Is the subject of a profile in the NYT... travel section? The article doesn't say much about Seattle theater except that it exists, it includes/ed people like Bart Sher, Kurt Beattie, et al.

Also: "Offbeat delights abound."

In the "offbeat" category:

Teatro ZinZanni, for instance, offers a five-course meal and a European-style cirque act, sometimes with aerial performing in the relatively small space. Another entertaining staple is “The Twilight Zone: Live!,” a long-running stage re-enactment of episodes from the Rod Serling series, at Theater Schmeater.

Is it an insult to have a city's theater scene profiled in a travel section, by a writer who doesn't show much curiosity about it? Or is it a compliment? Does it signal that the scene is of interest to the generalist, not just the specialist?

More fundamentally: Does it even fucking matter?

UPDATE!

I'm taking the "fucking" out of the last sentence because it made the question sound more petulant than I feel. And now commenters (and several email correspondents) are all: "You're a sneering dumb irresponsible jerk who's all threatened by the NYT travel writer." And I don't feel threatened or sneering or jerky about it.

I'm guessing the "fucking" caused the confusion. (As the fucking sometimes does.)

Since Ticket/Ticket closed, Seattle's been without a half-price ticket distributor for theater, opera, ballet, etc. But a California-based company called Goldstar will set up shop here in a couple of weeks and bring back the half-priced ticket.

How it works: Venues allocate a number of tickets for Goldstar (since shows rarely sell out). Goldstar puts those tickets on its site without charging the venue. Customers buy the tickets and pay a service charge (averaging around $4.50, according to the Goldstar publicist I just talked to).

Brian Colburn, the new-ish managing director of Intiman—which just announced its new season—knew of Goldstar while he was in Los Angeles and rallied the Rep, Pacific Northwest Ballet, Meany Hall, the 5th Avenue and other big houses to sign up for the service.

The magic thing about Goldstar is its marketing. It aggressively recruits audiences under 40—just what every performing arts organization needs these days. (Which is why Teen Tix was shortlisted for organization Genius this year—they make $5 tickets available to people under 20, which is even more golden than Goldstar.)

It'll be interesting to see how strongly Seattle audiences respond to the Goldstar option. Nobody seems to know how much price is a barrier to entry for theater, dance, etc. But cheaper tickets for young(ish) audiences is good for everyone, even if they come with a service charge.

The Method Gun, by Austin company the Rude Mechs, is going to the Humana Festival.

Translation for people who aren't theater nerds: The Method Gun is a fucking fantastic play about a bunch of idiot actors, whose guru has gone AWOL, trying to mount a production of A Streetcar Named Desire without Stella, Blanche, Stanley, or Mitch. It's going to a preeminent national new-play festival. Watching the characters be bad actors, watching them be idiots, watching them rehearse, watching them talk about their "method" (which includes a loaded gun) was deeply funny and deeply sad. Theater about theater is usually like writing about writing—solipsistic and dull. But The Method Gun is something apart. And its final five minutes has the best reveal I've ever seen in a theater. Despite my reputation for spoiling, I'm not going to tell you what it is.

God, please, somebody bring this show to Seattle.

Here's a crappy video montage—because filmed performance is usually crappy—of some parts of the show. But it'll give you a taste (I suggest you stop watching after the letter catches on fire):

Last weekend, Andrea Wagner was fired by the board of Giant Magnet, after 13 years as the artistic director of the global children's festival (that adults seemed to like, too).

She's just sent out a statement of, well, confusion as to why she was let go. And appreciation for her fellow workers in the arts trenches.

November 6, 2009

Statement from Andrea Wagner

I am offering this statement, which is accompanied by my heartfelt and sincere best wishes for Giant Magnet and the people involved. It has been reviewed by the Board and staff of Giant Magnet. The length of time it has taken to issue stems from the need in these circumstances to dot one’s ‘i’s and cross one’s ‘t’s.

On Friday, October 30, the President and Treasurer of the Board of Directors of Giant Magnet asked for my resignation. The reason I was given for the Board’s request is that they believe it is the best course for the future of the organization. I was told the decision was ratified by a vote of the Board. No performance related issues were cited. Much as I have tried, I can think of no reason why this course of action was chosen.

It began in a bar, with a journalist (former P-I science writer Tom Paulson) and a playwright (Stranger Genius Paul Mullin) were holding a two-man pity party:

"Paul and I were drinking beer one night," Paulson says. "And I was complaining about the death of the P-I. And Paul said: 'Fuck you, man. You think you've got it tough? I'm a playwright.'" They talked about their dire vocations and the idea—half comic, half tragic—of people turning to theater to learn about current events.

The play is a eulogy (one of the deeper, more nuanced eulogies of the P-I yet), but it doesn't romanticize the paper or the journalists who worked there.

"As I told Paul, don't make us look like heroes," Paulson says. "We were a goofy bunch and we did some things wrong, but we were still important to the community." In one scene, people who worked around the P-I offices talk about the reporters they knew. "They were cheap," a barista says. "They were principled," a florist counters. "The third-floor bathroom was a pain," a custodian offers. "Someone up there had... issues."

Six playwrights (including Scot Augustson of Sgt. Rigsby and His Amazing Silhouettes) interviewed journalists (and the occasional custodian) and wrote short scripts that jump into each other like stories on a front page.

One of the funnier recurring bits, by Dawson Nichols, is called "How to Press a Politician":

Cheryl: Hi, this is Cheryl Gilcrest from the P-I. I have a polite request for some information that should be publicly available.

Tim: Oh, hello, Ms. Gilcrest. Listen, I have an excuse to delay answering your polite request. I have some evasive answers as well, but I'd like to hold off on those until later. Can I get back to you?

Cheryl: That's fine. I'll continue with the polite line and be respectful for a little while longer. But Tim, you should know that I do have a flask of resolve that I'll be sipping at as I wait.

[The conversation intensifies over several phone calls.]

Cheryl: Direct question.

Tim: Insincere confusion about the point of the question.

Cheryl: Restatement of question.

Tim: Off-topic comment.

Cheryl: Same question.

Tim: Deep rumination and troubled contemplation.

Cheryl: Same question.

Tim: Complicated reasons that the question itself can't be addressed as posed.

Cheryl: Carefully. Rephrased. Question.

Tim: Counter question about the future of the P-I with the suggestion that the Pacific Northwest would be better off without so many questions.

Read the full preview of the play—and why it's premiering at North Seattle Community College instead of a downtown theater—here.

David Gassner is stepping down as artistic director of Theater Schmeater after three years of hard work and some good productions (The American Pilot, Maria/Stuart, American Buffalo). Suckers Interested parties are encouraged to apply at TheaterSchmeater.org.

(And if you're wondering what's happening over at Giant Magnet—well, I am too. Nobody involved wants to talk about it.)

At On the Boards.

Lane Czaplinski described choreographer Diana Szeinblum's work as "Crystal Pite meets Constanza Macras on Percocet." But I think he was just trying to push my buttons—he knows how much I adore the way Pite and Macras weld together high technique, pathos, sex, and fun. Both choreographers are aware of their highbrow tradition but aren't afraid to smash a pie into its face. They've got a Duchamp attitude towards dance, but they employ all the tools and energy of the 21st century.

From this video clip, it looks like Szeinblum is riding the same roller-coaster Pite and Macras are on.

(Check out the pants-off dance-off at 0:55.)

From this week's theater calendar:

A work for four dancers and two musicians by Argentina-born (and Pina Buasch-trained) Diana Szeinblum, Alaska is both colorful and cold, a kind of tropical postmodernism. Dancers stomp, curl, bend, and swing like distraught pendulums—and sometimes tear each others' clothes off—to a live score of piano, violin, and laptop. (Brendan Kiley)

Discussion of Abe Lincoln in Illinois at Intiman, with director Sheila Daniels, Erik Lochtefeld (who plays Lincoln), and an Intiman staffer whose name I didn't catch.

Listen here.

Andrea Wagner, longtime director of Giant Magnet (which recently changed its name from the Seattle International Children's Festival) has been fired. A source inside the organization said the board gave no reason nor any previous notification that they were dissatisfied with how she'd been running the organization.

Giant Magnet, which brings musical, vaudeville, and cirque acts from around the world, is nearing its 25th anniversary. Whatever else was going on behind the scenes, Wagner and her team were broad, deep, and imaginative curators. Past acts have included Mirah (of K Records), Les Argonautes (of Belgium), Thomas Mapfumo (the "Lion of Zimbabwe"), Circo Teatro Udi Grudi (from Brazil) and others.

Since most of the acts perform during the week and during the day, The Stranger has always thought fondly of Giant Magnet as the Seattle Unemployed Stoner's Festival.

More information as it comes.

SecondStory Rep, "Redmond’s Only Professional Theatre Company," must raise $80,000 by Dec 31 or it goes kaput.

Like all organizations affected by the recession, SSR has seen a steady and significant decline in audience attendance: 40% decrease in children’s theatre production attendance, and a 30% decrease in Mainstage production attendance. This, combined with diminished arts funding (down as much as 30% area-wide) and decreased corporate contributions (down as much as 50% area wide) has led to a downward cycle of staff cutbacks, deferred salaries and smaller marketing budgets that might normally work to improve audience numbers. At this time, the theatre struggles to meet payroll for the four remaining permanent staff members and contractual performing artists.

The young, pre-Presidential Lincoln in Intiman's production of the play by Robert E. Sherwood, is young, dumb, and full of glum. He's unambitious, nervous around the ladies, sure he'll never come to any good, and morbid in his thinking. (Not how one imagines Sherwood, who was six feet eight, a film critic for Vanity Fair, and a member of the Algonquin Round Table.)

But he's also a tough guy—handy with a gun, an axe, and unafraid to finish a fight another man has started. It's not the bookish, sagacious Lincoln buffed up and trotted around by the Obama campaign. But it was one of his reputations.

Erik Lochtefeld (one of the few out-of-town actors in the production) plays Lincoln as a mix of folksy, wide-eyed credulity punctuated with moments of surprising shrewdness. That was how his detractors described him, and Lochtefeld sometimes tips the scales toward the cartoonish vision of "Lincoln the rail-splitter."

But perhaps after Lincoln's co-optation by the Obama campaign, we need reminding that Abe was a tough guy, a rural sumbitch who worked as a soldier, barkeep, and railroad worker. The Obama image-makers, for a variety of smart political and social reasons, emphasized Lincoln the Dignified Leader and obscured Lincoln the Brawny Beefcake. But the popular image of Lincoln used to be more butch, closer to Carl Sandburg's The Prairie Years and Norman Rockwell's 1965 portrait [above]. This Lincoln has a book in hand, but he's out in the woods with his hand-hewn cabin behind him, carrying a big ax for manful smashing and a plumb bob for stoic equilibrium.

Lincoln used to be a dude. And Intiman's production—a little sprawling, sometimes exaggerated, sometimes goofy—reminds us that some dudes have greatness thrust upon them. recommended

Theater Communications Group has just released a snapshot survey of theaters around the country.

The results are not good.

• Around half of theatres surveyed ended or anticipate ending their fiscal year in a deficit situation;

• For nearly half of the theatres, their year-end result was worse than their original budget (i.e., their surplus was less, their deficit was more or they thought they would break even and instead had a deficit);

• TunnelBug
• The Palace Theater in Gary, Indiana.

In good news, the majority of theaters reported that subscription and single tickets sales were holding steady or rising.

“The overall condition,” said Eyring “is one of cautious optimism.”

I don't know, Eyring. If the budgets are still crashing and the deficits are still rising—despite the hold/increase in ticket sales—theaters around the country will continue to close. Especially this deep into the recession, when a couple years of austerity and planning should've started showing results.

First: We have pretty much ignored Joseph and the Technicolor Dreamcoat at the 5th Avenue Theater (except to note that it was the top-selling album in the UK in 1991, taking the crown from Metallica's Metallica).

But if you're interested—they're currently offering a two-for-one special on tickets for the Halloween shows.

Second: Benaroya Hall was full of the kinds of people who ooh and aah over casting announcements for French productions of Sondheim musicals. (In the men's room before the interview, one young man flapped around the sinks while his friend was still in one of the stalls. "Hurry up!" the flapper cried. "It's Sondchrist—Sondchrist!")

Topics discussed: Divas, the personal charisma of Ingmar Bergman ("I would've jumped out of the window if that's what he wanted me to do"), the trouble/genius of Jerome Robbins ("like all true bullies, if you stood up to him he backed down"), the definition of genius ("someone who has the capacity of endless invention"), the only film adaptation of his musicals he's ever liked (Sweeney Todd, because it was conceived as a cinematic project and not just a documentary of the stage production), the ways in which Oscar Hammerstein was an experimental playwright (Oklahoma!—experimental), etc.

Favorite historical gossip: Ethel Merman in a revival of Annie Get Your Gun (Merman is in her 50s by this point, playing young Annie). At the end of the show, she gives a big speech while the cast stands around listening. One night, after the performance, the loudspeakers summon an actor to Miz Merman's dressing room. He trembles his way back to her room and she accosts him:

"You're doing something during my speech!"

"No, no Miz Merman. I'm not doing anything."

"Yes you are! You're doing something! I can see it out of the corner of my eye—what is it!"

"Nothing. I'm just reacting to your speech."

"Okay," she says, laying down the law. "I don't react to your speeches and you don't react to mine!"

As of 2:42 pm, when I arbitrarily decided to cut off the voting, the Sondheim-ticket-giveaway-o-meter looked like this:

A clear win for beleaguered high-school teacher Rebecca Crawford, right?

WRONG!

With some dramatic, last-minute negotiations, we scored a pair of tickets for each contestant. All the contestants, plus young and enthusiastic Dylan Pickus, are headed for Sondheim.

Slog: Sometimes everybody wins (but not often).™

Young Dylan Pickus, a senior at Kamiak High School, musical-theater geek, and budding Sondheim freak—he's been in Into the Woods twice and owns the entire canon, minus Passion, Follies and Road Show.

Dylan wrote an enthusiastic essay, but it was his older brother Aaron, who wrote in independently, that cinched it:

I am volunteering 100 hours a week to get McGinn elected mayor of Seattle. I saved up just enough to pay rent for a few months and quit my job to volunteer. My little brother's birthday is next month. He is a Sondheim nut, but I can't afford the ticket.

A do-gooder who didn't even want the ticket for himself—he just wanted it for his brother. Brought a tear to my eye.

The fickle hand of Slog will decide who gets the second pair of tickets to watch Frank Rich interview Stephen Sondheim tonight. It was tough to winnow the submissions down to four 50-word essays. Some were sweet, some were sad, some were shrill, and a few were way over the word count. (Disqualified!)

The contenders:

1. Rebecca Crawford:

I have written twelve versions of this story. None seem good enough; I lack Sondheim’s wit, and Rich’s clarity. Honesty will have to do. I'm a teacher and I love my crazy job, but I need a break. I'd love that break to be an evening with my two heroes.

She lives in Seattle and teaches tenth and eleventh grade English in Federal Way. "My students are hilarious, often unintentionally so," she says. "(Kid: 'What Chaucer topic did you get?' Other Kid: 'The Art of Courtly Love.' Kid: 'Oooooh, I *love* her!'"

2. Paul Pearson:

I respond to artistic extensions of the human condition as presented in Sondheim's masterful mesh between the epic and the intimate, the monolithic and the internal, his intertwining of the emotional, carnal and festive. Plus I have some gay friends I really want to impress, and I can't sew.

I didn't know you could impress gay friends with sewing. But I like Mr. Pearson's critical impulse (his was the only essay that leaned in that direction). He lives in Columbia City.

3. Slog regular Rhett Oracle:

Here’s to the gays who disguise -
Don’t they make us wince?
Posting false profiles on
Craig’s List of genital size,
Hoping to convince.
Another boy to come on by,
A boy on whom to squeeze lime,
A snort of meth, a Boodle’s dry,
A snack of priest from Sondheim.
Let’s drink to that.

"Rhett (aka Marc Henri) is a longtime Sondheim junkie," Mr. Oracle writes, "and attended Sunday's 'West Side Story' sing-along that was gayer than pink ink. He writes, cooks, organizes his porn drawer once a month and occasionally appears on various local stages. His only sadness in his life is that his parents did not name him Falcon or Désirée."

4. Anna Pederson:

In two weeks time I will be giving a presentation on the influence of musical theatre on American music, a path well worn by Stephen Sondheim. Frank Rich will ask hard-hitting questions, but the audience really wants to know where Sondheim and McGinn get their hair groomed together.

Anna works as a peanut/cracker jack vendor at Qwest Field, attends Seattle Center Community College—site of the presentation—and hopes to cross the finish line at NYU's graduate program in media, culture, and communications. She wants to be a copy editor.

Take it away, Slog.

The other pair of Sondheim/Rich tickets should go to...

The voting will end at an undisclosed time.