You
know the look. It's the look that people get when they’re
processing what you've just said and they have come up against a huge
disconnect in logic.
It's
the look I get when I tell people that Ithaca Fringe Festival acts
are selected by lottery.
It's
kind of funny, actually. These good folks immediately have the
concept of “What? You just let anybody in?” Then they weigh that
against the prototypical no-miss business model that lives vaguely in
their heads and there you go: cosmic stalemate. You can't equate
letting “anybody” in with having a successful festival.
I
mean... what if... what if... the acts suck?
Good
question. I could regale you with tales of horror-stricken
audienceship as I ingested a musical based on Arthur Miller's The
Crucible. (It must have sounded good on paper.) Or a tale of
mind-numbing boredom at yet another interminable interpretive dance
performance that must have been choreographed by a four-year-old
whose main theme was “I have a load in my pants. And it's on fire.”
These
things happen. I can say, based on the number of fringe festival
shows I've seen, that the percentage of “did-NOT-suck” to
“mind-blowingly brilliant” shows far outweighs the number of
craptastic crimes against theatrical humanity. I've rarely been
disappointed at a fringe show.
Bear
in mind the mitigating factors: fringe shows are usually cheap
(Ithaca Fringe $10/pop, cheaper if you buy multishow passes); short
(about an hour); and plentiful (the Edinburgh Fringe, granddaddy of
them all, has some 12 billion; we have eight this year). So what if
you attend something as off-mainstream as Hemorrhoids Through the
Ages? You at least have a helluva story to tell later. (Honestly,
what would you rather listen to, the story that starts with “This
show was so good,” or “OMG you cannot believe how bad... how
horrifically godawful this show was...”?)
“But,”
these folks ask, “you don't at least choose which ones to pick
from?” Nope. I don't. I'm the producing artistic director (yes, a
three-word title), and even though I wield supreme executive power
over this festival, I do NOT jury the entries. Why should I?
They
struggle with this, doubting that we'll have a decent lineup. I get
it. It's scary when you think of business plans and success. I'm not
saying I don't wish fervently for every show chosen to be brilliant
and to sell out, but I have to go with the essence of the fringe
itself. I have to go with taking chances. I'm probably my own worst
enemy. I don't ask “Is it any good?” I ask “Should I see this?”
I'm
a playwright. I send my work out to prospective theatres and contests
frequently. 99% of the time I never get a response. .05% of the time
I get the usual rejection: “It was the toughest choice of our
lives, but after sacrificing half of our children and reading their
entrails in the dust,” (I'm paraphrasing) “we eventually went
with the sock-puppet version of Dick Cheney's Puberty...” I am no
stranger to rejection.
So,
when I first envisioned the Ithaca Fringe Festival, I fully intended
to vet the submissions and throw out the obvious crap. Then, when I
attended the US Association of Fringe Festivals conference in
Portland, Maine, I was waylaid after dinner by three representatives
of three different fringe festival organizations who impressed upon
me the very nature of a “fringe.”
“Look,”
one said, “the idea of a fringe is anything but safety.”
“Absolutely
correct,” another fringe rep concurred, “this is not comfy seats
and Appletinis. This is the shit, the good stuff the real theatres
can't gamble on even though they may want to and thereby won't invest
in.”
“Exactly,”
said the third. “You are performing a goodly artistic service by
refusing to deny struggling artists a chance to have their work shown
to the world. You know how many artists out there will never get a
chance to be heard, to be seen, to express the fruits of their
souls?”
“Besides,”
they said (yes, all three in perfect three-part harmony), “who are
you to be the be-all and end-all of artistic taste? What makes you
qualified to say what's good and what ain't?”
I
had to admit, later on as I surveyed their arguments, they had a very
valid point. How many times had I walked out of a theatre performance
with more than a few complaints: The plot made no sense; the show was
redeemed only by stellar acting; the ending was a feel-good copout
that betrayed everything that had come before it. Or the show raised
a series of important and timely social issues and did not fully or
legitimately explore them. The show had no characters I cared about.
The show did not say anything. On and on.
And
yet . . . others liked these shows. Liked them enough to produce them
for three weeks, five nights a week, in a 99-seat house. So maybe I
have a twisted sense of artistic value. I loathe almost anything
Hollywood produces, thinking it high fructose corn syrup for the
mind. I do have high standards, and I expect all playwrights and
producers to as well. Yes, I fully admit my opinion is not
everyone’s. You'd be amazed what Perennial Favorites I think are
crap. I think most “classic plays” taught in high schools and
colleges should be frozen and time-locked until 2246. Bring in the
new stuff, start working with the plays that reflect what's going on
these days. Be contemporary, be relevant. Be dangerous.
A
fringe festival is where some of the best the new stuff shows up. The
experimental . . . offbeat . . . non-formulaic. A fringe is where
theatrical adventure comes into its own, where what's left of
America's theatre scene finds spiritual and intellectual
rejuvenation. It takes chances, as it should.
So
no. We don't vet. We don't judge. We take your (small) application
fees, throw your scripts into a revolving hopper, and pick. This year
we'll pick eight. I don't know how good they will be. But I’ll
wager most of them will be terrific. And I hope you come out and see
them, support the creative arts, and have some fun. And don't worry
if the acts aren't the best thing since Phantom. Ask yourself if they
are acts you should see.
