Free Advice to Non-Profits: You Ain't Doin' Enough!

     Throughout my career and in my current business (Dirigible) I have worked with a quite a few non-profits. Primarily, performing arts and sports groups, occasionally health-related causes or foundations. I have learned two things in my 10 years of working with non-for-profits.  
     Number One: Most Boards of Directors suck. If your first reaction to this statement is, "Oh, well, we have a great board," I want you to ask yourself two very simple questions. 1) Is each member of the board required to give or get "X" amount of dollars in donations? 2) Are all the board members actively involved in all other fund-raising efforts? If the answer is no to either (it will probably be no to both), your board needs an overhaul. Now! They suck.
     The typical response I get when I explain this to board members is always the same. "But, we volunteer our time to serve on the board. Our time is worth something." I've heard it a thousand times. Guess what? You aren't building a float for the Rose Parade. You aren't volunteering for a bake sale at the local hospital. You aren't handing out water at the local charity's 5K fun run. You are on the board of directors for an organization whose programs and mission depends on your efforts to raise money for and promote the organization in the community. If you can't do it without playing the my-time-is-more-important-than-anyone-else's-card, then don't serve on that board. Yes, you have other duties. Yes, there are other things that a board is responsible for. Yes, you probably have someone on staff who raises money, too. But it is part of your job to raise money. If your non-profit doesn't have money it doesn't exist. Period.
     Okay, I'm done on that subject. For now. But it is a serious issue and an all too common one. From large youth sports organizations down to small community theatre groups, this element of your board is hugely important and sorely neglected. Don't ignore it.
     The REAL purpose of today's rant is second on my "things I've learned" list. Drum roll, please. 
Number Two: You are not doing enough for your sponsors.
     I don't know if you've seen a newspaper the last couple of years, but the economy is kinda, how shall I put this nicely, messed up. If you are doing the same thing for your sponsors that you did last year and the year before -- you are going to loose them.
     There was a time when sponsors donated to organizations because they wanted to help out the cause and maybe get a little tax deduction. We'll give you 100 bucks and you put a business card size ad in the program. There we're a sponsor! Those days are over. The tax deduction ain't enough. You simply MUST provide some sort of marketing value through the sponsorship. There is too much competition for sponsorship dollars on every level. From the local community choir to the youth soccer league your kid plays in, every non-profit simply MUST get more creative in how they attract sponsors and how they treat them once they get their money. The days of making a phone call once a year to a local business and holding out your hand to collect the check? Over. An ad in the program and a link on your website IS NOT ENOUGH no matter how awesome you think your organization is.
     First thing you have to do is create levels of sponsorship. "Gold," Silver," "Bronze," whatever. Try to be inventive and have the levels be something related to the organization. Each level will have a variety of things the sponsor gets for donating at that level. This is called your sponsorship inventory. Put a price to each level and don't waiver. Your sponsors will want everything you've got, but they only get what they pay for. Plus, if one sponsor finds out that they paid more for a certain level than another sponsor did, you have trouble on your hands.
     Now, you may be thinking, "Wayne, we don't have any inventory. All we do is have a couple concerts every year." (Or, you are a youth sports team and all you do is play eight or 10 games per season.) I'm telling you right now, you have more than you think and there is even more you can create in order to have more things to sell. You may have tickets, programs, flyers, newsletters, press releases, stationery, business cards, t-shirts, a website, or social network sites that are all great places for sponsor recognition. Anything you print something on can be a place a sponsor might like exposure, whether it's a ticket or a program or hotel key card. If you do an interview with local TV or newspapers MENTION THE SPONSORS. If you send out a press release, put a small tag about your sponsors in the boilerplate (the About Us section).If you do any fund-raising events (I mean ANY.  Even a bake sale!) Invite your sponsors to have a presence either with a table (to hand out info) or to actually participate in the event. Whatever you are doing now -- do more. It is getting harder and harder out there to raise cash and your non-profit is not the only good cause in town.
     Final thing: Thank your sponsors. Not just the person who wrote the check, but the people who work for the person who wrote the check. Say it in a letter when the sponsor first comes on board, say it in person whenever you see people involved with the sponsor. While this may sound silly, but make sure your BOARD OF DIRECTORS knows who the sponsors are so THEY can thank them and talk about the sponsors in their circles. You do all this and your sponsors will continue to see the value in supporting YOU. If you lie down on the job, they'll go to the food bank or the ballet company or the charity down the street. It's that simple.

The Falacy of Non-Traditional Casting -- I think....

This is a tough one. Not so much a rant this time as it is a continuing mind-bender that, for me at least, has no solution and never will. It also comes with this caveat: I am a white male. The vast majority of parts written are written for guys like me. This we know.

When young actors are in training, be it in college or at an acting school, there is never any thought as to limiting what characters you may someday play onstage. We are schooled early on that actors are actors and should WANT to play all different kinds of roles not just those defined by the color of our skin or our gender. In fact, many of us seek out those roles that may not fit perfectly into a typical "type-casting" scenario. We are led to believe that young leading men can play old character parts if the make up is good enough. (I mean come on, Olivier's Othello? Nailed it!) We are trained to think that the amazingly talented African American in our Acting III class is certainly capable of playing Falstaff. (A little padding here, some stipple there, viola!) How many great men of the stage have tackled Lady Bracknell? (Answer: A bunch!)

Then we are sent off into the real world. The world of types; the world of TV; the world of the Peter Principle. For years I was cast in every Neil Simon comedy on the West Coast. I was Leo, George, Felix, Sydney, Paul, you name it I played the straight, white guy. ("Straight" as in not the funny one.) But my acting school days we're still fresh in my bones. I longed for the chance to play Shylock the Jew (you'd think all my Neil Simon roles would have qualified me!), Othello the Moor (Olivier wore black-face), Tony Montana (Oh, wait, he was Cuban. Does that count as white since Pacino played him?)

The trouble we run into is that some works of theatre, film and TV really do require a certain race or gender to be cast in certain roles. They just do. Max in Bent kinda HAS to be a white male. He just does. The whole point of Troy Maxson in Fences requires that an African American male take us on that journey. And here's the part that is hard for me to parcel: Color blind casting only goes one way. Which really means it's not really color blind. Seems kinda like affirmative action for actors. Now, I am NOT suggesting we do away with affirmative action. I'm just saying that with actors, with the theatre, with all things of a creative nature, it seems like it should be different conversation. It just seems like we shouldn't even be talking about it. Of course, we can mount an Asian version of a Tennessee Williams play; Of course, James Earl Jones can play King Lear; Of course, Lawrence Olivier can play Othello; Of course, Macbeth can have an integrated cast.

Let's face it, casting Shakespeare plays with multi-racial casts is old news. Adrian Lester is the latest in, relatively, short list of actors of color to successfully deliver the bard (http:d.pn/fNmsCS). Even the histories are less about the actual people of history as they are the bigger issues and themes that have resulted in the passage of time. It's when we start to approach non-Shakespearean classics and contemporary works (okay, basically everything NOT Shakespeare) that we seem to get wrapped around the axle.

I think the answer lies not in trying to force race and gender issues for their own sake, but to create more diverse properties in the first place. (Tyler Perry productions are not my cup of tea, but you have to admire the fact that he is writing and producing specific new material for black actors and a particular audience. Barring a floodgate of "diversity projects" all of a sudden getting green lighted in Hollywood or produced in regional theatres nothing will change, I fear.) If we can't do that then we just perpetuate the problem. In an opening night speech by Des McAnuff, the artistic director hit the nail on the head. And while he was talking about Canada, it remains true for us in the lower 48, "Ours is a multi-racial society ... If our audiences can’t find their own reflections on our stages, as Shakespeare’s audiences did on his, we cannot possibly claim to be speaking to Canadians [or society] today.

What if we didn't worry about "non-traditional" casting and just worried about "casting?" You know, acting school style.What if we were to cast our shows with the best actors that came to the audition? I know, I know, the wheels would fall off of Hollywood and dozens of agents would be unemployed and casting directors would actually have to learn something more about acting than shirt size and hair color. But what if?

Bottom line is this: Someday I would really like to peek into an audition and have no idea what was being cast. I'd like to see all kinds of shapes, sizes and colors. I would like what I learned in my acting classes to be true. I think, anyway... (Oh, and I'd really like to see Helen Mirren play Prospero. Wait, they did that already?)

Addendum: Here's another take that's pretty good, too. A short article by Phillip W. Chung.

Sport is Competitive, Acting is Not.

So, I'm eavesdropping on some actors in Santa Monica. Not intentionally, mind, but I'm always drawn to actors and their musings about what it takes to "make it" in the business. I find it rather comforting that the conversations haven't changed at all in the 30 years since I left acting school. Only the slang is different. [First, let me just go an a little mini-rant: Since when can out of work actors afford to eat at the Broadway Deli? I mean, come on, 12 bucks for breakfast? Whatever happened to the starving artist thing? What happened to endless coffee refills at Denny's? Charming the waitress at Dupar's for an extra egg? Instant oatmeal (that you swiped from your ex-who-is-still-your-roommate-cuz-you-can't-afford-to-move) and Folger's coffee? Okay, I'm done.]

Handsome Leading Man is talking to Quirky Character Guy about his latest audition. After a few common pleasantries - they obviously are best friends and see each other often - the chat starts something like this:

Handsome:    "Dude, I nailed it!" (Of course you did.)
Quirky:          "Maybe they already have someone in mind." (Of course they do.)
Handsome:    "Dude, I'm perfect for it. Gotta call [the agent] to see if she got any feedback." (She didn't.)
Quirky:          "What did the competition look like?" (This is where my ears got all tingly)
Handsome:    "Dude, it was insane! There were, like, 20 of me and another 20 of me only shorter."
Quirky:          "Dude."
Handsome:    "I know, right?"
Waiter:          "Okay, who's got the corned beef hash?"

In nature, there is competition galore. Competition for food, for water, for mates, for shelter. The winner in this primal contest is always measured by something tangible -- measurable. The strongest, the fastest, the biggest. In business, competition is defined in terms of price, quality, value. And in sport, competition is defined in even more specific and measurable terms: points, speed, strength, accuracy. Acting, indeed all of the arts, is not measurable by any real standard. In all acting, whether or not you are cast in a role has very little to do with how good an actor you are. It has very little to do with your training or your resume.When you go "head-to-head" with other actors for the same role, the best actor doesn't always win the part. The arts are defined by like-ability not talent. That is not measurable. (Please do not get me started on the latest catastrophe on Dancing With the Stars. That would totally prove my point, but I'm still too upset to talk about it. Brandy got robbed. It also seems that in a show called "Dancing With the Stars" one would have to do the former and be the latter. Bristol Palin doesn't and isn't. There. I feel better. For now.)

Casting people will deny this. The good ones will anyway. But it is true.

Poor actors. We spend so much of our lives auditioning and preparing to audition. While it's part of the job, it is not part of the craft. The pressure to do well at an audition is huge. Our very livelihood depends on it, to say nothing of our self-esteem. But after we spend years training, after we prepare countless monologues and songs, after we walk through those studio doors to face whoever is doing the casting -- none of that matters.In a matter of seconds and certainly before you open your mouth, the casting people have already come to some conclusions about you. Height, weight, skin color, demeanor, posture, too handsome, not pretty enough, boobs to small, feet too big, freckles, pasty, blond, brunette, glasses, the list goes on.

Imagine if American football were played like this: Both teams arrive at the stadium. Everyone warms up. Then the offense takes the field alone and runs a play that they feel would score a touchdown if they were actually playing a game. Then the other team comes out and does the same thing. The officials then confer and decide who they think would win the game. That's casting.

Some of the best actors I know have never made a movie or played on Broadway. They have banged around regional theatres, produced their own stuff in 35 seat member companies and mounted 5 person Shakespeare in bars. Some have thrown in the towel and left acting altogether. Not because they weren't talented. Not because they weren't well trained. Not because audiences didn't appreciate them.

Competing for a role. It's a common phrase. We use it all the time. Hell, I've used it before. If you Google it, I'm sure the media uses it all the time. And let's face it, the career of acting is beyond challenging, especially given the fact that, at any given moment, there are a finite number of roles available and hundreds (strike that, thousands) of actors out there vying for them. But the idea of competing for a role is a little misleading. To be honest, it's also unfair for any actor to believe that by shear quality of their audition they will win the "competition" for a part.

What all young actors must grapple with throughout there careers is that their life as an working actor is not entirely up to them. Sure, there's a bunch of things actors can do to increase their odds of being cast, but at the end of the day other people decide our fate. However, an actor's life as an artist IS in their control. Pursue your craft, study, learn, read, stay engaged...TRY. Be persistent and dedicated to what it is you have chosen to do with your life. Understand that. Nobody told you it would be easy.

"What do you do?"

My wife is an actress and an author, but like so many others she has a day job. She works for a university.

Academics are a strange lot. I'm not talking about the erstwhile fellow or part-time professor, I'm talking about the university MBA/PHD/EDD/BFD with tenure, a pension, and a office with an "Emeritus" name plate already engraved for them -- for when their colleagues deem them too old to stand up in class anymore. I'm talking the theatre professor who hasn't been on stage since the 60s and still directs his majors in the same plays year in and year out. The history prof who hasn't changed text books in twenty years. The communications prof who still believes everything can be explained by a pie chart. They think of the world -- no they live in a world totally devoid of the kinds of things regular people must involve themselves in. Change, for example. Risk and danger. Fear of failure. They define things. Pigeon-hole people. Believe that you believe the way they do without any discussion. (Yes, I'm generalizing. No letters, please.)

Recently, while at a campus event with my wife, I was introduced to a former "department chair." Dr. Somebody-or-Other." Very dapper older gentleman. Tweedy. Stereotypical Mr. Chips type -- only mean looking. He extended his hand, introduced himself and his credentials. I took his hand and replied with a, "Pleased to meet you, Dr. Blah-Blah-Blah. I'm Wayne Watkins." [Quick aside: Whenever I introduce myself, I always flash on the scene from Holiday Inn when Bing Crosby as Jim Hardy meets Marjorie Reynolds as struggling actress Linda Mason for the first time. Her line reading of, "I'm Linda Mason" is priceless.] His response was, "Uhm, yes, what do you do?"

But something in Dr. Whose-Its tone of voice offended me. Made me prickly. I was in a perfectly fine mood until then. It was as if no matter what my answer was going to be, it wasn't going to be as important or as meaningful as what he did. What did he mean "What do you do?" And what exactly does he do anyway? I do lots of shit! What's it too you? Oh, and by the way, bow-ties only look cool on Dr. Who and George Will! Crap. I fell for it hook line and sinker.
What do I do? What do I do? What do I do? I've heard and, indeed, been asked that question a thousand times in my life. No, two thousand. Invariably, I have always answered it with whatever it is that is occupying the majority of my time at that moment. "I'm an actor" or "I'm in the music industry" or "I'm an Artistic Director" or "I'm between engagements at the moment." No biggie? No, biggie!

When I was a young actor, Don Richardson made us read all kinds of non-acting related books. [I really should say "non-theatre related" books. As it turned out, everything is related to acting. Everything.] A series of books by Robert Audrey were particularly important to me as both a young actor and as a 20-something entering the real world of work and money and survival. One book, The Territorial Imperative, remains on my suggested reading list for my acting students. The book begins, "A territory is an area of space, whether of water or earth or air, which an animal or group of animals defends as an exclusive preserve. The word is also used to describe the inward compulsion in animate beings to possess and defend such a space. A territorial species of animals, therefore, is one in which all males, and sometimes females too, bear an inherent drive to gain and defend an exclusive property."

My new friend, this "academic," guards his territory with a vengeance. Unlike most regular folks who shuck and jive and bob and weave through life, the academic has a very well defined world laid out before him. teaches the same classes to different faces. Does one thing and defines his existence by the letters after his name and tries to do the same to give order to the rest of the world. But my world and his are light-years apart. Same planet, different universes. In my world, there is no line in the sand dividing my experiences with my knowledge. To paraphrase a line from Mamet's "A Life In the Theatre," Everything you do is a part of your life. From grocery shopping to scraping gum of your shoe. From the mundane to the dangerous. Your whole life is made up of everything and everyone you have ever seen, touched, felt, known, experienced. So to be asked, "What do you do," is no less than an invitation to tell your life story.

Now, I feel confident Dr. Doo-Dad didn't really want to know my life story. I was in his building, he was the Alpha Dog and he simply wanted me to know that. He didn't care all that much about me either way -- he was just being "polite." Perhaps he really wanted to know where I worked. As in, "What do you do for money?" Guess I should cut Dr. Bow Tie a little slack.

But, I must say, I think my answer will change now and forever. What do I do? I do lots of shit...and so do you.

Emmys. Yes, I do love my awards shows.

Well, the big ones anyway. I watch four awards shows religiously. (Can I say that in reference to watching awards shows? That I watch them "religiously?" Good thing no one reads these little rants as I'm sure that would offend someone.) Yes, now where was I? Four and four only: Oscars, Tonys, Grammys and the Emmys. (The Grammys are on the bubble for me next year. Too rude, too weird, too...just too fucking bizarre. "I know, let's cram every possible style of music into a a three hour show, throw in a bunch of  lasers during some country songs, a ton of smoke and special effects during, well, everything and make sure people accepting the awards are either drunk, ludicrously arrogant or completely incomprehensible. Wow! What a night!")

In every case, I've often thought that TV needs some theatre producers to figure out how to really put on a show that makes sense. Then of course, in the case of the Tony's, SOMEBODY needs to figure out how to present a representation of the "plays" that are nominated. Don't get me wrong, I love musicals, but straight plays need to be showcased too and the Tony productions have never been able to get that piece right. And can someone please hire a sound crew? For the last several years there has been miscues, microphone problems, bad mixing...I mean, if that were to happen during an actual Broadway play as often someone would get fired. People, PLEASE!

Generally, I enjoy the big four. Oh, sure, I complain after they are over. They are always uneven, someone goes on too long, someone doesn't go on long enough, something I think is shitty wins over things I think are awesome. Hey, it's an awards show, I'm okay with that and it's part of the fun.

But there's one thing that get me ranting every single time. Every time. When, let's say, a show wins for best drama series -- Does every single person even remotely affiliated with the show have to come up on stage? Really? REALLY? These televised awards shows, like the comedies and dramas and TV movies they honor, are television productions themselves. And pretty expensive ones. They have a sets and costumes and commercial breaks.  They have performers and lights and cameras. They have a time limit and and they have a budget they have a director. It is a big production. If a similar thing happened during the filming of "Mad Men" there would be all hell to pay! If John Hamm let his manager and agent and lawyer and make-up artist appear in every seen with him, they'd never get the show finished.

Oh and here's another thing: You guys all know how cameras work right? The camera is on the guy at the mic! Most of you aren't even making it onto our TV screens. It's ridiculous, it's selfish and it takes up too much time. Time that maybe we could give who have something to say. Time for another Jimmy Fallon bit. Time for a another clip or something. But, no, we have to sit at home, behind our TV trays, and watch 57 people we wold never recognize on the subway (or in a Subway) stumble, kiss, shake hands, and play grab ass on the way to a MCU of the producer giving a shitty thank you speech. Can it already. Let the producer get up there, accept the award, give his shitty speech alone and revel in the fact that you were part of something really special. My mother would have said, "Have some class."

It's not that I begrudge people the opportunity to take a bow for their work. That's what all the red carpet BS and the press conferences are for. The fans at home love to see their favorite shows and favorite actors win stuff. They just love to see their favorites get nominated. So don't waste their time -- give them the celebs, put a lid on the brass. Hey, producers, we ain't watching to hear you blather on. We wanna see George Clooney. Claire Danes. Like the TV shows and movies and theatre (okay, and music) you are supposed to be celebrating, end on a high note. Leave us wanting more. Don't leave us with the image of a bunch of people we don't know and then a quick cut to the host saying, "Goodnight, everybody."

This is, after all, Hollywood.

Lynn Redgrave (1943-2010)

This past year, perhaps 18 months, I have known many people who have passed away. An aunt (cancer), an uncle (cancers - plural), a voice coach/friend (ALS), a close friend/actress (breast cancer), a friend/teacher/mentor (accident). All people I knew and loved and held close in my heart. People I did not see enough. I did not spend enough time with them or call them on the phone enough. I didn't remember their birthdays as often as I should have. I didn't have lunch or cocktails with them enough. I didn't know I could miss them this much.

Then there were those musical artists I came to known and befriend as a result of my days at Capitol Records. Jo Stafford, Al Martino and Les Paul, to name only a few of the more recent deaths. I had the pleasure to work with them and come to know them a little. Certainly, I was appreciative of their place in the world of recorded music and their monumental talent.

Then comes the list of actors and performers to whom I owe a debt of gratitude for their inspiration. Didn't know them, per se, but felt their presence in the way I approached my own acting. Occasionally, I'd steal an idea, a tick, a glance or (on more than one occasion) a whole line reading. Robert Culp, John Forsythe, Karl Malden (in my mind the most under-rated actor of his generation), Richard Widmark, Jean Simmons, Kathryn Grayson. Like many others, whenever I hear of a famous person's death, I immediately start thinking about who the next two might be. They always go in threes, you know. I get sad, think about their work and their lives, watch the TCM tribute days, secretly toast them with my wife.

Death is an inevitability we all know, but that doesn't make it any easier. Even when those who die are giant faces on a screen.

Upon hearing of the passing of Lynn Redgrave, however, my reaction was odd. More personal. More like the way I felt when my Aunt Jackie and Uncle Garrold died. When ALS took Katrinka and breast cancer finally swept Kim up in its finality. With them, a light that had burned so brightly for so long, had suddenly just gone off. The room was dark. Suddenly. I knew it was coming for all of them, but the actual event was -- well, wrong. Like Death had been crying wolf with them for so long. So too, with the knowledge of Lynn Redgrave's death.

Perhaps it was her youth. I mean, let's face it, 67 is not all that old anymore. I am only a decade and a half away from that number myself. Hardly "old."

Perhaps the horrible years she has recently faced. Seven years with breast cancer and chemo. Brother Corin, dead just one month. Niece Natasha Richardson, dead just over a year. So much for any family, let alone such an important and talented theatrical one.

Or, perhaps it was the fact that Lynn seemed to embody what it truly meant to be an actor. In a career that spanned from Tom Jones and Georgy Girl to Shine and Gods and Monsters (and some 21 other movies after her Oscar nominated performance in the latter) she did every kind of acting in every kind of way. Her films made her a star, but her stage career was immense. She was invited to join The National Theatre for its inaugural season in the Old Vic. Her directors there? Olivier, Zeffirelli, Coward. In the 60s and 70s she appeared numerous times on Broadway in casts that any actor would give their eye teeth just to say, "I got to see ___________ on stage."

She was on the West End, did voice overs, took a long running series of Weight Watchers commercials and was triumphant on TV with sister Vanessa in Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? And, here's the hard part, she was always great. She had the career that we all dream of having. The career we feel is in our bones as we are berated by a rehearsal instructors in acting school. The career our college acting teachers have no idea is inside of us because, well, they are college acting teachers and not really actors themselves. The career we are at once envious of and revel in. When the actor is genuine and talented we are happy for their success and  truly inspired by their work and heir legacy. It's only when the success comes because of a pop culture hiccup or as a result of a reality show's incessant  and inconceivably unearthly ratings that we get a little testy at success.

Lynn Redgrave was the real deal. Sounds too simple, really. Maybe it even sounds a little disrespectful. "The Real Deal." We all should make it a point to learn from her life's example: Have dignity and class, be kind and generous, love friends and family, work hard and honestly. Be a complete human being.

Lynn Redgrave was one of us -- an actor. Honest and true.

Standing Ovations

"The Subject Was Roses" is playing here in Los Angeles at the Mark Taper Form. The play was written in 1964 by Frank Gilroy, won the Pulitzer, was on Broadway where it won a Tony Award for Best Play and was made into a film.This particular mounting was put in motion by it's star, Martin Sheen. Sheen was in the original Broadway production and nominated for  Tony and Jack Albertson won the Tony for his portrayal as the father -- the role Sheen inhabits today. It's a homecoming of sorts for Sheen.

Two things need to be said right off the bat: I'm a huge fan of both the Taper (It's great space and I am rarely disappointing in the productions) and of Martin Sheen. Pound for pound he is one of My favorite actors of all time. Missiles of October, Apocalypse Now, The Execution of Private Slovak, Da, That Championship Season. Those films alone put Sheen in my books as one of our best actors. Then, of course, there's The West Wing. Not just a masterpiece of television drama by Aaron Sorkin, but a brilliant cast lead by Martin Sheen as President Jed Bartlet. Sheen's President Bartlet spoiled me for any other President in my lifetime. But I digress....

Liz and I always love going to the Taper. We'll usually have dinner and drinks al fresco at the Pinot Grill just outside the Taper doors. We'll saunter in with the other patrons, take our seats and let the play wash over us. All of this we certainly did on this evening. The play was good enough. Just good, not great. Most people probably came to see Martin Sheen live and in person on stage. fair enough. And Sheen was fine. Frances Conroy as the wife and mother was fine. Brian Geraghty (from the Hurt Locker) was obviously green and needed a firmer hand from the director, but serviceable enough considering his relative lack of theatrical chops. The set was fabulous! Later, our ride home would be filled with an intense discussion about why this play was chosen, how we would have addressed some of the problems we saw, etc. You know, the kind of stuff all theatre folk tear apart and chew on when we go see a play. But, all in all, a pleasant enough evening at the theatre. We enjoyed it.

Then the play ended. The applause started and everyone stood up. Not to leave, but to applaud. A standing ovation.

Now I can count on one hand the number of times I have been in the midst and a willing participant in a true heartfelt standing ovation. A performance so enthralling or so fabulously moving no one present would have even known they were rocketed to their feet by some unseen force of the theatre. Antony Sher as Richard III at the RSC in 1984. Kenneth Branagh as Henry V that same year, same place. Ian McKellan in his one-man show Acting Shakespeare at the Westwood Playhouse (now the Gefffen). No question: Standing O. Brilliant, moving, tours de force, passionate, exquisite, nonpareil. Whole theatres on their feet in a flash, knowing they had seen something truly special.

Since then, however, and particularly over the past ten or fifteen years, I've noticed that audiences will bestow a standing O on anything they pay money to see. Liz and I have been the only one's seated at some of the most mediocre plays and performances of the last millennium. We have seen dreadful celebrity performances bring the house down. We have witnessed $100 a seat musicals receive standing ovations, yet not a single tune was whistled fondly on the street afterward. What gives?

Has the sheer price of tickets made us believe that what we are seeing is spectacular? Have we become so enthralled by celebrity that we will always stand for star because he or she is in the movies? Do we just not go to enough theatre to know good from bad? Are our expectations just so low that we are simply amazed that poeple can learn that many lines?

I'm worried. The standing ovation at the Taper could not have been for the performance that evening. It was fine. It wasn't fabulous. It was journeyman work. It wasn't transcendent. The only explanation must be that Martin Sheen is famous. So we should stand for the famous guy. 

I rarely agree with reviews. But for once I agree with a review in the Hollywood Reporter. It is a fair assessment of this production. Some of it is the fault of a dated play that just doesn't mean what it once did. Gilroy's play has become a period piece. Some of the fault should fall at the feet of the director for not doing more to address the play itself and for not guiding a young actor better through the minefield that is live theatre. But most of the fault lies in the clapping hands and standing bodies of audiences that demands nothing more than a nice evening out.

I hope to see a play soon that will force me to my feet without a second thought. Indeed, I long for the rush that fills my head and face as I stand in awe of a massive display of talent and words and collaboration to powerful that my very being is catapulted from my comfort. Until that show comes around, however,I will continue to enjoy my play going with my wife and friends. I will continue to work in and support the theatre and the artists who work in it. I'll just do it from the comfort of my seat.