Producing a Show

Producing something worthy of  selling tickets to has always been a somewhat complicated affair (from what I've observed), and I decided in the last year that it was surely a cacophony of lessons that I should be taught. As a member of Sirlesque, I was a part of a production detail which began two Halloweens ago with creating "Geek Peek," a nerdy-themed burlesque show that was a part of a bigger weekend-long event that resembled a neighborhood "con" in Cambridge's Central Square. Since then, I've had only limited roles in producing shows like the nearly-annual "Masculinitease," and taken on half of the production duties of this past fall's "Best of Sirlesque," which went well, judging by the ticket sales alone.

There were a few major hurdles that I'll get into later, but ultimately the show happened and all parties to it were satisfied.

In taking on building and producing my own amateur showcase, I'm trying to learn how to micromanage details and take responsibility for the largest aspects of what makes a show successful. And frankly, it sucks.

Occasionally, you melt down during said show. Not ideal.

Far be it from me to complain about something I love doing, but I figured that if I want to continue in the performance business, there has to be some sort of competency on my part about the individual aspects of making a show happen. I like to think I've learned a few of those in the past year or two.

I tend to be absent-minded about most of the details that come with producing--call me a "bigger picture" type of person if you've got a flair for the ironic. Take for instance my role in the casting decisions that went into producing the first installment of Masculinitease last June. Because none of the six of us could decide how to effectively create a cast of people suited to the show's aesthetic, we ended up going with the worst casting method yet conceived by man--asking for specific act pitches and then picking from the submissions.

This served to do two things:

#1 - It got specific people involved in the process. This is important because burlesque is a business of names. People know one another by their stage names, and if you know someone's stage name when you're discussing casting, it means that performer made a strong impact at one point. It's flattering to get a nod from a producer because you did such an amazing job at a previous performance. That fact alone makes #2 extra shitty.

#2 - It got several performers' hopes up, some who we didn't end up including in the casting. By far, I regret this in particular more than any other gaffe I've made in the burlesque world. When you have a pool of people who are pitching acts and you tell some of them they're in and others they're out, the ones who are not cast are thinking, "Why in fuck's name did you waste my time?"

Yes, they will literally kill you for that.

Of course, it was a group decision, not that of one person--that led to some of our fellow performers getting very annoyed at us. If you're reading this right now and this describes you, I apologize. Growing pains, lesson learned.

Right now, I've decided to cast a specific group of performers in my new show, and these guys are all newcomers to burlesque. That's an easy choice, and one that fits the needs of the show. In my opinion, you should either cast openly using auditions, or you should ask specific people to bring acts. If there's a theme you want, you can ask for specific repertoire pieces, or ask them to create something and show it to you, with the understanding that it will fit what you're looking for.

Though if you can't see it, you may just have to go on blind faith.

I've learned that producing a show means that you automatically take on additional responsibilities that you don't have when you're simply on a setlist. This means organizing tech rehearsal(s), making sure all props and costumes are accounted for, having tech sheets done, having music and sound prepared, getting in early and being the liaison for the venue, handling payment, organizing photography and/or video of the performance, and a whole host of other things I forgot. This adds a layer of stress that it's easy to forget when other people see. I've definitely been guilty of having a hair-trigger in certain situations where I've been starkly unprepared for all the things that needed to be done. And people definitely don't want to work with/for a grumpy-pants, no matter how much they're getting in tips.

"GOD DAMNIT I TOLD YOU TO BRING AN ASSLOAD OF STOVEPIPE HATS, NOT SEVEN! YOU'RE FIRED!!" - Me, probably

On another note, I'm a big fan of paying established performers and back of house techs fairly for their work. One of the big problems with art in general is that there ain't a lot of money to be had for it. It reminds me of why I hated the idea of a future in journalism. At some point, "building your portfolio" just becomes a thinly-disguised way for a producer to mock you.

Producing a show means you're taking on that risk. You're building something which has a responsibility to make a return on investment, so that all parties involved can be fairly compensated. Nobody lives and breathes this principle as hard as my friend and fellow performer Allix Mortis, who is chiefly responsible for imparting that in every production, no matter how small. From content management to communication to compensation to calling it a wrap, Allix is a consummate professional and a mentor for me in this way.

And that all reminds me about the follow up and how important that is. People continue to have gigs in this business because of the hands that get shaken afterwards. Whenever I'm hopped up on adrenaline from a really good show, I always save some of the energy to enthusiastically thank the people that own the venue, the performers who came out, and the people in the seats, because we wouldn't have any chance to do any of this if even one of those groups didn't deliver.

On that note, thank you all for reading this. This blog also would not exist without you reading it. Actually, it still might, but I would be more sad if you didn't.

Pictured; Sad, in public.