I was walking past a woman on the way to Second City the other day who was taking pictures of a building across the street. Naturally, I stared at the building , because…y’know…if someone’s taking a picture of a building, there’s probably something pretty damned special about that stupid building. Except I don’t think there was, at least not on the surface.
The point of this story isn’t the building, it’s the woman. Her attention provoked me to give my attention, and that got me to thinking about what actually causes fame. By the time you reach the early middle stages of your creative development, I think we all come to the realization that most of the people who are famous aren’t necessarily any better at the craft than anyone else, nor are they somehow more deserving. They’ve simply figured out (or, maybe more accurately, their team has figured out) how to turn one person giving a shit into millions of people giving a shit.
When you think about it in this sense, that fame is a consequence of attention and not vice versa, it seems like a much more attainable goal. We lose sight of the fact that our goal, especially in the early stages of our creative careers, isn’t to be loved by everybody, it’s to be loved by one person at a time. If you’re doing your job right, those people will attract others by virtue of the fact that you’ve warranted their attention. Like the building.
But here’s the thing about that stupid building: when I looked at it, I didn’t understand why I should care. This woman cared, but the building wasn’t coming through. There was a thing they did on The Today Show a few months ago where they took one of the NBC Pages, gave her a professional stylist and then sent her out on the streets with a fake entourage including a fake papparazzi, a fake manager, stuff like that. And even though people didn’t know who she was, they assumed she was someone famous and wanted her autograph or her picture and then asked people around them who exactly she was. What that can tell us, and what my fascination with this building might tell us, is that we’re willing to give the initial benefit of the doubt to something that other people are noticing, but that window is very limited, and you have to be prepared to take the focus and run with it once it is gifted to you. It’s not the job of the person standing across the street taking your picture to continually play advocate for you or your work.
That doesn’t mean it’s your job to wave your arms around and attract attention. Desperation will close that window before you even get the chance to prove yourself, because we perceive desperation as an indicator of lack of quality (i.e. “why do they need to do all this?”). And yet, you still have to be a shrewd self promoter to get initially noticed. So what’s the middle ground? Or is there one? Do you either have to do good work quietly and wait for it to be noticed, or do you yell and scream and risk alienating people to come look at your good work and hope that they can push past the tactics?
One of my challenges for the work I produce this year is to build in ways that encourage people to stare. That’s why I keep pushing this alternative venue thing…if people are looking in and see something going on, that’s going to make others look in, and so on and so forth. It could mean outdoor theatre, spontaneous plays that pop up in the park and draw a crowd. A walking production that pulls people in slowly, Pied Piper style. And at the end of the production, how do you get people to continue looking at others looking, even after they’ve gone home? Maybe that’s merchandise…maybe it’s a shirt with some art from your show, maybe it’s a punch card that you give them to give to a friend to encourage them to come back. I don’t know, I’m brainstorming here.
All I’ll say is that…as you’re building your next creative venture, take time to build in ways to let people stare…and even more than that, find some way to involve the people who are staring at the other people. Don’t let those folks pass by, because each one of them represents ten more who will follow close behind.
On that note, I still don’t know what was so special about that damned building.
I think tonight may have been a weird kind of turning point night, despite the fact that it also may not have been and I’m just assigning more import to it than I should. But tonight was a night where I did a show in a space that’s not meant for it, missing half of the cast and without an audience to speak of…and still came out on top. Here’s the story:
We’re in the midst of our Level 5 Conservatory shows at Second City. For those that don’t know, we do an 8 week run of a sketch show as the final piece of our study at Second City. Last week was the first week of the run, and we were told not to get our hopes up because first weeks have about a 70% cancellation rate. Now why would they cancel a class show for a class that we’re paying for? Because they haven’t sold 25 tickets for the night. Kind of a ridiculous system, in my opinion, but I don’t make the rules (I’ll just change them when I open a theatre of my own someday).
But last week we were fine, had a good show with maybe 30-35 people in the crowd. Not huge, but we’re just testing material right now, so who cares. Tonight, though, we got canceled. This wouldn’t have been such a bad thing had my girlfriend Amanda’s parents not been in town to see the show (she’s also in my class, just to clarify). They weren’t here JUST for this show, but still…they were excited to see it, she was excited to show them, we all wanted to do a show, stuff like that. So when pulled the plug on us at about a quarter till the first group was supposed to go up, it was a pretty severe disappointment.
Except that wasn’t the end of it. There were maybe 6 or 7 of us milling about, having just heard the news, and it dawned on us that just because we were canceled didn’t mean we couldn’t still do a show. Except, of course, all of the rooms in the Training Center were booked with classes or rehearsals, and attempts to gain access to the empty theatre for a private showcase were not met with much approval. So we found a reception area, with a stairwell. We sat down Amanda’s parents (and her aunt, who was also in town) on the stairs. We quickly ran over the running order, cutting the few pieces we couldn’t do with our smaller numbers and swapping in people to play parts as needed. And then we did a fucking show.
Was it our tightest show? Who gives a shit. Our blackouts were coming in the form of yelling “blackout,” our sound cues were coming out of my tiny iPhone speakers. We played the cards we were dealt. And yet I still came out of that mini-not-a-real-show feeling better than I have about a lot of recent performances because it just felt fun. It was as much just for us as it was for them, and it reminded me of why I’m doing anything creative to begin with…to do what I like to do and hope that others find something fun in it.
I think we all reach a certain point in our development as creators where it kind of stops being fun…you hit a plateau for awhile, where you’ve been drowning in classes and mediocre performances and being in your head and fighting to find an audience for so long that it’s all you can focus on, and you lose sight of enjoying the thing that you set out to do to begin with.
I want the opportunity to do more shows like tonight. I want to be able to do a show without the pressure of needing it to change the world. I want to be able to do a show where I’m not on the line to pay back the theatre for an hour of space, or where I need more than three people to see my work to feel validated about it. I want to remove the limitations of accessibility that I’ve put onto my stuff and just do what feels right, and if other people don’t dig it, maybe I don’t need them to as much as I did before.
My next show’s about a space station. Genre stuff. Not a ton of commercial appeal, I’d imagine. But I’m going to do it however the hell I want to, in a space that’s not meant for theatre, and I’m going to blow the roof off of it. I encourage you to do the same, because as backwards as it sounds, I think I’m more inclined to come see your show if I know you don’t need me there to make it the best thing you’ve ever done. And while I don’t need you to, I do hope you stop by.
We’ll find a comfortable stairwell for you.
I'm a comedy writer, performer and creator based in Chicago, IL. I create websites, do experiments and generally have experiences that I use to make things with. Also, I love you very much. That's not a lie, I legitimately love you. If you asked me in person, I'd say the same thing, because I'm committed to the love that I feel. I dare you to challenge me.
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