Contagion, Collaboration, and Compromise

I gave up trying to achieve the vision in my head a long time ago. One of the first pieces of advice I give to directors younger than me (which, I'll admit aren't at a premium... but I do get asked from time to time...) is to stop trying to build the show they see in their head. It just won't happen. It won't look like that. Sure, aspects might feel "right" or you might have a specific image you want to tie into a singular moment but trying to build a physical version of the picture you have in your head isn't going to lead to success. It's going to lead to frustration. Cast a vision, make it contagious and build with people you trust. You probably won't be disappointed and the outcome might just be better than what you have concocted in the unrealistic depths of your own genius.

I stand by these words. I believe compromise is an important part of collaboration. I come into a show process with a million and one ideas and I ask for a LOT from my producer. I pull anything and everything I can find to better my team (meaning myself, my directing team, our cast members, and the plethora of volunteers) and their show. But, as is also the case with the professional world, a show has to open. I've cut costumes and set pieces in tech. I've changed keys of songs and I've added my fair share of scene shifts to an actor's plate with little-to-no notice. I expect it now. I understand it's part of the process and my goal has always been and will continue to be to build the best show I can for these kids, their parents and the audience coming to enjoy their work.

But here comes my confession: I get tired, emotionally and literally. I get sleepy and I get teary and I get frustrated and sometimes, I don't fight battles because of these things. Every once in a while, I use my willingness to compromise as a crutch. Please, someone say "amen" in your head right now...

     Zoom in on my most recent tech. Per usual, there was one million things to accomplish before opening night. Here we were a day before opening and one of my teens was clearly distraught following a run through. This particular person has a pretty contagious spirit and a mellow discontent was clearly out of their ordinary. So naturally, I inquired about this lack of euphoria following a solid run-through.
[I should mention-- this kid is an artist through and through. They're passionate and enthusiastic and because of this, I allowed them to have a little more input than I usually extend to some of my students/teammates. They had a small hand in some of the design work for the production and threw out a handful of their own ideas in the staging process. It was collaborative, unique, and awesome!]
     This kid was honest right off the bat. They were confused on why I had made a choice (or really, didn't make a choice) about a certain design element that DIRECTLY effected them. (It wasn't like they just didn't like some scene I blocked.) When they asked why we settled where we did on this element, I hastily gave a cliche answer. I ensured them they looked and sounded great and where we had landed, while not my ideal final product, wasn't hurting the production. I honestly just didn't take the time to make the adjustment. But, they had. This kid had a solution, a solution they were proud of and they had spent time and energy on. This was art to them and while they were sharing it with me, I was being careless with that honor. "I know it doesn't really matter," they said "but I worked hard on it and it matters to me." Frick. Wow. There I was building this story with this ARTIST as well as 70 other young artists and I was ready to toss this detail aside, something completely realistic and within my realm of power. Why? Because it had been a long week? This art mattered. It mattered to them. It mattered to me.

We parted on fine terms. I went home and thought about it. I came up with a game plan. We made the change. Nobody panicked. Nobody died. Nobody was livid with me for my ridiculous request. The show was better because of it. Because, one of our team members had the courage to tell their leader that OUR work mattered to them and it could be better. (Getting to tell them we were making the change was pretty fun too...) It woke me up a little. I'm starting some ew projects with the same open mind I preach to those younger than me, but my drive for excellence had a nice like recharge. I'm excited about the stories to come and the things I get to build next, especially with the kids and teens I get to build them with because they make it better, because it matters to them.