LAST DECEMBER a curious offer arrived in the mail from the Chichester Festival Theatre. It was an invitation to join something called a “commissioning circle: a chance to peek into the very heart of our work and know that you are an intimate and valued part of our theatre family”.
Never mind the luvvy jargon, I was intrigued.
On a rainy Saturday morning, just before Christmas, a dozen other hopefuls, chosen from long-time supporters of the theatre, sat dwarfed in the front row of the huge Festival Theatre auditorium while Ruth Mackenzie and her fellow artistic director Martin Duncan outlined their plan.
The idea came from Sarah Mansell, of the theatre’s development team, and emerged from a brainstorming session. A local newspaper editor had chaired a public meeting with a theatre full of residents from around the city. Everyone was concerned about the future of their theatre. Many spoke of their yearning for the golden days of the first director, Laurence Olivier, and his ensemble in repertoire when “innovation had dominated the summer festival”.
Some seductive siren voices urged the new team to sign up stars, “big familiar names from film and television”, and to offer a programme of “tried and tested plays”. The inelegant phrase “bums on seats” hovered in the air.
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The triumvirate of artistic directors, Ruth Mackenzie, Martin Duncan and Steven Pimlott, had recently been appointed to run the CFT, having worked closely together at the Nottingham Playhouse. They inherited a theatre which had celebrated 40 years of distinguished, but sometimes rocky, existence. Originally it had been the dream of a far-sighted local optician, Leslie Evershed-Martin, who died ten years ago. He ended his book The Miracle Theatre, written in 1986 to celebrate the theatre’s first 25 years, with this ringing call to arms “(the theatre) needs to have frequent injections of new ideas and inventions. No dust and no cobwebs.”
Sure, the CFT boasted a proud and risk-taking history. But now it was also almost broke and facing the darkness.
The three directors opted for adventure and eschewed the seductive option of a celebrity solution. They promised their main funders, including the Arts Council and the local authorities, that they would strengthen bonds with the local community. They reintroduced the resident ensemble with 75 actors and musicians living and working all summer in Chichester and eight plays in repertory. They chose a linking theme, Out of This World, which has brought fairies, gods, devils and magicians “to cause magic and mischief on our stages all summer long”.
They refused to compromise artistic judgment; they sought out risks by commissioning new and “difficult” plays.
The new commissioning circle was just one of the initiatives. Commissioning circle members, in return for a chunky cash donation, were invited to briefings from the creative team, attended rehearsals, saw scripts in draft and rewrites, and were given tickets for the first night and the party afterwards. Ruth said: “It is something for busy people who are nuts about the theatre and want to understand the journey from page to stage.”
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Two productions were selected for the pilot, Seven Doors by Botho Strauss and The Master and Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov.
Eleven people signed up and chose their productions. I chose the Master. Bulgakov was new to me, but the adaptor Edward Kemp is steeped in his work. For almost two hours he gave our group a tutorial about the background, the author’s uneasy relationship with Stalin, and how the Devil needed Christ to exist because without Him, the Devil’s own existence was in doubt. I took a copy of the book home. Two draft scripts followed by post. It is easy and fascinating to read, but impossible to see how it can be staged, though there have been over a dozen attempts in English, plus radio productions. The cast includes a talking cat, a flying pig, time shifts between Jerusalem in Pilate’s time and 1930s Moscow — where a tram decapitates an editor, the devil’s magic show at the town hall ends in chaos, the audience is showered with roubles and ladies lose their clothes. It was only when Edward Kemp explained that the director, Steven Pimlott, is a pinball addict who enjoys spending hours in arcades that I could imagine how the play could work — flicking from scene to scene with the aid of flippers, bouncing from one light centre to another.
The two-hour session with Pimlott a few weeks later was a revelation. He is a successful opera producer; he launched Bombay Dreams in London and later on Broadway. He claims never to arrive at first rehearsal with any idea of how the play should go. He likes to talk to the actors, the designer, everyone concerned, until gradually the shape of the production emerges. This collegiate approach challenges the actors. They have to work out for themselves what the play is about and how to play it, without direction, but then they have to convince the director that they are right.
Pimlott says he doesn’t like confrontation with actors. He ended the session by saying: “Of course we could have a dog’s dinner of mammoth proportions.” We broke up wondering, could he be right?
The Master and Margarita received rave reviews. “Join the stampede to Chichester,” urged one. There was adrenalin by the bucketload at the first-night party. The production continues at Chichester in rep until September 24. Will it transfer to London? Ruth’s response is: “Why don’t people come here and see it? This is the space it was made for.”
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What lessons have been learned from the experiment? Ruth turns the question over. “This was a pilot and there was some nervousness,” she says. “I think we’d be more relaxed next time about letting people in. There were worries about the tail wagging the dog: after all, rehearsals are there to rehearse actors not to provide entertainment. In a small, intimate space like the Minerva it is possible for strangers to have a negative effect. In the larger main theatre that isn’t a problem.”
The theatre’s founder, Evershed-Martin, was very particular about keeping theatre groupies and amateur experts off the board. “I don’t think there is an analogy there,” says Ruth. “Commissioning circles are our friends not our bosses: they don’t have the right to interfere, they can’t sack us, but in terms of enthusiastic people wanting to share ideas with designers, actors and directors we’ve had very positive feedback from the theatre team. After all, we’ve been through the same journey together.”
Ruth believes this is the first time any theatre in the UK has tried such a scheme. Could it work for others? “I can’t see why not,” she says. “We’ll certainly be doing it next year.”
Last Thursday nine commissioning circle members met for a drink with two of the directors for a feedback session. All were glowingly positive. Most would sign up to do it again next year. But they wanted more rehearsals and more involvement. The door had been opened and they wanted it opened wider. One offered to stump up more cash. The contrast to corporate events was picked out. “This was much more valuable. It felt so individual,” she said.
Yes, it was a fascinating experiment, and it takes brave confident directors, designers and actors to make it work. The appetite for more involvement will only increase. Box office receipts show that the new artistic policy is working, with three shows already sold out. Something exciting is happening at Chichester. Once again, it feels like an adventure.