Can I just take a moment and say, "What the hell am I doing in this country?" And it's not even because of madness like this, this, or this. (Well, okay, this is kind of fascinating, though.) Because whenever I read The Guardian's theatre blog, I just get all full up with the expatriating desire.
Part of it is just plain blog envy. It's a nice looking, well-kept, interesting blog, with a good mix of "around the horn" kind of pieces, brief essays on various subjects, and local theatre previews. And they don't just cover British theatre, but American as well, pretty darn well. Good insightful stuff all around.
But, in particular, it was this piece that made me think, "Why the hell aren't we having that conversation right now?" What is the state of black theatre in America? Does anyone know? Does anyone care? It's as though, since August Wilson died, it's not a problem anymore because he's not railing about it. I'm not even saying that it is a problem. I'm saying I don't even know because we're not talking about it. We're talking about submission fees and ringing cell phones and guys who tried to rip Don Hall off. Even Diversity is Dead isn't talking anymore.
So, you know, David Cote and company, here's a challenge back at ya: go and do likewise.