Open-source Theatre

Open-source Theatre

Coming soon to San Diego, California
Swarming with local writers, directors, designers and actors.

What is "open-source"?
Usually referring to the practice of providing access to the source code for software, allowing for manipulation and programming by users, "open source" is a state of mind that relies heavily on the collected ideas of a large, non-hierarchical group of individuals. Open source projects can thrive only through transparency, integrity, and dedication to the task at hand.

So what is an open source theatre?
Primarily, we work with sources that have no copyright. Ideally, those sources (text, music, dance, video) are created by our team. On a deeper level, the open source creation process then allows for an incubation period where we get to know the material. Readings, workshops and exercises are utilized, and every idea is explored for inspiration.

Where do you perform?
Wherever and whenever we can. Living rooms, coffee shops, public parks, and even (sometimes) legitimate theatres.

What should the audience expect?
To be surprised, inspired, pissed off, rotated, adjusted, malfunctioned, rebooted, rewritten and rewired.

Patrons should expect a story-telling experience relying heavily on the generous talents of the creative team. we place an emphasis on innovation, team work, and a steadfast belief that theatre plays an important role in our community.

And with that, a theatre is born.

rizzoraab@gmail.com

it's not much

she used to tell me, in her god-voice, that it would always be just a puddle-jump away. and tonight, as i stood staring up at rain clouds in a world that was the opposite of on fire, i understood what she had always been trying to tell me. between me and my car, me and my radio, me and my warm bed, was a ferocious, man-eating, black-as-asphalt puddle.

lines are written to be spoken.

we're all only sailors on an upside-down sea
where we'll all land is a mystery to me
only that there will be hope
and something to taste
and monsters to wrestle
and chances to take.

two nothings and a rumor

boom boom boom.

and then nothing.

and then, again: boom, boom, boom.

it was thunder in rapid succession, like he'd never heard it before. but it wasn't supposed to happen like that, was it? it should have been a surprise, an interruption to the rain tapping on the cold window like dead fingers, a proclamation of the inability of man to control the rhythm of the skies. but there it was, and again. and again.

boom, boom, boom.

---------------------

on the edge to the point that she could feel the sand crumbling under her feet, elizabeth contemplated the enormity of the sea, which shot straight up into the black night, rode round the world like a sopping wraith, and crashed on the shore beneath her, swallowing up sand and rock like a terrible hungry whale. "two similes in the same sentence," she thought. "if i don't do it now, i never will." outer space sunk to earth like a heavy example of every twist in every science fiction story she had ever read. like the decayed teeth of all the god's that ever existed. "fuck," she thought, stepping away from the edge. "that was two more." her brain spun like a galaxy, pain exploding into beautiful clouds, and happiness warming the tip of her nose.

she never saw him watching, waiting with a blanket and coffee and a story about a girl and the sea. he sighed and turned away. she'd be back, and he'd be waiting.

---------------------------------------

without the ability to push air past vocal cords, how can a ghost speak, sing, or howl?

(boy) and girl

(a list. not groceries. ok. maybe a few groceries. but only the necessary items for survival.)

survival?

(yes.)

emotional survival?

(no. physical survival. but, since you mention it, i'll throw something on there to make me happy, too.)

to make you happy?

(yes. to make me happy. what would make you happy?)

those miniature peanut butter cups.

(okay. i can add those, as well.)

what makes you happy?

(reed's extra ginger beer.)

beer? yech!

(it's not really beer. it's good for tummy aches.)

oh. and what else?

(tortillas. and black beans. and cheese.)

you're going to survive. i can tell.

(and i'll make sure that you do, too.)

i'll survive better than you. i'll swim laps around you.

(that would make me happy.)

it's okay to sing along. i don't mind.

(i don't want to.)

i don't care. you don't sing enough. if we survive, you'll sing more.

(ok. i do want to. i can't remember the words and i'm never in tune.)

it's ok. i'll help you. we'll sing together. there are lots of songs for two people to sing.

(that sounds nice. i'm putting it on the list.)

did you remember the blankets?

(i brought two.)

mmm. the quilt. it smells like you.

(this one is warmer. it has fleece on the inside.)

it smells like the ocean. it's sandy.

(if we put them together, we'll be warm enough.)

you know what?

(what?)

i think i'm going to like this apocalypse.

rant for theatre artists

There are currently THREE major development jobs open at theatres in the San Diego area. Two are Director positions, which means the ideal candidate would be able to lead the development (fund-raising) efforts for the entire institution. The third is responsible for corporate donations at that theatre. All three are well paying, full-time jobs, offering an array of benefits. Why is this important, and why am I writing about it?

Development departments have always been important to not-for-profit theatres- they can only afford to run their seasons with ample support from donors. It sounds quaint and non-alarming: an individual, family, or business decides that they would like to give some money to their favorite local theatre. They enjoy seeing shows there, and they realize that ticket sales don't cover the costs of putting on a play. (Musicals cost even more.) And in all cases, the artists employed by the theatres appreciate every donation that comes in, whether it be for $5 or $5 million. It is the downside of lacking a true national theatre program, and we will all have to deal with it throughout our theatrical careers. But at what point does a fund-raising development department become more important than, say, a theatre's education department? How about the artistic department? There is no way that a development staff is more valued by CEO's and managing directors than the artistic staff. Right?

We need to be worried. As artists, whether we are writers, actors, directors, designers or teachers, we need to be worried that the development departments of local theatres (LORT and non-Equity alike) are growing at a pace unparalleled in the history of theatre, despite a recession that is starving the theatre business as a whole. Individuals who may have been inclined to give small donations (under, let's say, $1,000) are double-checking their checkbooks. The small donations are evaporating. I should know. I can't even match my rather anemic 2008 donation of $15 to the Magic Theater in San Francisco. So where does a theatre's development department go to raise enough to cover the loss of 50 $1,000 donations? You guessed it. Corporations and the mega-rich.

Why would a corporation or wealthy individual give to a theatre? It is not an investment; they will not see any returns from ticket sales or merchandising. There are three answers to this question. The first, and hopefully (but probably not) the most accurate answer is that they felt that it was the right thing to do. They love the theatre, and they understand it's important role in a community. They just want to keep the curtain up. Oh, how I wish it were so simple. The second reason: taxes. Deductions. Sure, one could argue that it is great that money that would be given to the Government is given to local theatres instead. But with those donations, the control of the artists is taken away. Board members are elected, usually based on donation status. Those board members choose the upper echelon of theatre management, namely CEO's and Artistic Directors. We would have to be blind not to notice that corporations and wealthy donors OWN the American theatre. They have a heavy hand in who is in charge, which shows they choose, and who they choose to direct, design and perform them. Which brings me to reason number three: They donate to have control. A chairperson of the board at a LORT theatre has an astounding amount of influence and control. Their names are everywhere. Lobbies, stages, administrative buildings, and plazas are all "named" to pay tribute to donors. If you attend a play at the Old Globe in San Diego, for instance, you first cross Copley Plaza (with the requisite donor paver stones), have a latte at Lady Carolyn's Pub, located beneath the Donald and Darlene Shiley Terrace (porch) within the Karen and Donald Cohn Education Center (which also houses the Harvey and Sheryl White Theatre). Or, if you can afford it, you might join the Lipinsky Family Suite. When the lights flash, you head through the Jane and Victor Ottenstein Lobby, and sit before the Donald and Darlene Shiley Stage at the Old Globe Theatre. At the Conrad Prebys Theatre Center. Got all that? Don't worry. If you forget, there is ample signage to remind (or confuse) you. Oh, and for you curious creative types out there- none of the above designations refer to artists, past or present. All donors and board members. Why not name it the Craig Noel Theatre Center? He was, after all, responsible for keeping the theatre going for seven decades, directing countless shows, and spear-heading a rebuilding effort (which demonstrated the positive effects of development) after the original building burned down in the late 70's.

How could raising money for theatres be bad? It's not. But it is dangerous when developmental achievements becomes more important than artistic achievements. When names on buildings mean more than the art being created within. When tearing down a historic theatre that audiences adored to build a shiny new space (to the tune of $70 MILLION, during a "recession") becomes more important than keeping your full staff employed at competitive wages. But how do you raise that $70 million without promising the super-rich a place to put their names?

What happens to theatres when development and marketing staff begin to out-number artistic and education staff? Money becomes the measuring stick of success. Not community education, not production of challenging works, not artistic fulfillment. LORT theatres begin to gamble on Broadway success (a whole different rant), CEO's drive luxury sedans, and literary managers get laid off.

My challenge to donors (who will never read this): you are willing to donate millions to have your name in lights; are you willing to donate millions to save jobs, and forgo the opportunity to have your name splattered on our artistic institutions?

My challenge to theatres: you are willing to hire young, bright people to pry money out of the stingiest of hands; are you willing to hire young, bright people to maintain the integrity of your productions?

A theatre that does not, at every opportunity, challenge and educate it's community is no better than a giant, manually-powered television set. As a writer, I would much prefer to have my shows staged off-off Broadway, far from LORT, using minimal sets and costumes, rather than relinquish control of my stories to the hands of the CEO's and Board members of the big regional houses. They take all the magic out of the theatre.

church-window memory #1

we knew the tornado was coming,
we could see it hiding
in the green sky
outside the cafe.

but in august,
the rain is warm
and the wind moves
like dancers

so
we waited
and drank italian sodas
at our table
by the window.

the easiest thing to find

"sometimes i've loved too much in a short amount of time," he said. "a tiny amount, an itty bitty amount, far too small for so much love." he was always thinking in the time of rocks, the geologist. and rocks don't fall in love.

"rocks don't fall in love?"

"no."

"i think you're wrong. i think they do. it just takes them longer. a long, long time."

"but he wanted scientific proof, geological evidence."

"scientific evidence of love in rocks?"

"yes."

the mysterious sounds of skeletons

here's to that. it's important. writing on walls that aren't ours. keeping out of cornfields because they are sprayed with ***** that we don't want on our bodies. trying to count but being constantly interrupted by how many there are. listening to carl sagan, getting stoned, and realizing that he talks just like a muppet. reading fantasy novels for hours in the bathroom because sometimes you forget where you are. never changing the strings on your guitar. wearing your booth when you know there'll be puddles. using your fingers and your toes. wanting badly to discover a cave in your backyard.

i am a battlefield archaeologist. i specialize in the ancient wars kindled by beauty and killed by ingenuity.

i am a thick-skinned arborist. i tie myself to trees i like, and in turn i get all sticky with sap.

i am an under-the-bed astronaut. in that great unexplored space i find wormhole socks and clusters of galaxies.

i am a foul-mouthed writer of children's books. if their parents knew what words didn't make the cut, they wouldn't be able to stop laughing.

i am a cold river rope swing. my braided body holds you up in the sky, but if you don't let go you'll crash back to earth.

i am not much. just a little bit of everything. just like you.