Family Matters

So, I am in a play. An amazingly crafted comedy called Reckless by the playwright Craig Lucas. This play features a strong ensemble cast, good direction, and swell sounds of the season. It is being produced by the company I have made my home in for all of its seventeen years of existence, and I have worked hard behind the scenes to promote what we do--which is bring some of the best theater this side of the Mason-Dixon Line to anyone smart enough to support the arts.

Alas and alack, crowds have not been flocking to this piece. There are, I am certain, several things which prevent patrons from, well, patronizing us. Perhaps the ticket prices are a bit steep for folks in a poor economy during a holiday season whose commercialism somehow continues to grow. Perhaps our small budget and smaller staff did not allow us to promote things with enough aplomb. Perhaps people in these parts just prefer their live holiday performances to feature men in tights, maids a'milking, chestnuts roasting on an open fire. Perhaps plays, especially ones that do not offer immediate name recognition, are just not as easy to draw attendees as big brash musicals. Perhaps people are just too busy or lazy or stupid. Perhaps it is for each individual out there one or two or three of these things.

I am proud of my work in this show as well as that of its standout stars. I would like that work to be appreciated by more people. The feedback has been unanimously positive. We have three great reviews published in various places. We have been getting genuine compliments from the small crowds who have seen us. This is awesome and I am fully appreciative of it.

But theater is not meant to be performed without a live studio audience. That is what rehearsals are for. Once the lights are hung up above with care, our hopes are that the sell-out crowd soon will be there. The jolly ho-ho-hos from a responsive audience are what fuels a comedy. We all study hard and put a lot of thought and time and effort into setting the stage, and designing the sets and lights and sounds and costumes, and memorizing lines and blocking and creating three-dimensional, flesh-and-blood characters from some words printed on a page. It's meant to be seen and heard and enjoyed, and it is a unique experience every night, and the audience is part of that whole experience. Yes we are here to entertain you--but we simply cannot entertain anyone if you aren't there.

This is the second weekend of our run. We have four performances under our belts. And I feel like I directly up to this point have been responsible for four patrons in that time, and really could easily cut that down to two if I consider friends whose only real reason for coming to see this show is to support me. There are more performances to go, and I expect more people will check this out not because they love plays or the arts or live theater but because they love me. And that is awesome.

But you know who will not be there? Anyone actually related to me. And every time there is a production that I am in, I observe the crowds of relatives who come out, often multiple times during a run, to support their son, daughter, brother, sister, father, mother, cousin, grandkids, nieces, nephews. These relatives often strong arm their own sets of friends and extended families to come with them to see little Johnny act his little heart out.

I have a long-standing policy with my immediate family as regards their attendance at my shows. I do not ask them to attend or tell them flat-out not to attend shows I do not thing they will enjoy, because I do not have the kind of family who thinks everything I do is worthy of their support or attention. They will not enjoy seeing me running around in my bra as Janet in The Rocky Horror Show whilst a Sweet Transvestite tramps it up in drag next to me. So, I advise them to skip this one. They will like a more traditional musical in which I knock everyone's socks off singing one of the fastest songs ever written while dressed as a bride as Amy in Company. So, I tell them they would be likely to enjoy this one and it would be swell if they attend. And so they do. Or rather, did. I have been in what feels like 84,000 productions since that one, which was in 2005. And eventually I gave up the dream that even my selective encouragement and discouragement motto, designed to keep all parties comfortable, was even worth chasing anymore.

And every single time a show roles around for me, I think I am over it. I am doing what I want to do the way I want to do it. I am not doing all of this for my parents or sister or cousins or aunts and uncles and grandparents. I am not doing any of it for any of them. And I daresay that they have events which would not be my cup of tea. So we're even Steven. I would prefer they not have to spend money and sit through something that will bore or offend them, only to leave at intermission (as my parents did during my final college show [read: kinda big deal] which was that crazy old Shakespeare romp The Winter's Tale [read I was so shocked that they were not there afterwards that I rushed back to my dorm to call them frantic because I thought something had happened. nope, they thought my character was done for the show and so they didn't want to stick around. Other people's parents actually brought me flowers the following weekend. Nice, but embarrassing.]) or tell me in the lobby afterwards that it was "cute" (standard praise from my mother no matter what tragedy she has just witnessed.) It became at some point just easier to not even play that game. Apparently that point was five years ago.

And yet every single time a show roles around for me, I witness the scads of supporters--willing or not--that show up for their person at a production. For the daughter with no lines, the straight son kissing another man, the sister stealing scenes in a supporting role, the nephew with the lead. And it bothers me in a way where I begin to feel like there is something wrong with me. That I maybe am embarrassing to them as a performer. That these productions I am involved in (the quality of which I strive to be very fair-minded and realistic about) actually are like a visit to the dentist for those who share my gene pool. And when the crowds in general aren't packing in the seats--despite the numerous family members who have attended en masse for at least one cast member every night--I feel terrible, like I am not doing my bit because my family isn't doing theirs. And I really do question everything--my talent, my worth, the way I present myself and my work, all I hold dear as the essence of who I am. It kind of sucks.

I don't even think I am Ms. Thang in this play, either. Again, the years lacking in what I perceive to be familial support of me and the art I do have me fairly solid in my convictions despite the nagging doubts. This is not a must-see for me.

But I think it probably should be, because this is what I do and therefore this is me, and it would be nice to experience the people I come from--who are why I can do what it is I do to begin with--being proud that I am theirs even if they don't agree with it or have passion for it or even get it. It's not going to happen, and given all the above frankly I don't even want it to happen because it's just not how we do.

But I guess it still sucks.