There's a new word that seems to be a critical favorite when it comes to describing a theatrical production:
Brave.
Critics, always looking for new ways to be hyperbolic, seem to have latched onto this word because, apparently, "life-affirming" has run its course.
Being a stickler for proper word usage (and someone who loves to pick on critics) I thought about the way this word was being bandied about.
"Brave."
What would a piece of theater have to be to be brave?
Immediately, I think of "Red Light Winter" by Adam Rapp, an incredibly stark and intense play that made me wince several times while reading it. If someone were to ask me if they should mount the show, I'd say "Yes, but it's a very difficult play." So perhaps, to me, a brave production is one that's undertaken a difficult play.
(Differentiating between "play" and "production:" something critics still seem to have trouble doing.)
A lot of people seem to think that simply by doing an epic show--one with extensive production needs--you're doing something brave.
In some respects, this is true. I applaud anyone who agrees to tackle a show like Amadeus or Marat Sade.
The trouble is, it's not an all-inclusive way of figuring out whether or not something is brave.
The Phantom of the Opera is a technically extensive show, but I wouldn't call it brave.
Maybe the biggest element of a truly "brave" show is that thing nobody likes to talk about: Money.
If a theater takes on a show that they have good reason to believe won't make money, but they do it anyway because it's something they believe in, that, to me, is artistic bravery.
So often we accept that doing any dramatic piece is brave, because the standard belief is that comedy is generally easier to sell, but there are some pretty safe bets, even in drama.
Miller is usually a safe bet, so are the three big Tennessee Williams' plays (The Glass Menagerie, Streetcar, and Cat on a Hot Tin Roof) and yes, Shakespeare.
There's nothing wrong with doing any of these plays; I just wouldn't say they require any particular courage on the part of the producer/theater.
I think we should celebrate theaters that take risks, but first we have to be honest with ourselves about what those risks really are.
New work is a risk. Work that deals with sexuality is a risk. Work that might leave the audience feeling unsettled is a risk.
This is a quote I enjoy from Don Marquis: “If you make people think they're thinking, they'll love you; But if you really make them think, they'll hate you.”
Doing the latter and not the former--that would be brave.
Now, let's try to save the word for when it's really needed, shall we?
Brave.
Critics, always looking for new ways to be hyperbolic, seem to have latched onto this word because, apparently, "life-affirming" has run its course.
Being a stickler for proper word usage (and someone who loves to pick on critics) I thought about the way this word was being bandied about.
"Brave."
What would a piece of theater have to be to be brave?
Immediately, I think of "Red Light Winter" by Adam Rapp, an incredibly stark and intense play that made me wince several times while reading it. If someone were to ask me if they should mount the show, I'd say "Yes, but it's a very difficult play." So perhaps, to me, a brave production is one that's undertaken a difficult play.
(Differentiating between "play" and "production:" something critics still seem to have trouble doing.)
A lot of people seem to think that simply by doing an epic show--one with extensive production needs--you're doing something brave.
In some respects, this is true. I applaud anyone who agrees to tackle a show like Amadeus or Marat Sade.
The trouble is, it's not an all-inclusive way of figuring out whether or not something is brave.
The Phantom of the Opera is a technically extensive show, but I wouldn't call it brave.
Maybe the biggest element of a truly "brave" show is that thing nobody likes to talk about: Money.
If a theater takes on a show that they have good reason to believe won't make money, but they do it anyway because it's something they believe in, that, to me, is artistic bravery.
So often we accept that doing any dramatic piece is brave, because the standard belief is that comedy is generally easier to sell, but there are some pretty safe bets, even in drama.
Miller is usually a safe bet, so are the three big Tennessee Williams' plays (The Glass Menagerie, Streetcar, and Cat on a Hot Tin Roof) and yes, Shakespeare.
There's nothing wrong with doing any of these plays; I just wouldn't say they require any particular courage on the part of the producer/theater.
I think we should celebrate theaters that take risks, but first we have to be honest with ourselves about what those risks really are.
New work is a risk. Work that deals with sexuality is a risk. Work that might leave the audience feeling unsettled is a risk.
This is a quote I enjoy from Don Marquis: “If you make people think they're thinking, they'll love you; But if you really make them think, they'll hate you.”
Doing the latter and not the former--that would be brave.
Now, let's try to save the word for when it's really needed, shall we?
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