Training Wheels

Over at Joe's blog, he has an interesting  post up wondering what to do with the pre-show music.

Should we create a preshow cue? The Goodman and (to my knowledge) Steppenwolf generally don’t. Many storefront companies do. What’s the difference? Is preshow sound a vital element of the show that eases the audience into the world we’re trying to create? Or is it something the designer works hard on that the audience only peripherally acknowledges as they stow their purses, talk about their kids or their jobs or their friends’ love lives and forget to switch off their celphones? Are we insecure about bringing the audience into our space and then leaving them in silence that we know darn well they’re going to fill by themselves?

That and Nick's recent post got me thinking about how my thoughts have changed over the years. As a sound designer, I used to methodically plot out a pre-show "experience". I tried to use that time to set up the world of the play, give a gateway into the moods, themes, time periods of the play. I spent hours on each show working on preshow music.

One show I did with the old company had the first act set around a race track. Not only did the sound have to be believable, but the actors had to react to the sounds of cars whizzing around the track and react to that. They'd be in the middle of the conversation and stop to run up to the fence and "see" the cars passing by. No small feat in a forty seat storefront.

It was set in small town America in the 1970's. I spent a lot of time putting together music for the pre-show. For weeks I poured over music that would fit the era, themes, characters etc. and sometimes directly juxtapose sonic moods with characters etc. You know, nerdy designer stuff.

I don't think like a director, or a writer, a sound designer, a scenic designer, a lighting designer, a costumer--you get the picture. I do them (and I do them well), but I don't tend to compartmentalize genre's and hats as part of the process.  Granted there are different tools with each of them, but when I hear sound, I see light. When I visualize scenic design, I feel clothes. I build worlds with the tools I'm using at the time.

With The Time Trial, I did set, lights and sound design. Not that unusual for me to do more than one. But that show was different in that lights and set were minimal--skeletal at best. The sound created the world that the actors played in. It wasn't the greatest show in the history of civilization. Nothing new or ground breaking. But it was a good story with a really good cast, and audiences really seemed to like it.

Opening night I had an epiphany. After the pre-show played and lights went down, there was the usual "hope this isn't a train wreck" clutching breath from the crowd. The lights came up and the show got off, the first sound cue went--a car starting on the backside of the track, coming around the corner, and flying by "in-between" the actors and the audience. I nailed it. In that few seconds, everything that had preceded it was erased and the world was established. (It was one of the few times as a designer that getting props for the design in reviews wasn't a sign of trouble.)

Once the actors were off, nothing that had preceded it mattered. The hours I spent on pre-show music were erased.  It got me thinking about training wheels. Often we spend so much time creating environments for pre-show, setting up extra rooms, bringing people through back doors, doing everything we can to immerse audiences in the "world of the play"--so they'll forget they're watching a play.

As I had the epiphany I thought of another show I had seen. To this day it is the most complete theatrical experience I've had. However, the actors were selling concessions during pre-show and intermission in full costume. Audiences were mingling with cast and crew. There were no barriers, and yet the second the show started you were fully in the world of the play.

It's something we do as a rule now. I reject the notion that if actors aren't hidden away in some cramped room in the back until the lights go up audiences won't believe them.  I think we can all do our casts and crews a favor, and let them out of the basement (or the tiny room in the back that has more people than square feet.)

It's taken some time, but I've been able to convince other folks of that as well. I think it actually helps the experience for audiences, being able to see the actors as people before the show. The more we can do to make people feel welcome and at ease the better. For pre-show music, we just play music. Low, in the background--folks can listen if they want, or talk to people around them.

I think of pre-show as akin to batting practice. Folks are out and about before the show warming up, talking etc, but when game time comes they're ready to go. In the bottom of the ninth, if Zambrano is pitching to Pujols, no-one cares what happened before the game started. I think all of the stuff that is done in pre-show to immerse the audiences in the world or environment or world of the play amounts to training wheels. Sure it can be nice, but if you can't ride without the training wheels, you aren't doing your job. If you're in the climax of the play and anyone in the audience is thinking of pre-show you've got some serious issues with the production.