Moments we carry
I loved the process of creation. I loved the rehearsal process. I loved that moment in theatre when the audience and the artist are in dialogue, even though only one of those participants is talking during a show. There is a lot to be said about the creation of theatre and how I grew to be the artist I am today. But it is not only the times I was creating something that helped me grow as an artist. And it is not just the classes and teachings. Although both have affected me greatly, there is a whole other part of theatre that stays with me: the relationship between artist and audience member, and the bond between audience members in one moment that will never be recreated.
The Invention That Changed Documentary Theatre Forever
Imagine walking into a theatre in 1936. There's no playbill with a neat synopsis. No curtain speech explaining what you're about to see. You take your seat – probably for free, or maybe you paid a quarter – and the lights go down.
Suddenly: Projections flash across the stage. Headlines. Photographs. Government statistics made enormous. Voices shout from every direction. Actors embody data, become witnesses, and transform into the machinery of policy itself. You're watching the news become visceral, immediate, felt.
Welcome to the Living Newspaper. And in 1936, it was unlike anything American audiences had ever experienced.
When the Government Decided Artists Deserved to Eat
In 1935, saying "I'm an actor" often meant "I'm starving."
By the time Franklin D. Roosevelt took office in 1933, the entertainment industry had collapsed alongside everything else. Broadway saw half its theatres go dark. Vaudeville circuits shut down completely. Film studios slashed payrolls. Thousands of trained actors, directors, designers, playwrights, and technicians found themselves unemployed with no prospects.
Then, Roosevelt did something unprecedented with his Works Progress Administration. The massive jobs program employed millions building roads, bridges, and schools across the country. But Roosevelt went further. He included artists.
Harry Hopkins, FDR's advisor and architect of WPA relief programs, put it bluntly: "Hell, they've got to eat just like other people."