He is Ohioan

Early in September, and then late in September, I made small talk with a nice-enough guy I know. He scrunched his face a bit in the second conversation, accessing his memory, and asked if I’d filmed my screenplay. I concealed my shock and tried to explain that I do theatre, and a new project had just begun. He admitted, sheepishly, that he didn’t understand the difference. 

(Not the photo Prince showed.)

A week earlier, two twenty-something friends and I took in the Hal Prince exhibition at the Lincoln Center Library. I wondered, out loud, whether they’d have the magazine photo of an angry white mob which Prince had displayed at the first rehearsal of Cabaret. Since the assembled company knew they’d come to rehearse a show about the rise of the Nazis, they assumed the scowling faces in the picture were Germans. But Prince revealed these were contemporary Americans protesting desegregation. It’s happening again, here. Which is a sobering thought.

I mention this because my friend already knew the story. She has a wealth of knowledge about the theatre, and I’m struck by the contrast with the dude who admitted to knowing nothing about theatre. And I’m now reminded of my previous trip to the same exhibition hall last spring. Ran into an old friend I’d met in the improv world. He’s familiar with my songwriting and I’m familiar with his. And there’s something to be said for an environment in which you run into people you haven’t seen for years and they know exactly who you are and much of what you can do.

There’s an analogy about a seed in fertile ground. It comes from the Bible. And I only know it comes from the Bible because it’s part of a musical based on the Book of Matthew, Godspell. You can have a perfectly good seed, but if you plop it down in some desert where rain is a rarity, it’s unlikely to grow into a tree. New York is rich soil, a nurturing environment to hundreds of musical theatre writers. And the other little bromide that applies is “It takes a village.” To get your musical to grow, you’re going to need to connect with a dozen or more like-minded artists. Together, you’re working to tell a story using songs, one that entertains at every turn.

I’m bemused that my daughter has homework to do before she auditions for a community theatre production of Annie. She’s 7, and the company wants her to learn terms like “down right” and “playing the sweep.” There’s an implication that kids who are unfamiliar with theatre terms are less likely to be given leads to which I say “Good! She downright better play the sweep!” But what I’ve discovered with my child’s forays into performing arts programs is that they’re like metal detectors running over sand. They’re a magnet of sorts, gathering seeds that have been plopped in a desert, binding the breed known as “theatre people” together. It’s a happy thing to see my kid find like-minded friends.

Which reminds me that her mother and I found each other in an internet chatroom devoted to theatre. These things don’t exist anymore, but there was a time when AOL and others provided spaces where people from all over the world could share thoughts about shows with each other by typing in boxes. One could be the only Broadway fan in some cultural wasteland, and go online to interact with other stage enthusiasts.

For some months now, I’ve been moderating a musical theatre writers’ group. Far-flung people from three different countries share their work, and we “meet” for a  monthly videoconference. I wonder, sometimes, whether our confabs provide respite for the alienation that comes with being the only theatre person for miles around.

So, I’ve once again managed to bury the lead. Today marks the ninth anniversary of this here blog. One of the unanticipated perks of having a blog is that WordPress shows you a map of the world so you can see where your page’s “visitors” are coming from. These essays about musical theatre have been looked at by people all over the world and that’s awesome in the original sense of the word – something that produces awe. It’s hard to believe 26 Uruguayans or 61 Indonesians are really interested in what I have to say. Could be that they’ve clicked here by mistake, or just to see a photo I’ve put up. Or it could be there’s a seed in the Sahara, using the internet to look around for similar seeds, feeling less alone in the universe.

The map shades the countries various degrees of pink, depending on the quantity of visits. Five continents and the major unshaded area is Greenland. So, just putting this out there: I’d like to buy Greenland. Do you hear, you 21 visitors from Denmark? Sell! Or I shan’t visit any time soon.