Another Opening, Another Empty Row
Recently I attended a Passover Seder where I read that the sages tell us life is a gift. In the Jewish faith, it is a sin to feel melancholic or dissatisfied with life. We are to embrace and appreciate every moment, to see this life as a miracle. I’ve been working on that, especially as I head towards tonight, opening night of my play, The Richard Nixon Sex Tapes.
Mostly the fact that the play is opening at all has me buzzing with appreciation. But here’s the thing:
According to the 2015 census, Los Angeles has a population of 3.82 million. Of those 3.82 million, precisely 21 have purchased tickets to opening night. At $20 a pop, that’s $420 in the bank, and that’s a minor miracle.
I can’t blame our lack of sales on the fact that my venue does not sell popcorn—only wine, beer and water; the cheese and crackers, grapes, almonds and cookies are free. I can’t blame it on my wife who tweets and Facebooks and writes to everyone she’s ever met in this town. I can’t blame myself. I’ve been “working the crowds,” in ways that make me queasy—I’m no good at asking people for anything.
And I’ve been comforting myself with the notion that maybe 3.82 million Angelenos did not understand they had to purchase tickets online, that maybe a hearty portion of those folks are going to recklessly show up at the door tonight.
And I do get it that the fact that my play is being performed at all is a minor miracle in no small thanks to the big miracle that was my meeting Stephanie Feury and the stellar director Mick Thyer, and a kickass band of actors.
I mean, those actors are being paid something like $7 per performance despite having each put in about 60 hours of rehearsal, and excluding the scores of unpaid hours they’ve spent researching their roles, memorizing lines, breathing life into characters I’d heretofore only imagined. That’s miraculous.
Biggest miracle of all – I did not spend one dollar of my own money on this production—I have a track record of producing my own plays and losing every dollar invested, and then some.
So I’m trying not to focus on the empty seats, eye on the prize, inhaling gratitude for the Creative Collective, the team at SFST that runs the acting school and occasionally produces original works, the team who believe in my play enough to risk their money and to pour their time and talents into the work of an unknown playwright.
Unknown and 64 years old—but embracing life in every way I know how.
I have begun to understand how sage those sages are. With the Passover holiday behind me, I’m eschewing melancholy, choosing instead to give thanks for the First Amendment, the gift of freedom of expression. I’m also saying a quiet prayer that a little before 7:30 tonight 19 Angelenos (or Israelites) might wander up to the box office and fill up the place.
Amen.
