Tag Archives: profanity

Peace? I Hate The Word (But not as much as I hate you, dickhead)

9 Feb

Let us, for a brief moment, gather our thoughts and discuss with frankness the state of relationships within our beleaguered little theatre industry. Perhaps “industry” is the wrong term. It conjures up images of factory lines and products instead of attempts at artistic expression. Shall we say “world”? Our theatre world? Jesus, that recalls some fantasy realm where knights with impossible names rescue maidens with impossible necklines. We can’t say “within South African theatre”, because the differences, in aesthetics and practice, seem different from provincial capitol to provincial capitol. I must admit that I have no idea of the inner workings of theatre being done in Durban and Pretoria. I won’t even venture near those cities if there isn’t a paycheck attached to the reason. (I’m fully aware that my ignorance is showing beneath my unformulated ideas, thank you very much.) It happens upon me now that I should speak about what I know, or what I think I know: The Cape Town Theatre Industry World Place Village Hamlet Bumfuck Jerkwater One Horse Town Whatever You Goddamn Wanna Call It. Not concise enough for you? Fine, but let’s move on lest the cobwebs gather and lethargy sets in.

Ah Christ fuck, where was I? Relationships. There you go. The Cape Town theatre community (fucking nailed it), like so many other enterprises, of an industry standard or sub-industrious, is built by and functions through relationships. As a writer and theatre-maker I would like to say that the work is paramount and integral to the momentum of theatre. This, however, is wish-fulfillment tantamount to retardation. To use, and possibly bastardize an old maxim, it’s not what you know, but who you know. If I was a cynic, I would it put it more succinctly and say that it’s about the cocks you’ve sucked and the ones you haven’t. But I am not a cynic, and I will not stoop to such a level of inane explicitness. If one has fostered a relationship with a person or persons with whom you would like to work, then the chances are in a community as tiny as ours, that would happen. Or at least attempts would be made.

But, here’s the “but”. The practice of making connections has become a vertical line from which nothing travels down, only up. This, of course, is not new to any system functioning as a hierarchy. The boss doesn’t know your name, but you sure as shit need to know his name and your goal becomes for him to know your name. Where this becomes a problem for us, you and I dear reader, is that our community is tiny. Everyone already knows everyone else’s name. We’re all connected like the characters from a euro-centric three hour long drama about the search for truth, happiness and oh fuck I just fell asleep. The name game, the relationship ship (what the fuck, Loo?), has been mutated because of the diminished size of the playing field/ocean battle grid (enough with the metaphor, dickhead). The new rules state that you may know someone, but that you may un-know them depending on whether they’re proving themselves useful to you and your plans for global domination.

The executives who sit atop the theatre structures, like warlords surveying their fiefdoms, have to contend with bottom lines and need a secure investment to keep their tenuous positions. It really bodes well for a theatre-maker if one of these House Masters likes you and takes an interest in your work. Perhaps you have to give a performance that impresses them, or write a piece that makes them and their arm candy laugh their pretty little heads off, or you have to direct/produce something that makes an elephant shit sized amount of money for someone else. The theatre bosses, like most people in positions of power, want what others of their ilk have. Johnny Stealmuch has a Ferrari, so Cindy Rapist-of-Good has to have one as well. Substitute a Ferrari for the next hot production, and you’re close to knowing how this works. If the one can’t have what the other has, then a pursuit for a competing production begins (a Jaguar, perhaps). On occasion the two Dons will put aside their turf war and collaborate on a production.

Stuck between the two, sweaty, heaving bodies is the artist (or the production, if you expand it to include those involved in the process). Their position may resemble the cat’s meow, but there is now a possible negative outcome to this arrangement. Let’s say little Dolly Theatre-maker made her name at a different theatre, ruled over by another tiny, foot-stomping lord. That lord now hates Dolly for spreading her wings beyond his reach. As do that lord’s frequent collaborators. Having felt Dolly was one of them, they now hate Dolly for calling someone else Father. Dolly, whilst walking in the woods contemplating her fate, comes across another problem. The critic who praised her has nothing but contempt for the Master in whose house she now has residency. She knows that the critic will utterly destroy her production in the press, calling her a one trick pony and a flash in the pan, instead of focussing his rage on the person for whom it is intended. The critic cannot complain about the theatre management, instead he ruins Dolly’s play in the hope that Johnny Stealmuch will feel a slight tickle in his ballsack.

And what of those under the theatre-maker’s care (actors, crew, etc.)? Are they subject to the same institutionalised abuse suffered by their fearless leader? In certain cases, yes. If the transgression, real or not, has been big enough, then an actor’s relationship with a writer, a director, or even someone on a management level could make them untouchable to possible future employers. Eg. “You worked for Dolly and Johnny Stealmuch, so how could I trust you to put my fever dream of a script in your hands?” On occasion this swings the other way. An actor could be such a burden on a production because of his behaviour in the past or his personal feelings about management, that the theatre-maker instantly has a problem when choosing to collaborate with him. The play may be perfect, the cast may have magical chemistry and the budget may be balanced enough to ensure a decent production and satisfy the financial needs of those involved, but the mere presence of this hated actor derails the production and sets back any thought of negotiation. I use “actor” as an example, but this could be a director, writer, designer, production manager or investor. The point is that because of a fractured relationship and an incident resting uncomfortably in the past, the work has become the least important item on the agenda.

Perhaps it behooves us to move beyond what has worked, if what has worked has resulted in a lower standard of work. For once I won’t pontificate on what makes bad work, but I will rather state that sometimes it’s because of our need for relationships, the practice of oiling the gears with friendship and loyalty, that the work suffers from lowered standards. The opposite (contempt, back-stabbery and motherfuckery) won’t get us far and might only serve to stroke our victimised egos. So, is it not in our best interests to find a middle ground that is neither hot nor cold, but just right? You don’t need to know someone to decide you hate them, but you also don’t need to like them in order to work with them.

If the focus is the work, the little play born from the muck, birthed through blood and sweat and tears and terror, then who the fuck cares how much we like or dislike one another?

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