The Value of Local in a Global World

*In late March, the League of Chicago Theatres asked Artistic Director Brian Golden to contribute a blog post on any theatre thoughts of his choosing to its blog. This is reprinted at the courtesy of the League.


You finish a nagging task at the office and reward yourself by checking Facebook, earning instant access to news and photo updates from your friends and “friends” all over the world. A co-worker mentions the devastating earthquake in Japan, so you check in at Huffington Post, and within moments, see dozens of tragic images from the human drama unfolding in Sendai, and then pop over to see more imagery from the protests in Libya and the revolution in Egypt and offer a sympathetic Tweet to your 400-or-so followers worldwide. A friend emails a link that promises to be a short video of a precocious singing baby in Poland, and you are swept on an hour-long journey that covers YouTube, Vimeo, the adorable Polish singing baby, behind the scenes 3-D Bieber footage, and over half of the world’s most talented kittens.

You are connected. But is this connection?

As news and technology companies have developed cheaper and cheaper means to assault provide us with images, video and language from all over the world, our level of exposure to the stories and sights of human drama thousands of miles away has increased dramatically. In the past fifty years, our American engagement with the once-impossible reality of instant, global human interaction has moved swiftly from scarcity to accessibility to sheer, unapologetic abundance. Which is to say: the experiences have become less valuable. And as the mountain of interactions grows, each particular Facebook status, Libyan news clip and adorable kitten link becomes less significant, less memorable, more disposable, more forgettable, more common.

Let me tell you something which is not common, but in our global information age, is rare. Hearing a good story, told clearly and imaginatively, about the street where you live, or the neighborhood in which you grew up, or the corner you pass by every day is a rare thing. Seeing a story created and presented not for a million YouTube hits, but for you and your neighbors is a rare thing. Connecting with strangers and storytellers for ninety minutes in a comfortable, intimate dark room while the phones are on silent and the email can wait and all of your lives are on stage is a rare thing. Feeling the pangs of truth from a play created at a cozy building down the block, written by a woman who lives right over there, about the realities and fantasies of the world in which you sleep and work and dream and eat is a rare thing.

The future of theatre is local.

Shakespeare put the stories of kings and queens on stage because it was his audience’s only chance to see them. August Wilson introduced us to generations of African-Americans from Pittsburgh’s Hill District because, for so long, we had decided not to see them. And now, the future of theatre is and must be the act of reintroducing us to those we are often too busy statusing, Tweeting, and downloading to see: the ones we work with, the ones we live near, the ones we pass by every single day.

As the production and transmission of global information becomes cheaper, the theatrical experience that enriches a connection with our daily lives becomes more valuable. And the experiences we all share in the dark, be it you talking about our city while I listen, me talking about our neighborhood while you listen, or the two of us talking about our lives in this time and place together, are the very definition of community.

Those moments of community we create, these local kisses we share under the umbrella of a global world are the future of theatre. I hope to share them with you.

Ben Brownson On Advance Ticketing

Audience Services Associate Ben Brownson -- the guy you probably talked to at the door if you've been to a T7 show in the past year -- talks to us about the importance of advance ticketing.

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Most people don’t realize how important advance ticket sales are to the stability, growth, and sustainability of a young theatre company, but did you know that there is a direct correlation between the number of tickets sold in advance and the number of tickets sold for a show overall? Simply put, the more tickets we sell before a show opens, the more tickets we sell overall. Advance ticket sales also help us get some much needed early revenue and stability; they make the show less dependent on reviews to build an audience; they give us the chance to offer lower-priced tickets while maintaining our sales goals; and it allows us the freedom and flexibility to take more risks and do better work. Advance ticket sales can provide the financial foundation for a show’s entire run, and even for a whole season.

For these reasons, and more, advance ticket sales are a vital part of our growth and development as a company. Buying your ticket ahead of time is an easy and important way for you to support Theatre Seven. But just in case that’s not reason enough (I know, I know, I tend to make plans last-minute too), we want to make it worth your while. That’s why we promise that tickets to Theatre Seven shows will always be cheaper in advance than at the door. To put our money (or, I guess, your money) where our mouth is, we are currently offering tickets to any performance of Hunting and Gathering (May 21-June 27) for only $10 if they are purchased before May 16^th using the code “TEN.” This will be the absolute guaranteed lowest price for tickets to this show, cheaper than the industry discount, cheaper than student tickets, cheaper even than HotTix because we don’t charge a handling fee; $10 is the total amount you pay. If you’re reading this, you’re probably already planning on coming to the show anyway (which we appreciate)—why not save some money and show a little extra T7 love at the same time?

This offer is something I’m excited about, and my plan is for it to be a regular policy: buy early and get the guaranteed lowest price. It’s our way of saying thank you for planning ahead and supporting Theatre Seven just that much more.

You can purchase tickets here, or by calling the Greenhouse box office at (773)-404-7336.

George Zerante On Joining Theatre Seven, Part 1

A few months ago, George Zerante joined Theatre Seven, and we have been so much stronger for it. We asked George to talk to us about the experience, and he had a lot to say! Here's part 1 of 2.

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When did you first team up with Theatre Seven? How was that?

I first teamed up with Theatre Seven in the summer of 2008 and it’s kind of a story. This was my second summer out of college and my first living in the city. The entire first year after college, I was solely focused on being able to pay rent and live the scary grown-up life. The entire first summer I was only trying to feed my addiction through auditioning for film work, an avenue that I had yet to explore, but missed the stage with a hunger that I had never really felt before.

So I started submitting for random theatre auditions and Theatre Seven was one of my first in Chicago. I started doing my research on the company and started to really get stoked for it. They seemed like they were doing some really solid work and I liked their website. All of them, extremely attractive people to work with. I had auditioned for their generals and they all seemed pretty cool. I ended up getting called back for a part in Election Day. I read the script and loved it. I wanted the role bad, so I went in the callback completely off book. A few days later, I got an email from Tracy, saying that they'll keep my headshot for future auditions. A good month or so after that, I get another email from Tracey saying that dude man dropped out of the play and that they wanted to call me in, at the very last minute, to read for a completely different role than I had originally been called back for. So, I’m thinking, “Right on.” Once again, I went in off book and once again I got an email from Tracey saying better luck next time.

About a week went by and I got a call from Brian Golden, the Artistic Director. He left a message saying that he had “a weird proposition for me.” I think those were his words. By the time I got the message, it was already like 10:00 at night on, like, a Saturday or something. I knew the “professional” thing to do would be to wait till the next day, to call him back at a reasonable hour. But I also knew that waiting that long would be impossible cause this “weird proposition” intrigued me to the point that my impatient side beat up my professional side, and I called him back late that night.

He said that the director for Election Day decided to go with another actor for the role, but that they liked my auditions so much that they wanted to offer me a role in their VERY next show, Yes, This Really Happened To Me. He said it was going to be a pretty wild process. It’s an ensemble play, where every actor plays more than one role. That there are two directors on the project, five completely different writers, a vague idea on what the final script will be like, no clue what or how many roles I would be playing. Oh, and that rehearsal starts in three days. The two directors behind this brainchild decided at the last minute that they needed another male and one of the roles is a cop, so they needed someone beefy. I accepted and on that Monday I got an email from Margot and on that Tuesday I was in Lookingglass for rehearsals.

I was blindly falling into a project that had already been workshopped by all the actors in the ensemble (except me, of course) and had never even auditioned for, let alone met the directors. But from the second I stepped off that elevator on the 22nd floor of the Hancock Building, I was welcomed with stretched open arms. This ended up being one of the best experiences of my life. Margot and Cassy were brilliant to work with. It was scary how in sync those two were throughout the whole process. We called them the two-headed monster. I felt like I was working with the most talented people on the planet, so talk about having to raise your game. I was only a green, just out of college, amateur with a little wooden sword and these people were fire-spitting dragons. I don’t think those people realize it, but they helped me grow so much in such a short time. I mean they introduced me to acting in the Chicago and the entire Chicago theatre community. I fell disgustingly in love with Theatre Seven because of that production. Everyone in that cast still remains close friends to me, even if we don’t see each other that often.

I knew from that experience on that not only would I do anything that Theatre Seven wanted me to do as an actor, volunteer, whatever, but I would try to be friends with all of them for the rest of my breathing days. It’s funny, cause at the time, the only thing I thought about was how it would be a dream come true to someday be a part of a company like T7.

Check back later this week for more thoughts, straight from George's mouth to you.

Playwright Laura Jacqmin on "Look, We Are Breathing"

Laura Jacqmin, whose "Look, We Are Breathing" will be the first play read as part of our Shikaakwa reading series, talks to us.

It’s a funny thing about plays: as playwrights, we’re supposed to be experts on our own work. But just over a year after I wrote the first draft of LOOK, WE ARE BREATHING, I’m still trying to figure it out. The reading at Theatre Seven will be just the fourth iteration of the play I’ll have heard – each time with different actors, in different cities, with different people in the audience. You learn more every time. You question what you thought you knew. You make notes, which you hope won’t be forgotten. You rededicate yourself to getting it right (all the while knowing that your to-do list is a mile long and there are other plays in the wings already, waiting for their chance to be further discovered and understood).

For this reading, we rehearsed early Saturday morning and will rehearse again tomorrow. Questions were asked; notes were given; bagels were eaten. I tend to learn more during rehearsals for a reading than the reading itself. This past Saturday was no exception. I already know one monologue I want to swap out entirely to express a different sentiment, a more difficult sentiment, a more honest sentiment. You’ll have to guess which one.

This June, the play will be workshopped at the Sundance Theatre Lab. For the very first time, I’ll have the opportunity to go in-depth with the play for the first time over a period of 12 (!) days. Until then, I owe a big thank-you to Theatre Seven for refreshing my memory about my own play. This reading gets me closer to becoming an expert on the thing that crawled out of my brain just over a year ago.

Taylor Fenderbosch (and a bit of Harriet Sogin) on Stage Managing Mimesophobia

Stage Manager Taylor Fenderbosch -- with annotations from Production Manager Harriet Sogin -- on the experience of working on Mimesophobia.

What is it like to stage manage Mimesophobia, you ask? Hm. In three words: confusing, exciting, and... well, paperwork-filled.^[1]

I found my way into T7 this past summer by answering a post on Chicagoplays.com for an Assistant Stage Manager. I met with Brian Golden and was immediately hooked. I knew this company was going places and I was pretty sure I wanted to tag along. By the time we hit November, however, I was pretty worn out from a show I was working on out in the suburbs. So, when Brian asked me to stage manage Mimesophobia, I was pretty hesitant.^[2]

But then he told me who was involved in the show and it was pretty much impossible to say no. Margot's brilliant and engaging direction? Stojak's antics? How could I turn that down?

I am beyond glad that I accepted the opportunity, too. The rehearsal process was everything I love in theatre. From the very first days of table work, everyone in the room was intensely focused, engaged and open to sharing their thoughts and reactions to the script. Every word of Carlos' writing was a piece to the puzzle and we were all invited to try to fit it together. As rehearsals moved from the table to viewpointing exercises,^[3] the ensemble really came together. It is an incredible experience to watch a group of individuals become a collective whole.

There were challenges,^[4] too, of course. Moments when lines were not memorized and rehearsals were reduced to me drilling lines with the actors. I frequently compare stage management to being a camp counselor^[5] and it is moments like those that really drive that comparison home. "Stojak! The rest of the cabin is waiting for you; why isn't your skit prepared?!" Ah, good times.

Challenges, however, are not limited to the rehearsal space when you are the liaison between designers, actors, and the director. Juggling the needs of all these people led, more than once, to Gmail threads the length of Homeric epics and chats with our production manager, the lovely Harriet Sogin, that lasted hours.^[6] It’s not as easy as one might think to get a play on its feet…

Challenges and all, Mimesophobia makes it up there on my list of "coolest shows I’ve worked on." Even if I do have to wash Hot Pockets and peanut butter^[7] off the dishes after every show... Ew.

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[1] Taylor loves it. A lot.

[2] After all, stage managing is hard.

[3] As a stage manager, I refer to the viewpointing time as "Time to edit my paperwork" or "Time to talk to my production manager on Gchat."

[4] Theatre's hard.

[5] I compare it to trying to herd kittens into a basket. Very cute, and sweet. But they need to just stay where we tell them to.

[6] Granted, I can get a little ADD online and start shopping.

[7] I know! Actors should only eat white bread.

Sarah Burnham on Designing Props for Mimesophobia

Sarah Burnham shares some thoughts with us on the unique challenges of designing props for Mimesophobia.

When most people go to the theatre, they remember the actors, the script, or perhaps how cool the set or costumes were. Very often they don’t realize that a lot of thought, time and effort has gone into everything the actors are handling or sitting on, from the label on the cigarette box, to the chair that you only see for 30 seconds. Those small details (or big ones, as far as furniture goes) are what I was charged with handling as props designer for Mimesophobia. With a show like this one, you don’t really know just what you need until you get into the rehearsal process -- you have an idea, but so many things are discovered organically, that you’ve got to be flexible. And you've got to be resourceful -- you know exactly what you want, you can see it in your mind's eye, but you definitely don't have the $400 it would take to buy it brand new. This is when the hunt begins; resale shops, other theatres, friends, family, the guy that you met in a bar who just mentioned once that he had this thing. You go, you find, you take pictures -— it's not quite what the others were thinking (remember, your mind's eye has to mesh with everybody else, especially the director and scenic designer) and so then you start the process again.

In an ideal world, you have weeks to do this. In the real world, you're balancing part-time and temp work, everywhere you need to go is only open during the time you're supposed to be working, and the bed you thought you were going to get to borrow falls through. You get creative. You find what you want -- the front room of your apartment turns into a storage facility. The neighbors wonder if perhaps you're moving (whether that's still moving in, or moving out, they're not sure). The storage facility moves from the front room of your apartment to the theatre, and the world of the play begins to really exist as more than just an illustration. The actors, the lights, the set, they all come into play -- the audience arrives. Once again, the props fade into the background. And you sit, and smile, because you've accomplished what you set out to do.

Margot Bordelon On Directing Mimesophobia

Company member Margot Bordelon talks to us about the experience of directing Mimesophobia.

What attracted you to Mimesophobia? What do you feel like is unique about the play?

There were a number of things that attracted me to Mimesophobia. Like many Chicago directors, I believe that theater is an event. I'm drawn to plays that embrace an awareness of their own performance, a category Mimesophobia most certainly falls into. There is no fourth wall, the actors speak directly to the audience, and Man and Woman (the two narrators), repeatedly remind us that the story we are watching is a "reenactment." This story can only function as a piece of theater.

Mimesophobia contains seven stage directions. Which, if you aren't a frequent reader of plays, you need to know isn’t very many. This openness to interpretation attracted me, along with the play’s rich, articulate language. Carlos writes theatrical poetry for the contemporary American tongue. Each of his characters has a distinct rhythm and vocabulary. Every "uhhh" and "ummm" is specifically written in, each pause and beat specifically marked. During auditions, the actors who soared were often the ones with significant classical experience. Mimesophobia demands that actors act on the lines, as opposed to in between them.

Most importantly, I was attracted to the themes this script explores. The play follows various people trying to make sense of a mysterious murder/suicide. I'm intrigued by that very human desire (that I think we all possess) to explain the inexplicable. But at what point does that desire overwhelm us, causing us to behave in ways that are morally questionable?


What has the experience of directing the show been like? How have things changed or evolved?

Directing Mimesophobia has been a wonderful challenge. Over the course of the process I came to realize that the "openness to interpretation" that first attracted me, was actually making it more challenging for me to determine whether or not I was making the most dramatic and textually supported choices. Luckily, Carlos was involved in the process and was very open to discussing specifics about the play.

The element of the production that changed the most was the set design concept. When I first began visualizing the world of the play, I imagined it would be made up of a labyrinth of curtains that Man and Woman would manipulate throughout the show. Everything would stay hidden from the audience’s view. Man and Woman would control when a scene would begin and end by pulling a curtain open or shut. Ultimately, John and I created something almost completely opposite: a space where nothing is hidden from the audience. They can see the costume rack, the actors sitting back stage etc. and despite the visual evidence that they are witnessing make-believe, they suspend their disbelief regardless.