotten to those yet. I will. I'm good with the shows I like. Then I was asked a question that stumped me: Why?

That should be easy. I'm a smart, thoughtful person. I'm also an artist, so I'm aware of the conscious and subconscious intentions of artists. Television may be part commerce, but it's also art, created by artists. It does something. It's about something. And if I'm making sure I'm home to watch it, even in the era of DVR, if I'm making new friends watch it, the way I press Zadie Smith's White Teeth into their hands, it's saying something to me. But we're so used to thinking about television as entertainment, as being shallow, that, at first blush, when I'm asked, I get ready to answer in terms of craft, style, technique. Not in terms of the deeper point of art.

As I pursue this "new" line of work (it's still dramatic writing, but of a very different order), I'm realizing that I have to think more deeply about the work I'm doing and why. What are the stories I want to tell and why. Sometimes, as a playwright, we can fudge some of that. We can talk in big ways, use our over-educated minds to explain things away and keep the raw emotions at bay. Out here, for all of the crap, all of the commerce, I'm looking at digging deeper. But, you know, with jokes.

A Kind of Holding One's Breath

by 99 Seats

I haven't written much about politics here lately. That's partly due to the personal stuff going on in my life. But it's also partly due to what Nate Silver notes here: in terms of the presidential election, nothing much is changing. It remains a close race, with some structural advantages given to President Obama and some structural disadvantages clinging to Mitt Romney. Oh, there are dust-ups and whatnot, but when the dust settles, nothing has changed.

Obviously the fall presidential election is massively important and, maybe even more obviously, presidential politics are not the only significant politics happening. But they take up a lot of oxygen and every single twist and turn is reported breathlessly. So now we get a half a news cycle about the NAACP booing Romney, followed by half a news cycle of when did Romney leave Bain, when it will probably be time for more shenanigans about Eric Holder and the completely fabricated "Fast and Furious" mess or some other foreign policy "gaffe." It all feels a bit like wheel-spinning to me.

We're waiting, waiting for the actual campaign, for the debates and, in a way, for the day itself. There don't seem to be a lot of convincable voters out there, so the question that looms seems to be who will get their voters out. And, more disturbingly, how many of them will actually be allowed to vote. It's also intriguing/disturbing how little policy seems to actually matter in an election everyone acknowledges as important. Maybe it will in the fall. Maybe not. It just feels like a long way to wait.

Heckling

by 99 Seats

Somewhat apropos of Isaac's last couple of posts on trolling and bad public behavior, there's this thing that happened with Daniel Tosh. For those who don't know (or are allergic to clicking), Daniel Tosh is a comedian who is most known for making fun of people on the internet, usually using fairly "edgy" jokes, i.e. basically saying semi-racist/homophobic/sexist things with a wink. Tosh has a history of making rape jokes, including this wonderful bit. At a recent show, he started in and a blogger who happened to be in the an audience member shouted out that rape jokes are never funny. Which, of course, inspired Tosh to make rape jokes at the woman in question. She left feeling threatened, mortified and upset and tried to get her money back. A friend of hers blogged about it on Tumblr* and this set off a Tumblr/Twitter storm and eventually, Tosh kinda sorta apologized.

Like I said, Tosh has a history of this kind of stuff and I have at least one close friend who's been waging a campaign against him for years. After this, she literally unfollowed any friend on any social media platform who "liked" Daniel Tosh. Which seems pretty reasonable.

But. Hearing about it, made me think of this:

I had actually just re-watched this and was struck again by it. Now, as I've mentioned here before, I'm a huge fan of Louis C.K., his comedy, his show, his whole thing he's got going on. This is also, obviously, a staged event (the actress there is, of course, the amazing Megan Hilty, late of Smash), not an actual person. But he does A) make a rape joke, B) an AIDS joke and C) wishes her dead. For talking during his show. The great coda after gives some explanation for the vitriol...but does that correct it? Also: this episode aired nearly two years ago. I don't recall there being any backlash, any demand for apologies or explanations. In part, I think Louis C.K. gets a pass because his comedy isn't usually offensive and, again, this is fiction, not an actual person. But it's an insight into the psyche of a comic. Which is a pretty dark place.

Let me be very clear: I'm not defending Daniel Tosh. What he said and much of what he does is disgusting. Same goes for a lot of comedians who play the game of "edgy" material when they seem to mean exactly what they say. But I wonder if the Louie bit above lives in that land that Isaac mentioned here: this comes from someone I admire and like. Does it make me a bad person to laugh at it? Does it make Louis C.K. a bad person? How do I decide that Louis C.K. gets a pass, but anyone who likes Daniel Tosh isn't someone I want to know?

If I'm completely honest, I'm not sure.

Update: And then I wandered over to Twitter to find that two comedians I much admire, Louis C.K. and Patton Oswalt, have both jumped in this to defend Daniel Tosh. So...it just gets thornier.

*Updated for clarity. It wasn't a blogger, but a friend of the blogger.

Pulling Out Of Here To Win

by 99 Seats

Man, this post is way, way, way overdue. I actually meant to write about this stuff on the blog about a month ago, but events kept getting in the way. And then I meant to write it last week, but there was too much stuff going on. And then I meant to write it yesterday, but by then, I was tired from everything else. Today, though, today is quiet and relatively peaceful and I have some time to myself. So here it is.

I've left New York City.

On Tuesday morning, I got on a plane for Los Angeles. I'm writing this from my sublet in central L.A., sort of Thai-town, sort of Little Armenia, sort of Los Feliz, if any of those words mean anything to you. They mean only a little bit to me right now. But mostly they mean "home."

So how the hell did this happen? Like Hemingway's quote about going broke, gradually and then suddenly. I've been kicking around making this move for a while now. My reasons are about one-third professional, one-third personal and one-third that place where the personal and the professional overlap and become the spiritual.

On the professional tip, I don't think it's a surprise to anyone that I've felt fairly frustrated by the NYC theatre scene. I've been banging my head against its doors and ceilings for nearly two decades now and, honestly, I'm tired. I'm tired of busting my ass, gathering resources, calling in favors, stretching fifty-cents to make a dollar and then at the end of it, having a lot of bubkis to show for it. That's overly harsh. Let me soften it a bit: I don't know what else to do. One of the reasons I've been largely absent on this blog for the last few months has been an absolute torrent of work. I stepped down from the leadership of The New Black Fest and basically did project after project. Between about last November and this spring, I wrote two full-length plays (one a three-act bear), a longish one-act and two ten-minute plays. One of the ten-minute plays received a full production and three week run. The other ten minute play had a quick and dirty production for one night in a bar. The longish one-act got about a week of rehearsal, then a one-night presentation. About a month later, we got another whack at it, with another week's rehearsal and three performances, in a semi-staged manner. The two new plays got a few hours of rehearsal and then one-off readings. I also got a workshop presentation of another full-length play, a week or so of rehearsal for that, two performances, semi-staged. Oh, and a friend of mine who runs a community theatre in Rochester put together a reading of a group of my short plays. I think I'm even leaving some things out...Wait, I am. I also wrote a short holiday-themed piece for a reading series and two short pieces that I read myself, one at another reading series and one at a special event honoring a friend and colleague. Basically, from November until May, I had a deadline every week. Most of the work I did I consider some of my best. I grew as a writer. And many of these events were well-attended and well-received. All of which is, and should be, satifying enough. I'm doing better than a great number of writers I know and I am blessed for the opportunities I have. But.

My disdain for soccer is well-known amongst my friends. In particular, I'm dismissive of soccer because of the possibility of a 0-0 tie. That can't be a satisfactory result, no matter how brilliant your defensive plays are. As I joke (and I may have even stolen this joke from someone), those guys ran around for 90 minutes and I scored as many goals as they did. And I just sat here drinking a beer.

By the same logic, the guy at my local bar who sat there, every night for the last seven months, drinking cranberry and vodkas had as many productions as I did. I was just more winded.

At a certain point, you start thinking it's you. I can say all I want about structural this and structural that, and none of this doesn't mean those imbalances aren't true, but there's a certain point where you have to consider that nobody here really wants you. Or you don't know how to make them want you. And if that's the case, why keep digging this hole? I'm careening into my late thirties. If there's time to make a change, it's now.

I've always tried to be honest about my skills and abilities: I can write some pretty good dialogue, turn a good phrase here and there, and make a pretty decent joke. I prefer naturalism and realism to experimental theatre. I like contemporary stories, usually with a "ripped-from-the-headlines" feel. I'm attracted to the worlds of genre fiction, but I like tweaking it ever so slightly. The current trends in theatre run pretty much counter to all of that, unless you're a big enough name or can land a big enough name to make it to Broadway. I don't come with the kind of pedigree that opens doors on its own. I've felt stuck in a limbo. And sometimes, even my closest friends and colleagues have basically said, "You should be writing for television, not theatre." Generally in nicer terms than that. So...I may not actually be a playwright.

And if not, well, then, why not try my hand at another medium? At another city? So, to paraphrase the single worst phrase in modern sports history, I'm taking my talents to Venice Beach.

Please don't see this as "taking my toys and going home" or slinking out of town away from a trail of failure. I don't. I see it as a moment of clarity. I think I know what I'm doing, maybe for the first time in a decade. That's a good thing.

Personally...I've never lived more than an hour and a half from New York City. While those kind of roots are comforting, they can also hold you back. I wanted to see who I was without the back-drop of New York around me. Especially before I could never get out, never live anywhere else.

And thus and so, Flight 1691 brought me here, to a neighborhood that is really nothing like anything I've known. The closest equivalent is the farthest reaches of Queens, but that doesn't cover it. It's all just so slightly foreign. Mostly in good ways. I'm starting to like it.

A few nights before I left, I got some friends together at a bar and one of my closest friends and colleagues came by. The bar was in my old neighborhood of Inwood and he came all the way from the depths of Brooklyn, and so had to leave on the early side for the two hour ride back home. Right before he left, someone played Bruce Springsteen's gorgeous anthem "Thunder Road." And we belted it out lustily. This song fit my spirit and the time just perfectly. New York isn't exactly full of losers, but the feeling of breaking the bonds that hold you back and leaping out into the free air, that is what I felt. What I'm still feeling. I want to leave you with that. Even though I'm not leaving you at all. I'll still be sending dispatches from L.A. I do plan to take a whack at theatre out here and I know you're all just dying to hear more about TV writing. But for right now, close your eyes, listen to The Boss and think about driving down a sunlit road, the top down and a bright clear sky above you...

The Great Conversation

by 99 Seats

I'll admit: on my first read, I was about as miffed by this Carey Perloff article as Lauren Gunderson was. I thought, Really? We're back here again? Didn't we all do this dance, like, two years ago? Are we still feeling bad for poor, neglected Shakespeare? That guy just can't catch a break. I rolled my eyes and moved on.

Then I saw Lauren's post and Carey's great response in the comments (actully most of the comments are great, RTWT). And I re-read Carey's original post again. Now that I see her point more clearly, away from my kneejerk reaction, I see there's a different conversation here, one less angering, but upsetting and intriguing in different ways.

Ultimately, as Carey and others point out in the comments, it's really more a question of education and "cultural" literacy: our new writers (and, by implication, our younger audiences) are writing in a vacuum, not in response to the great works of literature. In the past, writers were steeped in the  Great Works of the Great Writers, but now, in the push for the new and relevant, the classics are lost, kept out of the conversation. She calls for a space where new works and old can be presented alongside of each other.

Lauren's response, like my initial one, comes from the place of a the beleaguered playwright: let's not focus on old, dead white guys. Plus the basics of modern drama come from the classics, so we're "in conversation" constantly. One point that I like is that the time is always now: the classical writers wrote for their present, in a language that their audience could readily understand. Why shouldn't we do the same? Now, obviously, Carey isn't saying that we shouldn't. But that's the larger underlying point, isn't it? Who are we in conversation with and what are we saying to them?

Ultimately, in a way, Carey's piece is a lament for the loss of the importance of the classics in the modern world. Classical plays are trotted out for "prestige" productions featuring name actors or for "revinvention" to "translate" them to a modern audience. New plays exist in a wholly separate sphere, unconnected to the classics. Modern audiences, looking for new work, and, in general, having no relationship to the classics, are being deprived a connection to that history, a connection that could be reinforced by theatre. She articulates a lovely vision here:

What if schoolchildren truly had access to the tools it takes to read, perform and understand Euripides, Lorca, Kalidassa, Brecht, Shakespeare, Lope de Vega and the plethora of other dramatic texts we have all but forgotten (not just Western drama, but world drama). Would it not give us a deeper sense of history, a more nuanced view of justice, a richer palate of formal possibilities, a wider range of styles to choose from beyond television realism? Wouldn't the new plays that emerged end up being more complex, more interesting, more formally bold?

Fair questions all and questions that get asked time and again. Won't we be better if we stay connected to the classics?

First, I want to note a couple of things: As Carey laments for a stage that connects new plays to classics, well, there just happens to be one here in NYC: Resonance Ensemble. That's their whole mission. Next time she's in NYC, she should swing by and talk to them about how they do what they do. Also, there's the Harlem9, a collective of theatre companies of color who are gearing up for their second annual 48 Hours In Harlem event, with new ten-minute plays responding to classics of African-American theatre. And then, right in SF, there's the Magic Theatre and Luis Alfaro, who is single-handedly updating the Greeks, it seems. This conversation is happening more, I think, that we know.

But the larger question, to me, is still: why? Why is it important to connect to these works? I don't mean this as a flippant, contrarian response. I'm really asking. Because the underlying reality of Carey's post is that American culture has moved pretty sharply away from the classics, for better or worse. While we retain some of the broad strokes, a modern audience doesn't have the same knowledge bank that they did in Shakespeare's time or even in the earlier part of the 20th century. You're better off referencing Bugs Bunny or The Godfather (though, honestly, with the short lifespan of things now, you might as well stick to Mighty Morphin' Power Rangers and Analyze This). Before everyone's knickers get in a twist, I'm *not* drawing an equivalence between Bugs Bunny and Shakespeare (or, more appropriately, Friz Freleng and Shakespeare). Actually, I'm more comparing Oedipus and Bugs Bunny. Or G.I. Joe. Or Star Wars. This isn't the newest thought on the block, but the level of recognition, the place of importance, the connection to the zeitgeist, these bits of pop culture ephemera are our mythology. The trick is how to use it and embrace it, incorporate it into the conversation.

There are many, many people in the field, critics and artists both, who will, of course, say that Oedipus is a deeper, richer, and essentially more valid figure than Bugs Bunny (or Superman or Frodo) and we should be in the business of bringing that richer figure to the audience. I'm on board with that....to a point. Because we don't want to be in the business of being bad teachers, making art an "eat your vegetables because they're good for you" experience. There is an interplay to be found between the cultural touchstones of the audience you want to reach and the Great Stories. That's the role of the artist, the role that Shakespeare filled. His plays are full of contemporary references and in-jokes, alongside classical figures and myths. That's the goal. Which, ultimately, both Carey and Lauren are on board with. So yay! We're all on the same page. Which is actually kind of nice.

So let's just get out there and do it.

Steady State

by 99 Seats

I've been thinking a lot about the future. On a lot of different axes. And I've been thinking about theatre. One of the reasons I've been largely radio-silent lately is that I was very busy. I got pretty lucky and had a nice run of readings, workshop presentations, commissions and whatnot to keep me on my toes. It also kept me out of theatres, mostly, at rehearsals or facing looming writing deadlines. So, to be honest, most of my theatre experience of late has been second-hand: reading invites on Facebook, hearing reports from folks who've seen shows, etc. I'm not proud of it. In fact, in many ways, I feel rather embarrassed by it. This is my chosen field, after all, and most of these shows involve friends and colleagues. I should show up to them, if only to insure that they'll show up to see my work. Plus...this is a tough business and we should all be there for each other. So, to everyone, I apologize.

That's part of why I haven't been writing about theatre much here lately. The other part is...what would I write about? Seriously. What's going on that requires comment, discussion, dissection? There was the Guthrie contretemps, but that seems to have resolved itself nicely. The NY theatre season announcements have actually been fairly delightful, intriguing and interesting. My bugaboo of diversity seems to be satisfied for the large part, really. We're in award season and I've been quite pleased to see some good friends and colleagues win awards and accolades. The Tonys, as indicated by Isaac's post here and the New York magazine articles he links to here and here, seem to have caused some consternation about musical theatre...but the unspoken word there seems to be "Broadway." As far as I can see, musical theatre is doing pretty well: some very exciting playwrights are creating musicals, a lot of the major Off-Broadway houses have new musicals in their next seasons, people are still making them. Honestly, the same goes for new plays. It seems like, for the time being, we've hit some sort of equillibrium: there are new plays by exciting new writers planned, the indie scene here in the city feels really coalesced and connected in many ways, and lots of communities are coming together and connecting. Again, this is just a cursory glance, as I pull my head out of my own, um, trench, and look out over the field. I'm sure I'm missing things, or ignoring things, or failing in various ways that will rapidly be brought to my attention.

So the question that comes to me is: what if this is it? A lot of us invest a lot of time in being semi-professionally upset about things. We want change! We want it now! What if, though, there won't be any significant changes? What if the new movement in theatre is here, it's now established and this is it? We've landed at Steady State: Broadway is a place for mass entertainments at a price set for tourists, Off-Broadway and the regionals will continue to cater to an aging, upper-middle class audience with the occasional feint in the direction of diversity, the indie scene will remain largely segregated by class, race, gender and sexuality with occasional cross-pollination, and theatre will, in general, continue to hover in this place, this narrow, wobbly space between being a luxury good for cultural elites and something that connects to a wider audience. What if that's what we can expect for the duration? It does seem fairly resistant to change. Oh, we have our little flare-ups, dust-ups, scandals, donnybrooks, but pretty quickly, order is restored. The natural order of things re-asserts itself and the whole system spins on.

So. What if this is it? What do we do then?

I Open The Fire Door...

by 99 Seats

"I'm recording our history on the bedroom wall / And when we leave, the landlord will come and paint over it all..." - Ani DiFranco

Isaac, in his introduction to the Fandom Issue said:

"Of all my enthusiasms over the years, the one I am the most mortified about is my (it turns out not) undying love for Phish from Freshman year of High School until roughly Senior year of college.  And here I want to already insert qualifications. How starting in Sophomore year at Vassar I had stopped liking them, or anyway had my suspicions that they weren’t actually worth the love I had poured into (over?) them and was largely forcing myself to like them.  How you probably have some other band or artist (for most of my friends, its Ani Difranco) in your past who is equally embarrassing (and save it, Ani fans, it is equally embarrassing)."

I'll be honest; when I read that, I had to choke back my automatic defense response. Someone said something bad about Ani and all of a sudden, my late teenage years were back with a vengenance. They're never really that far away, I suppose. That shouldn't be much of a surprise to any regular readers. But, this time, before I wrote anything in response, I took a deep breath and took it in. And found...I kind of agreed. Ani DiFranco is kind of embarrassing. It was actually something I'd already accepted, a while back.

If someone asks me for my favorite singer or songwriter, Ani doesn't even make the list. I own fifteen of her albums. FIFTEEN. Since, for a long while, she was putting out a record a year, that represents a decade of running out and getting her new record. I've seen her live at least four times. I'm not much of a concertgoer, so that's a lot. Springsteen is one of my favorite artists ever and I've only seen him once. And yet...when I'm having a party or something and someone is looking at my music for something to play, I pray that they'll just gloss over the Ani DiFranco section. I've been friends with Isaac for five years now, we communicate daily about a wide variety of subjects, often about music and I bet I've never mentioned it to him. It's my dirty little secret.

A mutual friend of Isaac and mine emailed us both today, though, asking a pretty simple question: why? Why is Ani so embarrassing? She is a very good songwriter, a proud, blatantly political feminist, she taped her fingers with electrical tape instead of using a pick, she started her own record label and completely circumvented the music industry establishment. She was openly bisexual, and not in a titillating, male-centric way, but at the same time, she refused to be hemmed in any way and wasn't afraid of standing up to fans and followers who wanted her to be or behave in a certain way. For me, she was the perfect intersection of the music I loved as I barrelled into my 20s: the folk of my hippie-ish youth and the punk that would propel me into adulthood. She was my age and so fucking cool. And now I'm utterly embarrassed by her. Why? What's so embarrassing?

In a way, really, I'm embarrassed of me. I hear Ani's music and a little window opens and there I am: 20 years old, the last bits of a nice, comfortable suburban life stuck to my cheeks, wrapping up my liberal arts degree in a college town of bars and pizza shops, saddled with a doomed crush on my friendly neighborhood feminist. Armed with half a survey course in feminism and years of listening to the Indigo Girls, I thought I'd figured this whole sexism thing out. Ani was the soundtrack to that. Hell, it was like she was singing my journal entries. New York City is dirty but SO cool! Those big glass high-rises ARE full of assholes! Anti-abortion protestors ARE the worst! The coffee IS just water dressed in brown! Any tool IS a weapon if you hold it right! (Actually, I still love that quote; I have a concert t-shirt that says that on the back. I never wear it.)

I don't mean to belittle Ani's politics, or the politics of any of her fans. I believe in the equality of men and women and that long-term sexism and misogyny have done horrible damage to our society and our world. It's just that it's so earnest and so forthright and, in some ways, simplified and smoothed out, so lacking in nuance. The '90s wasn't really a time of nuance, though. There was a great resurgence in political songwriting that was welcome and exciting...in 1992. Listening to old Ani now is kind of like reading editorials in a college newspaper from 25 years ago. You kind of want to sit her down and say, "Chill, okay? You're doing too much."

There's that reading series where you pull out your journal from your middle-school years and read it in public and feel shame. Ani is like that for me. Nothing really against her. I mean, she was practically my age. But there is an undeniable immaturity to her early work, to the music I loved. And an undeniable immaturity in the way I loved it. And her. Ani herself, all white-girl-dreadlocked, ripped jeans, nose-ringed, she herself was like that cool girl from high school or college that you just want to impress. You want her to think you're as cool as she is. She's from the City (always with the capital letters, no matter what city it actually is) and she knows how life really is, man. She knows the cool places to go, that awesome spot in the East Village or the Lower East Side where her ex is the bouncer...and another ex is the bartender. You're never really going to ever feel cool enough for her, but, God, you are going to try. And I know I tried. But, eventually, you move to the city and get a job in one of those big, glass buildings and realize they're not full of assholes. Next you hear of her, she's moved to a yurt or something. And that's cool. But that's not where you were going. Maybe she was really hardcore and you weren't. Maybe it is just a pose and then next time you run into her, she'll have a couple of kids and live in a gated community. Either way, it really wasn't meant to be.

Ani and I weren't really meant to be. Not for life. I wasn't meant for Pearl Jam or Dag (Does anyone remember them at all? Anyone?) or The X-Files or Dana Carvey or Natural Born Killers for life, either. I don't think I stopped talking about Forrest Gump for a month after I saw it. Seriously. Forrest Gump. Now I'd rather spend a lazy Sunday afternoon watching Ghost Rider than Forrest Gump. (That is an actual choice that I made. I am not proud.) Obviously, Ani is better than Forrest Gump. But she's something that I outgrew in a way. I think a lot of people outgrew her. That's not a bad thing. It is, in some ways, a sad thing. But that's growing up, right?

I'll tell you a little secret, though: I have three Ani albums on my MP3 player right now. And there are a couple of tracks from those albums that, when they come up on shuffle, I don't skip them, I sing along (I know all the words by heart) and some of them, I play again. Old crushes die hard.

Missing From The Picture

by 99 Seats

This also happened. The Obama campaign launched "The Life of Julia" to highlight what the administration has done (and has been trying to do) to improve life in this country. It is, fairly obviously, also a campaign targeted to women (though not as much as you would think...I'll come back around to that). The Right went, well, ballistic, which means that it's probably pretty effective. This piece, by Dana Loesch, in particular, is illustrative of a couple of interesting things about this moment, both in politics and in culture.

The first this is something that Steve Benen has been talking about a lot this week: transactional politics. Loesch's assault on the Life of Julia consists of a heady blend of high dudgeon, outright lies and a constant attack on the policies of the Obama administration. What I find fascinating is that it completely ignores the other side of the ledger: what would would Mitt Romney (or any Republican president) actually do. Obama's Life of Julia is helpfully pegged along with that counterpoint; for every policy stated or enacted by the administration, there is an accompanying note about how a stated policy of Mitt Romney would undo it. Loesch's piece is full of scare tactics about the administration's actions (or potential, somewhat made-up actions), but virtually nothing about what Mitt Romney would do. If I was an undecided voter and I read this, I would know nothing about what Mitt Romney is planning to do, except that it's the opposite of what Obama has done. And I'm not even talking about general ideas of policies. I can't find a single, affirmative Romney-centered point in the whole thing. In fact, the closest she comes is, well, a prevarication: she attacks the administration for referring to the "Romney/Ryan budget," making a snide comment about Mitt Romney not being a senator. But Mitt Romney has said he'd enact the budget. And he's the other candidate running. So...unless you expect that he's lying about his intentions, it's fair to link him to that budget. In fact, that's just about all we have to go on in terms of what he would do, if elected.

What is Mitt Romney offering women? Or, really anyone. We don't know. Or rather, we do know, he just doesn't want to own up to it.

The other thing that I find interesting here is that this campaign is largely seen as an open plea to women. Loesch certainly goes deep on that one with her high dudgeon, complaining that men are totally absent from the picture and that Obama is implying that women can't make their own decisions. Even about abortion, which, apparently, is strictly enforced on all people at all times. (Yeah, I don't get that either.) Take a second and swing on over to the official site. Go on. Go click around. Look at the various milestones and events of Julia's life. By my count, there is exactly one and a half that are female-centric: the reference to the Lily Ledbetter act and the way it talks about having a child. All the rest would be exactly the same if it was The Life of James, instead of the Life of Julia. Julia here is an everyperson. That seems to have gone completely unnoticed, but I think is significant. The graphic requires a bit of empathy. Which seems to be something else the conservatives don't like. Or can't really do.

It's going to be a long campaign.

In Everything, Moderation

by 99 Seats

So this happened.

 

 

If you don't know the backstory, Ted Nugent, professional crazyman, said a few weeks ago that, if Obama was re-elected, in a year, he'd be in jail or dead. This was met with some criticism and a little bit of concern from the Secret Service. After that, a gig that Nugent had on an Army base was canceled. He's been trying to rehab his image since then and did the morning show appearance above. Which won't do much for his image.

What I think is important here is a similar mindset to what Rachel Maddow ran into from Alex Castellanos on Meet The Press on Sunday. In that instance, Rachel stated a simple fact: women make less than men. Castellanos simply said, "No." He followed up with some dissembling, but the heart of his argument was that women do not make less than men. Ted Nugent has a long history of saying crazy things and taking stances that are clearly to the extreme right of the American populace. What sets him off here? The suggestion that he is not a "moderate" and that his preferred candidate, Mitt Romney, will need to appeal to moderates (a legitimate concern). Like Castellanos, Nugent rejects basic, obvious facts and observable reality to go on a tirade that implies that his generosity makes him "moderate." (Though, in his rambling, it also seems to imply that it makes him extreme.)

I highlight this, not because it's a conservative acting like a buffoon, but because, based on the GOP primary, a significant portion, if not an outright majority, of conservative voters seem to feel like Ted does here: their views and lives are NOT extreme, even when they believe the most bizarre, extreme things (like the government is coming for their guns). These ideas, to them, are obvious, common-sense things. When I think about that, I get very concerned about our country and about democracy.

RIP, MCA

I'm surprised honestly at how hard this one hit. But I'm sitting here crying. For real.

Beastie Boys started out as a novelty act but quickly grew into one of the most influential, surprising, exciting and entertaining musical acts of their generation. Plus they were fucking bad ass. This one just...hurts.

RIP, Adam Yauch. And thanks.

What Is To Be Done

by 99 Seats

Cheeky posts aside, I've been pretty hesitant to wade into the Guthrie 2012-13 season mess. I think that Polly Carl summed up most of my general feelings on the matter pretty well (so she gets a double link).

The thing that makes me hesistant about engaging in this conversation can be seen in various Twitter feeds and comment threads (you know where to look). After more than four years of fighting this fight, since I started blogging at 99 Seats,  well...I'm pretty tired of it. It always seems to go the same way: there's an inciting incident, there are complaints, some outrage, some Serious Questions asked by Serious People, there is pushback, there's follow-up, then it all dies down. All of the sme sides are taken by all the same people with little variation every time. And ultimately nothing changes. The bright spots happen, the work is done, they're noted, they're admired and then the bright spots are ignored, by both "sides." The bright spots keep churning until they burn out and then new bright spots, isolated, solitary, flare up. Lather, rinse, repeat.

One of the thing that's frustrating is that, superficially, we're all in agreement. The American theatre has an audience problem. The numbers are dwindling, even if the box office isn't. The cultural impact has lessened. The question that we really have to face is this: what is to be done? I came across this dialogue yesterday. It's a back-and-forth between a progressive and a conservative about income inequality. As intellectuals, the conversation hovers around the same question: what is to be done about income inequality. Both sides see that it's a problem and it's a problem with multiple solutions. How do you pick one? What do you advocate for?

I feel like there's something similar in theatre right now, but also something markedly different. I think we can all agree on the problem: an aging, increasingly homogeneous audience base that is resistant to change. How do we serve that audience base and still attract new audiences. When it comes to that part of the conversation, though, I feel like it breaks down. On one side, I think there is a vocal, engaged, committed community, advocating for increased diversity in the work and in the staffs of theatre, a greater sense of community engagement and communal obligation. On the other...well, it's harder to say, since, superficially, the "other side" gives a lot of lip service to all of those things, while resisting any actual effort to make them happen and responding with sarcasm, condescencion, suspicion and outright mockery to those who advocate for change. Joe Dowling's response to the Guthrie flap perfectly embodies that: people agitating for change are from small theatres (i.e., bitter and marginal), self-serving (i.e. careerist climbers), engaged in social media (i.e. flighty, unserious youths tapping away on smartphones). So while saying that women and people of color have a place in his theatre, he offers the smallest possible spots and seems upset that we're not all grateful. This attitude is pretty constant among artistic directors and theatre "leaders."

On the outside, there are voices that crop up on Twitter and various blogs, making the same accusations, but with more vitriol, more nastiness. But never going at the actual question: what is to be done? While I find the conservative position on income inequality to be unpersuasive, it's at least a stance. The conversative forces in the American theatre rarely seem to advocate a stance, at least anything more than a combination of "Who cares what you think?" and "STFU. You'll get nothing and be happy." If we were going to have a real Grand Debate on diversity in the theatre, I can think of a dozen people, off the top of my head to take the "pro"-diversity side. On the other? Who would really stand up and be counted? They would rather simply say, "Well, the A.D. selected the best plays possible. If they happened to be 80% by white males...well, then, you do the math."

The question of race and diversity has been a loud undercurrent in the American conversation for the last few months. Between the dog whistle (and sometimes outright whistle) racism of the GOP primaries, the Trayvon Martin shooting, the recent flap about HBO's Girls, there's been a lot of talk about how race functions in America at this juncture. As I've read piece after piece, followed discussion after discussion, something has become really apparent to me. Ta-Nahesi Coates nailed it perfectly well here:

The conservative movement doesn't understand anti-racism as a value, only as a rhetorical pose. This is how you end up tarring the oldest integrationist group in the country (the NAACP) as racist. The slur has no real moral content to them. It's all a game of who can embarrass who. If you don't think racism is an actual force in the country, then you can only understand it's invocation as a tactic.

This is larger than the movement conservatives in the political realm. There is a wide swath of this country that looks on discussions of diversity as a tactic to an end, not an actual concern for actual people, but just another kind of rhetorical dodge, a way to make a "name" for yourself or grind some personal ax. Diversity is an academic pursuit as far as they're concerned. The idea that it is a legitimate desire for justice, for fairness, born out of a deep need, that concept is alien to them. And so they go after everyone else's personal life, or career standing, or whatever else they think this push is emanating from.

I'm surprised at how well this works, how quickly the conversation becomes derailed into each perons' personal issue or background. I guess we wouldn't still be having the same conversation if the dodges and undercutting didn't work. But we do. Every few months, we go around the same maypole, holding onto the same strings, running faster and faster in a circle and getting nowhere.

I don't mean to be bitter or cynical, but I'm largely over it. Change is coming, it must come, it always comes. But it won't come from words. Just actions. This conversation may spur some change, spur some action, and that's its use. That's good enough. For me, though, I'll keep focusing on what is to be done. And try to do that.