Not to stay in the world of meta, and also not to single out the very excellent rlewis, but this comment here and other ones I've come across in the last couple of days need a bit of a response.
I think we've all often heard the argument that theatres need managers because artists don't have the skill sets/the right mindset/the interest to do the dirty work of management. It's usually broken down into artists=left-brain and manager=right brain. Someone's got to manage the money and deal with the business, the argument goes. Left to their own devices, artists can't manage the cash, so they should stick to the art stuff and let the business people stick to the business stuff.
Um. Not to put to fine a point on it (and at the risk of offending): bullshit. I call bullshit on that.
A while back, I met with a theatre consultant who said a very, very interesting thing: theatre artists are particularly skilled at providing a product on a hard deadline. We have our opening night and 95 times out of 100, we produce our product on deadline. You show me a designer who isn't aware of their budget, I'll show you a designer not worth their salt (going over their budget is another matter I'll get into below). Artists may be funky, they may be messy or even occasionally flighty, but they're not dumb (well, mostly not). That attitude is part of the false dichotomy and part of the disempowering of artists.
Art and money are intimately connected. The problem arises, I think, because the "artists" have different priorities than the "suits". (I really don't buy those distinctions.) Taking the designer example from above, you take a designer and ask them to build a budget for a show. They certainly can and they can probably stick to it. But give them a budget that doesn't share their priorities and that's a different matter.
Every artist is their own business. We often have to juggle not just the job of making our art, but the job of marketing ourselves, hustling for opportunities, the job of building connections and, for most of us, a "real world" job that pays the bills. We're constantly adjusting, budgeting, setting priorities, managing time and scheduling. We make investments in new technologies to help us, new techniques to make ourselves more marketable, new methods of reaching our audiences. We set our own priorities.
But once we're involved in a theatre, we're expected to relinquish all of that, and act like helpless children. We shown our sandbox, told to play there and not get the sand all over the place. All of the hustle, hard work, time-management, budgeting and marketing that got us through the door are chalked up to talent or luck or whatever and we're expected to leave that stuff at the door, so the grown-ups can work on our behalf.
I'm not saying that ALL artists have ALL the skills to be effective managers. But then again, not ALL managers are good at their job (and let me tell ya, I've got stories to curl your hair). I'm just disputing that we "need" managers because the artists can't/won't do it. We can, we're used to it, we have the skills. You just have to trust us.
Showing posts with label the standard model. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the standard model. Show all posts
Saturday, April 5, 2008
Monday, March 17, 2008
A Multitude of Casualties
Chris, who you can hear more from here, dropped this comment in this thread below:
Many, many good and interesting thoughts there. And, yes, clearly, I'm not an economist, or someone with a hardcore business background. I actually hadn't heard of Baumol or the cost disease before and had to check it out. It makes a lot of sense and there are some aspects of it to definitely apply. It's also true that this conversation tends to happen without enough administrators and financial people involved. So glad to hear from you, Chris!
My one quibble with his comment is this: the word "plaintiffs". I don't want to think of this along a plantiff/defendant dialectic or keep it adversarial. We're all collaborators in the creation of this and we're all both beneficiaries and casualties. And we should all be engaged in making it better. I know some folks really see themselves as bomb-throwing anarchists, lobbing Molotov cocktails over the castle walls. Not so much me. At my most adversarial, I see myself as a diplomat in a war-torn country trying to find rapproachment. I'm a playwright who's worked in artistic development and production in a series of standard model organizations over the last eight years and I like to think I see things from more than one side.
The important question, though, is the last one: where does the money come from? Because I'm seriously committed to finding ways to get the artists paid decently without cutting back too severely on production values and management support while keeping ticket prices to an extremely affordable level. And that means a fairly substantial income stream that's gotta be flowing from somewhere. Where I think Chris and I diverge (and, Chris, feel free to correct me as necessary) is that I don't think that a board of deep pockets is the only way to provide that income. Sure, some deep pockets are needed, but also more smaller pockets and more ways of connecting to the pockets.
The problem I find with the very deep pockets is that they know they're deep pockets. So the expect certain things from an organization: a certain kind of person dealing with them, a certain kind of experience when they arrive at the theatre, a certain kind of return on their investment. (And, yes, I know I'm generalizing. Just work with me.) So you need those things in place to keep them, and, in the standard model, that translates to more staff, more specialized staff and a staff that becomes more and more distant from the artists. And eventually, that puts organization further and further away from the artists and their needs. That's when we get into the edifice complexes, the feeling that if we don't grow, we die. That's also how we move to boards that are more and more homogenous, older and less and less reflective of the community at large. What we're all hoping to do is to halt this trend.
And, yep, the bigger problem is that management is picking bad boards. But how do you define bad boards? If the board is helping the theatre stay flush with cash and resources, you've moved into a big new building and the tickets are selling well enough. Who cares if the plays are bad, or not interesting or not challenging. Is your board bad in that circumstance? The definition of terms is vastly important to this conversation.
So...seriously, where does the cash come from? There are options: for-profit ventures, like this and this, using the artistic talents of the company to generate income. There are more co-productions. Scott describes some very interesting ways of generating income and keeping expenses down here. (Side note: I intend to draw up a similar model for NYC at some point in the next few weeks.)
Does this mean that all traditional boards go by the wayside? Of course not. For some organizations, it makes sense. All we're saying is that that doesn't have to be the only way that theatres are organized. And, yes, I also know about the legal responsibilities and expectations. But remember, when a company begins, the company members are usually the board. It works and makes sense that way. It's only further down the line that the two groups get separated. What I think we're trying to do is keep the two parties closer together.
The greatest source of misunderstanding I've seen as I've surfed the myriad theatre blogs addressing the ostensible failure of the NFP theatre model is a gross lack of knowledge on the part of the plaintiffs of the rest of the NFP universe, board governance, diffuse executive models, etc. As the practitioners of a collaborative art with great opportunities for both earned and unearned revenue streams unique to our business model, it seems we could do much, much better by investigating how we as NFP theatre leaders are not taking advantage of the tools on the table. Every NFP lives or dies by the quality of its board. Blame your management for building a bad board before you blame the board.
One of the glaring oversights in every thread I've read about creating a new business model is the total lack of math. The general agreement among audiences and NFP theatre producers is that ticket prices are too high - that costs are too high to take risks, etc. Due to tricky things like Baumol's Cost Disease, "affordable" theatre exists in a state of what traditional economists call "market failure" - meaning the cost of the supply is higher than the existing demand is willing or able to bear. NFP status provides a vehicle through which we create subsidy that compensates for the difference.
If we ditch the NFP model, where is the subsidy going to come from?
Many, many good and interesting thoughts there. And, yes, clearly, I'm not an economist, or someone with a hardcore business background. I actually hadn't heard of Baumol or the cost disease before and had to check it out. It makes a lot of sense and there are some aspects of it to definitely apply. It's also true that this conversation tends to happen without enough administrators and financial people involved. So glad to hear from you, Chris!
My one quibble with his comment is this: the word "plaintiffs". I don't want to think of this along a plantiff/defendant dialectic or keep it adversarial. We're all collaborators in the creation of this and we're all both beneficiaries and casualties. And we should all be engaged in making it better. I know some folks really see themselves as bomb-throwing anarchists, lobbing Molotov cocktails over the castle walls. Not so much me. At my most adversarial, I see myself as a diplomat in a war-torn country trying to find rapproachment. I'm a playwright who's worked in artistic development and production in a series of standard model organizations over the last eight years and I like to think I see things from more than one side.
The important question, though, is the last one: where does the money come from? Because I'm seriously committed to finding ways to get the artists paid decently without cutting back too severely on production values and management support while keeping ticket prices to an extremely affordable level. And that means a fairly substantial income stream that's gotta be flowing from somewhere. Where I think Chris and I diverge (and, Chris, feel free to correct me as necessary) is that I don't think that a board of deep pockets is the only way to provide that income. Sure, some deep pockets are needed, but also more smaller pockets and more ways of connecting to the pockets.
The problem I find with the very deep pockets is that they know they're deep pockets. So the expect certain things from an organization: a certain kind of person dealing with them, a certain kind of experience when they arrive at the theatre, a certain kind of return on their investment. (And, yes, I know I'm generalizing. Just work with me.) So you need those things in place to keep them, and, in the standard model, that translates to more staff, more specialized staff and a staff that becomes more and more distant from the artists. And eventually, that puts organization further and further away from the artists and their needs. That's when we get into the edifice complexes, the feeling that if we don't grow, we die. That's also how we move to boards that are more and more homogenous, older and less and less reflective of the community at large. What we're all hoping to do is to halt this trend.
And, yep, the bigger problem is that management is picking bad boards. But how do you define bad boards? If the board is helping the theatre stay flush with cash and resources, you've moved into a big new building and the tickets are selling well enough. Who cares if the plays are bad, or not interesting or not challenging. Is your board bad in that circumstance? The definition of terms is vastly important to this conversation.
So...seriously, where does the cash come from? There are options: for-profit ventures, like this and this, using the artistic talents of the company to generate income. There are more co-productions. Scott describes some very interesting ways of generating income and keeping expenses down here. (Side note: I intend to draw up a similar model for NYC at some point in the next few weeks.)
Does this mean that all traditional boards go by the wayside? Of course not. For some organizations, it makes sense. All we're saying is that that doesn't have to be the only way that theatres are organized. And, yes, I also know about the legal responsibilities and expectations. But remember, when a company begins, the company members are usually the board. It works and makes sense that way. It's only further down the line that the two groups get separated. What I think we're trying to do is keep the two parties closer together.
Saturday, February 2, 2008
The "Business" of Show
I realized, after I wrote that last post on The Standard Model, I only told half of the story. There’s more to The Standard Model, and it’s a large factor in the way theatre is made: how the money is raised and allocated. Again, this is something that I have strong feelings about, but I will try to present it objectively.
The federal rules on non-profit organizations (501(c)3 status) requires that the organization have a board of directors and corporate officers. Early in almost any theatre company’s history, these people are the artistic members of the community, along with friends, family members, mentors, the people providing the initial funding. All decisions, both artistic and financial, are made by the artistic members. Usually, there are only nominal titles, but the work is done by all capable of doing work.
The early days of a theatre company is catch-as-catch-can. If you can write a decent sentence, you’re writing grants. You can count, you’re the money person. Very rarely does anyone have any training in what they’re doing. Often, they just walked into the office at the right (or wrong) time.
If the company is successful, the grind of artistic administrative work usually takes its toll. Also, with more money coming in from artistic endeavors and better fundraising, means there’s money to hire a staff. This is the first step in institutionalization and, in general, the artistic members are all involved in this discussion and in the creation and staffing of the new positions.
As the company grows, new board members are brought on, board members who have more money, access to more money for the theatre. As more money comes in, the staff grows, the positions become more departmentalized and “professional”. Also the board begins to grow in power and influence. This is generally regarded as a good thing. A board that provides more money exerts more influence on the growth and direction of the company.
Eventually, the standard business model emerges: the organization is effectively cut in half. On one side, you have the artistic staff: Artistic Director, Literary Manager, Associate Artistic Director, etc. On the other, the administrative or business staff: Executive Director, Managing Director, Development Director. In very large organizations, there’s little meaningful contact between the two. The artistic staff reports to the Artistic Director, the administrative staff reports to the Executive Director, the Artistic Director and the Executive Director report to the board. The board, in stark legal terms, are responsible for the financial health of the theatre. If there are improprieties, it’s the board that’s ultimately responsible. If there are financial setbacks, it’s the board that deals with it. In real world terms, this means that the board is directing the actions of the organization. In general, they have the power to hire, and fire, both the Artistic Director and the Executive Director. They approve the theatre’s seasonal budget, at the very least, have nominal veto power of the selection of plays. At the end of the day, the buck stops with the board.
This is true for most any middle-sized or larger theatre from New York City to Des Moines to San Francisco.
It’s a big part of the problem.
Keep reading for the problem…
The federal rules on non-profit organizations (501(c)3 status) requires that the organization have a board of directors and corporate officers. Early in almost any theatre company’s history, these people are the artistic members of the community, along with friends, family members, mentors, the people providing the initial funding. All decisions, both artistic and financial, are made by the artistic members. Usually, there are only nominal titles, but the work is done by all capable of doing work.
The early days of a theatre company is catch-as-catch-can. If you can write a decent sentence, you’re writing grants. You can count, you’re the money person. Very rarely does anyone have any training in what they’re doing. Often, they just walked into the office at the right (or wrong) time.
If the company is successful, the grind of artistic administrative work usually takes its toll. Also, with more money coming in from artistic endeavors and better fundraising, means there’s money to hire a staff. This is the first step in institutionalization and, in general, the artistic members are all involved in this discussion and in the creation and staffing of the new positions.
As the company grows, new board members are brought on, board members who have more money, access to more money for the theatre. As more money comes in, the staff grows, the positions become more departmentalized and “professional”. Also the board begins to grow in power and influence. This is generally regarded as a good thing. A board that provides more money exerts more influence on the growth and direction of the company.
Eventually, the standard business model emerges: the organization is effectively cut in half. On one side, you have the artistic staff: Artistic Director, Literary Manager, Associate Artistic Director, etc. On the other, the administrative or business staff: Executive Director, Managing Director, Development Director. In very large organizations, there’s little meaningful contact between the two. The artistic staff reports to the Artistic Director, the administrative staff reports to the Executive Director, the Artistic Director and the Executive Director report to the board. The board, in stark legal terms, are responsible for the financial health of the theatre. If there are improprieties, it’s the board that’s ultimately responsible. If there are financial setbacks, it’s the board that deals with it. In real world terms, this means that the board is directing the actions of the organization. In general, they have the power to hire, and fire, both the Artistic Director and the Executive Director. They approve the theatre’s seasonal budget, at the very least, have nominal veto power of the selection of plays. At the end of the day, the buck stops with the board.
This is true for most any middle-sized or larger theatre from New York City to Des Moines to San Francisco.
It’s a big part of the problem.
Keep reading for the problem…
Thursday, January 31, 2008
The Standard Model
I’m going to be talking a bit about the “standard model” for producing theatre in this country, so I figure I should describe it, the way I see it and understand it.
I, of course, have certain thoughts and feelings about this model, but I want to present it without bias (or as little as I can manage) and objectively. Here goes:
Plays are produced by theatres or producing bodies (commercial producers, etc.). Theatres are led by an artistic director, usually a “person of vision”, whether they’re the theatre’s founder or a stage director of some renown. They have two jobs: selecting the season and raising money. The artistic director reads scripts and decides which ones are “ready” for production. This gets the ball rolling.
Whether it’s a new play or not, the theatre selects the particular director for this production. In many theatres, it’s expected that the artistic director will direct at least once per season. The theatre hires a director that either they’ve worked with in the past, or has a solid reputation (i.e. gets good reviews). The director primarily selects the design team.
If the play has been developed with a particular director, they may be considered, but ultimately, the decision falls to the theatre, unless there’s some sort of agreement in place, or the play has hit a certain level of production/development previously.
The casting process usually involves the artistic director and staff of the theatre, the managing/executive director, the play’s director and the playwright. Many things are considered in the casting: rightness for the role, definitely, but also “bankability” and personality. While the playwright can veto anyone, they can’t generally insist that someone gets a certain part. Ditto for the director.
The actors are generally “jobbed in” for that particular production. They may have worked with the theatre or one of the other members of the artistic team, but they may not have. In the case of many (if not most) regional productions, the actors are primarily drawn from a major urban center. It’s roughly the same for designer and other members of the team. Some regional theatre and some theatres in urban centers have in-house production people and some have resident designers.
Notes on the script are given by the director, the artistic director, the theatre’s literary manager/dramaturg, and cast members. The playwright can ignore any suggestions, but there is the expectation that suggestions will at least be attempted. If it’s a world premiere, in particular, it is understood that going into rehearsal, some rewrites are necessary (regardless of the amount of workshopping/rewriting that has already gone into the script).
The rehearsal process for a new play lasts roughly four to five weeks, ideally, including a week of technical rehearsal and dress rehearsals. This is followed by a period of “previews”, sometimes lasting as long as three weeks, usually a week or two. These are full performances of the play, usually in front of subscriber audiences or comped houses. Reviewers are traditionally allowed in during previews, though the reviews are held until opening. During previews, often the cast continues to rehearse and the play continues to evolve, though there is always a point at which script changes are cut off and the play is “locked.” Once you hit opening, there are no more rehearsals, no more rewrites. The play runs for two to eight weeks (in the non-profit world) after opening, depending on reviews, subsciptions, ticket sales, etc. At the end of the run, the cast disperses, the director, designers and playwright have all moved on already, and the theatre is preparing for another production to start tech.
That’s the standard model of producing theatre in this country. And it’s killing us.
I, of course, have certain thoughts and feelings about this model, but I want to present it without bias (or as little as I can manage) and objectively. Here goes:
Plays are produced by theatres or producing bodies (commercial producers, etc.). Theatres are led by an artistic director, usually a “person of vision”, whether they’re the theatre’s founder or a stage director of some renown. They have two jobs: selecting the season and raising money. The artistic director reads scripts and decides which ones are “ready” for production. This gets the ball rolling.
Whether it’s a new play or not, the theatre selects the particular director for this production. In many theatres, it’s expected that the artistic director will direct at least once per season. The theatre hires a director that either they’ve worked with in the past, or has a solid reputation (i.e. gets good reviews). The director primarily selects the design team.
If the play has been developed with a particular director, they may be considered, but ultimately, the decision falls to the theatre, unless there’s some sort of agreement in place, or the play has hit a certain level of production/development previously.
The casting process usually involves the artistic director and staff of the theatre, the managing/executive director, the play’s director and the playwright. Many things are considered in the casting: rightness for the role, definitely, but also “bankability” and personality. While the playwright can veto anyone, they can’t generally insist that someone gets a certain part. Ditto for the director.
The actors are generally “jobbed in” for that particular production. They may have worked with the theatre or one of the other members of the artistic team, but they may not have. In the case of many (if not most) regional productions, the actors are primarily drawn from a major urban center. It’s roughly the same for designer and other members of the team. Some regional theatre and some theatres in urban centers have in-house production people and some have resident designers.
Notes on the script are given by the director, the artistic director, the theatre’s literary manager/dramaturg, and cast members. The playwright can ignore any suggestions, but there is the expectation that suggestions will at least be attempted. If it’s a world premiere, in particular, it is understood that going into rehearsal, some rewrites are necessary (regardless of the amount of workshopping/rewriting that has already gone into the script).
The rehearsal process for a new play lasts roughly four to five weeks, ideally, including a week of technical rehearsal and dress rehearsals. This is followed by a period of “previews”, sometimes lasting as long as three weeks, usually a week or two. These are full performances of the play, usually in front of subscriber audiences or comped houses. Reviewers are traditionally allowed in during previews, though the reviews are held until opening. During previews, often the cast continues to rehearse and the play continues to evolve, though there is always a point at which script changes are cut off and the play is “locked.” Once you hit opening, there are no more rehearsals, no more rewrites. The play runs for two to eight weeks (in the non-profit world) after opening, depending on reviews, subsciptions, ticket sales, etc. At the end of the run, the cast disperses, the director, designers and playwright have all moved on already, and the theatre is preparing for another production to start tech.
That’s the standard model of producing theatre in this country. And it’s killing us.
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