Tour Whore, September 2, 2012

On a Starless Night

by Cameryn Moore

A few weeks ago I titled my blog post “What would you do if there were no stars”, wherein I talked about the star system  and its potential problems for some of the major shareholders in the Fringe community: reviewers, audience members, and performers. I thought I would be following up on that piece with something on the flip side, about what the review system would be like and how those shareholders might have to change the way they operate, if there were no stars or pictorial rating systems attached to Fringe reviews. And how that might be better.

I was going to write that piece, but as I kept talking with other artists, in little clumps around tables in beer tents or online in private artist groups, one on one over dinners, I understood what I think we all understand: the star system is not going to change any time soon. Everyone is too invested in the way things are. Newspapers will keep churning out the stars, and no artist is going to NOT use stars when that’s the system: it’s too financially risky. We have a system that flows down certain well-defined channels, and it’s choking out risk.

Hell, when artists create our shows for the Fringe, create our marketing, all of it, we are always thinking about how audiences are going to respond.

So how can the Fringe keep the spirit of experimentation truly alive? Where does change happen?

It happens with audiences. 

It has to. Audiences are the ones that in theory everyone is working for. They are the ones that we all use as reasons for doing things the way we do now. When Fringe festivals flood the field with offerings, expand beyond sustainability level with more shows and more BYOVs (as has been happening most notably in Winnipeg and Edmonton), they cite this as a positive thing, because they are giving audiences a greater selection. When newspapers crank out their arbitrary picks, before a Fringe has even started, and then a few days later start pounding out the reviews with stars and compile them into shopping lists, starting with five-star shows and working down, they say they are doing it to help patrons. 

Hell, when artists create our shows for the Fringe, create our marketing, all of it, we are always thinking about how audiences are going to respond. That may not be a primary consideration, but it’s there, and the more we tour or rely on touring for income, the more that consideration floats to the surface.

So if change is going to happen, if Fringes are going to keep their reputation for theatrical adventures and experimentation, it starts with audiences, and what you really are looking for, versus what we—producers, artists, fringe festivals, newspapers—think you are looking for.

Here are a few things you can do:

Listen to each other. I mean, yes, read up and listen to artists flyering you in a line-up—it’s amazing what you can learn about someone in under 30 seconds—but listen to each other FIRST. Seek out audience-driven feedback and comments whenever you can, whether that’s the Beer Tent Buzz wall in Montreal, or the Jenny Revue in Winnipeg. Read the comments on media-generated reviews (and add your own). Talk to each other in the line-ups in the beer tent, in the restaurants in and around Fringe, in social media. Talk, and LISTEN.

Put your money where your mouth is. I know, it can be scary. But Fringe ticket prices are so reasonable that you’re not losing much, even if you end up going to something that you really hate. Buy in bulk if you’re really risk-averse; the more tickets you buy, the cheaper each one is, so the financial investment in checking things out is lower per show. And look at it this way: if you don’t like something, you’ve found out a little bit more—or maybe a lot more—about your own tastes, about trends in Fringe theatre, about a genre, something you didn’t know before. You can’t learn less.

Reward other people’s experiments. If two shows find some way to cross-promote that you appreciate, and you like the first show of those two that you see, go along with the promotion. For example, in Victoria right now, there are two troupes from Japan in the program, and they are offering $2 off their tickets, if you bring in a ticket stub from the other company’s show. 

Another example: I am going to be pitching a few new ideas to the Fringe—maybe just one or two of the more adventurous Fringes, like Vancouver, or maybe to CAFF as a whole—based around the idea of a mystery grab bag: a 5 or 10-show pass that is randomly generated, for deep discounts. The pass draws from the festival pool at random, but you get to decide which days and times you’ll pick. My Fringe friend Sinead came up with a one-at-a-time random pick, where the patron is offered a chance to purchase a randomly generated ticket for a discount, when purchasing a regularly priced ticket.

Okay, those are fine details, but you get the point. Money talks at the fringe, and where and how you spend your money really ends up determining the way that a Fringe looks. Maybe not this year, or even next, but definitely over time. If audiences only spend money on the five-star shows (whether or not the stars are a result of merit or luck in reviewer, or a combination thereof), then artists have to think way harder before jumping back in next year. We are taking real risks, and we are left high and dry.

Ticket purchases, see, form the river onto which we launch our little paper ships. So ignore the cement-lined channels that try to keep everything contained. Let your choices go out and start little streams off to the side, push fast and hard when you find a show that you love. Keep the water flowing, keep the riverbed wide. Only then will we get to see where that river really goes.

camerynmoore.com