On more than one occasion I have had an artistic staffer at one of the Big Houses say some variation of the following to me: “We will do more new local plays when local playwrights write better scripts.” For my own part, I have always found that argument, just on its face, so petty and mean-spirited, that I never really bothered to respond to it, even though I understand how it tacitly pervades the Seattle theatre ethos and sets up an invisible blockade to our progress towards being a world class theatre city. But for those who require a more substantial rebuttal to this flimsy canard, I offer you, simply, 14/48.
From The SunBreak:
If you’ve never been, you should go. If you have been, you should consider going again. 14/48 is a brilliant exercise in the essentials of theatre–seven world premiere plays written, produced, opened, and closed in 24 hours. And then repeat. If it sounds like another tedious exercise in theatresports, it’s not…. Last night was great for demonstrating that in only 24 hours, theatre artists can tackle tough issues in a meaningful way. There have been funnier line-ups for sure, but the evening spoke to the quintessential power of theatre that’s so often lost in a mix of artful obfuscation and middle-brow pandering.
http://thesunbreak.com/2010/01/09/a-few-notes-on-last-nights-14-48
From The Stranger’s Slog
And, God fucking damn, did I ever enjoy 14/48. The theme last night was “collateral damage,” and we got to see a real variety of stuff: collaterally damaged alien heads, a collaterally damaged baby, and… well, some other pieces that incorporated the theme less successfully…. This was my favorite Stranger Suggests so far. It was fun and me and Law both left ACT with dopey smiles on our faces.
http://slog.thestranger.com/slog/archives/2010/01/09/yesterday-the-stranger-suggested-1448-at-act
My own personal opinion? This past weekend was the best I have ever participated in. I thought the first night was great, but we out-did it the next, with nary a dud in the line up, and casting karma to die for. Sure, that kind of across the board success is rare for 14/48. You almost always get a few clunkers. (Lord knows, I’ve written them.) But curiously, 14/48 is, in fact, getting better, year over year. The reason is simple: the veteran talent is evolving. Some of them have adapted so well to the process that it’s a little unnerving to witness, kind of like being there when the first frog decides to flick its tongue at a fly. (Troy Fischnaller and Scot Augustson are gaming the process so well at this point that they really should be handicapped in some way. I’m thinking some sort of body cast for Troy and mandatory heroin for Scot.)
By nature, I am a product-over-process sort of artist. I fervently believe that undo preciousness about how we do what we do points the way towards madness, museums, and MFAs. But that said, one of the most important things 14/48 accomplishes is never experienced directly by the audience. The plays go away after that day, but there remains a shadow canon of stories surrounding how those plays got made: Tim Hyland cheerfully recalling how he managed to turn a piece by Carl Sander—a three stanza poem, with no stage directions or character assignments—into standout comic tour de force one night last summer; Tim Gouran comparing the vast number of shows in which he was required to appear nude against the vanishingly small number in which he was not. (Luck of the draw, Tim.) It all becomes part of the primordial soup, the necessary substrate, the stories that binds us together as a community of artists. The Big Houses do little to consciously nurture this substrate. More’s the pity.
So. . . Friday night came. There were seven great shows. They went up, then they were gone. Saturday night came. And it all went up and went again. Gone. If you weren’t there, you will never see those plays in that way again.
The audience’s apprehension of this transitory magic was palpable on the first night. On the second it was redolent. They connected and responded to the material. Deeply. They didn’t just laugh and clap; they “ooohed” and “aaahhed” and “hooted”, they muttered “bullshit” and “oh yeah”. They “booed”—bless them— one time fiercely and for a formidable duration after someone on stage wondered if their kid might become a Yankees fan. (Great play, Joy!)
In a way that almost never happens in that particular space at ACT, or in any of the Big House venues, the audience began to take ownership of what they were witnessing. They began to understand the fundamental truth that they were the only ones that would ever see this particular show. So the connection to the material also connected them to each other and to the moment. This point cannot be underscored enough: it is this ephemerality itself and the community it engenders that we are selling as purveyors of theatre, not as by-products of this or that story, but as the main product itself. If we do not deliver this, we have failed as theatre artists. Plain and simple.
14/48 feels like a game. And mind you, it is one: a glorious game, steeped in risk which the audience revels in. For the time being, the Big Houses refuse to look at what they do as a game. They seek to minimize and mitigate all risk, forgetting, or never having learned, that it is the risk itself we are selling. They want to run a carnival with no rides, a candy shop with no sugar, a look-but-don’t-touch brothel, where sets get applauded and actors are interchangeable. It’s enough to make you want to go watch a movie.
What new back stories am I looking to play out next weekend? Well, there’s Darian Lindle, drafted into directing even though she’s due to give birth to twins in May. And there’s David Schmader, veteran Stranger columnist, but virgin 14/48 playwright. Uncle Dan Savage can’t help you now, Schmadie. So buck up, strap in, and get me a damned beer, noob!
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