Pilgrim in an Unholy Land
From colleagues who have spent time in DC, I’ve heard two points consistently. The first is that it’s a place rife with irony, sprawling monuments alongside absolutely wretched poverty. The second is that it is, oddly enough, much like any other small town which revolves around a single industry: only in this case, that industry is the government. (As I discovered sending out press releases, when a not-insignificant percentage of e-mail addresses were ending in .gov. I sent the Pentagon a press release. I can’t imagine I have a huge audience there.)
The latter point being true: being a libertarian in DC feels kind of like being a Toyota manufacturer in Detroit.
--
What little driving I’ve had to do within the District has been stressful enough that I immediately obtained a metro pass. My changeover actually takes place at the Pentagon – it’s a major employer, after all – which means that I spend much of my ride alongside men and women decked out in full uniform and regalia. It occurs to me that I’m in a confined space with some of the most remarkable intellects in the world, dedicated to developing the most efficient possible ways to kill people. I’m torn between thinking that this is really creepy and kind of awesome.
Drives home the point, though, that this is a place with an omnipresence of military culture – whereas in Minnesota what I’m wearing isn’t much more than a theatrical device, out here it’s part of our day-to-day reality. I don’t know how that influences audience perception of what I’m doing.
Managed to swing into the Fringe Central location (here called Fort Fringe) and drop off my postcards. Eyeing the postcard table, I saw the usual combination of exclamation points and naked flesh. Why am I producing a show like this in this venue?
An Inauspicious Opening
When I opened my very first Fringe show in Minneapolis, I had a sum total of three people in the audience. As time went on, I eventually built a reputation and relationships and stuff, and I don’t think that’s something I’m likely to go through in Minnesota again – at least, not anytime soon. Then, when I did the Iowa Fringe for the first time, I opened to three people. A humbling lesson – that whenever you hit the road, you’re starting over from scratch. So guess how many people I had in the audience for my DC opening? That’s right – three.
(I’m ashamed to say I derived some satisfaction from the fact that Les Kurkendaal had exactly zero people in his audience, for the show immediately following mine. I find this bewildering, and the two of us commiserated that it’s difficult for out-of-towners to open the Festival with no opportunity to build word-of-mouth. Seriously, considering the fact that I’ve had exactly no pre-Fringe coverage, three strangers spontaneously showing up for one of my Arthurian scripts is, like, Woodstock.)
I’ve definitely had better times in front of an audience. One of the listeners dozed off several times during the show, another was doing her level best to give me polite attention, and the third was a theatre critic who alternated between rolling his eyes and loudly sighing.
And, in true opening-night tradition, his review sprung up that night, and wasn’t terribly kind. My impulsive responses are mostly stupid defensive ones (although I’ll confess that the “below-average storyteller” line stung) – I find myself wanting to say things like “Yes, but this is about a style of storytelling that revolves around character revelation as opposed to character transformation” and “Surely Pellinore’s stubborn refusal to learn anything from his experiences is one of the key points” – but all of those statements are foolish, because whether there’s any truth to them or they’re simply rationalizations, they do nothing to increase the audience’s enjoyment of the show.
Still. Been on the receiving end of countless negative reviews. Why does this one get under my skin? Because I like this piece. And I haven’t really invested this much of myself in a project since my last similarly-themed disaster – 2005’s Camelot is Crumbling. Which is one reason I haven’t done a project like this in years.
It’s a labor of love. One question I’ve been getting a lot is whether people think I’m likely to get tired of this show with such a long tour schedule: and I don’t think I will. (I could well grow tired of the lukewarm response, if this is any indication of how audiences are likely to continue. Past experience suggests that this is probable.) I haven’t really allowed myself to sit down with these source texts in a while, and now they’re all I’m reading. I could cheerfully write nothing but Arthurian scripts for the rest of my life (this is my seventh): if I thought an audience might let me get away with it, I’d try to do so.
--
Did the usual booze ‘n’ schmooze following the show, and fell back pretty easily into my more aggressive marketing patterns – and also hooked up with several people I’m likely to see again further along on the tour. (Indianapolis is apparently going to be inundated with out-of-towners this year.) My elevator speech was met with the usual combinations of blank-faced “interesting”s and a few “Wow! That sounds hilarious!”s.
Towards the end of the evening, I was approached by a local storyteller, and pleased to note that we’d both heard of each other’s work: she knew of my history with the Rockstars, and I knew of hers with SpeakeasyDC, which is, as nearly as I can tell, our east-coast doppelganger. I wonder if some kind of collaboration would be possible: must reflect and discuss.
Evening closed with my hosts driving into town after last call, because they are BBE (which stands for Best Billeters Ever. Or possibly Big Breast Expansion. It can be hard to tell out here).
No comments:
Post a Comment