What Humana Did Really Well

With a smidgen of distance now from my visit to Humana, I am surprised to find that what’s really staying with me—more than the lovely people I met, the jaw-dropping plays, and the beautiful Actors Theatre of Louisville itself—are the Festival’s immense audiences. Outside of almost every sold-out performance, long lines of patrons hoped to snag last-minute tickets; inside of every theater, those same theatergoers happily stood behind the last row of seats to be let in on the action, and those of us in seats offered standing ovations more often than not. Even the tribute to the late Sandy Speer, former executive director of the theater, was so well attended there weren’t enough chairs by half.

When was the last time you saw any theatrical event that enthusiastically attended? The closest I can come in my recent memory is the Taffety Punk Theatre Company’s bootleg production of TROILUS AND CRESSIDA, which filled the Folger Shakespeare Theater beyond capacity and turned away a great many patrons besides. That was only one show, however, and only for one night: Humana is orders of magnitude larger and more complicated. (And if you know the bootleg productions I’m talking about, that’s saying a lot.) The fact that so many people were so fiercely determined to participate in the Festival speaks volumes about its ability to incite, inspire, and invigorate audiences… and in the end, isn’t that what we’re all trying to do?

I do have to note, of course, that I was attending the festival during one of its industry weekends, which means that most of the people in attendance were theater practitioners in one way or another: directors, playwrights, artistic directors, board members, critics, and so on. As I understand it, however, this was (by Humana’s own standards) an extremely well-attended festival; Sean Daniels, Associate Artistic Director, told me they actually sold out the entire weekend for the first time this year. Let’s be clear about what that means, mind you: two theaters running back-to-back shows all day long for three days in a row. That’s a lot of tickets to sell no matter who buys them.

What did Humana do well? I ask because I buy the argument (offered most recently by Chip and Dan Heath in Switch) that “cloning the bright spots” is a smart way to bring about change: find what’s working well, then imitate those models. If the Actors Theatre of Louisville can draw record crowds to the Humana Festival when other theaters are struggling to sell tickets, we should ask ourselves: what are they doing right, and how can we learn from them?

The first bright spot I want to call attention to: they never went dark. Not literally, of course, but for every reasonable hour of the day, there was something going on in the theater: a breakfast meeting, a gala, a lively bar, a tribute, a press gathering—and, of course, the plays. The sense of action in the space was palpable; even the non-professionals must have felt it. The Actors Theatre of Louisville was the place to be. That has tremendous appeal for people, and it can be implemented in a thousand different ways. (If you’re inspired, here’s an excellent blog post on the subject.) I’d love to see this idea adopted more widely.

The most important bright spot, however, has to be the work itself. (As Michael Kaiser has said, the key to success is “great art, well marketed.”) For the most part, the plays I saw at Humana were well-crafted, engaging, and ambitious pieces of work. Jordan Harrison’s MAPLE AND VINE was tight and insightful and funny. Molly Smith Metzler’s ELEMENO PEA was riotous and sharp and rebellious. A. Rey Pamatmat’s EDITH CAN SHOOT THINGS AND HIT THEM—the best two hours I spent in Louisville—was smart and tender and vital. (I’ve read that there were standing ovations after every performance; I do not doubt it.) Three plays that wonderful rarely appear in the same season, let alone the same weekend; if they did, we’d have more standing room only audiences everywhere.

What I also noted about those three shows in particular is how (generally) conventional they were in their storytelling. Each had (gasp) a clear plot, characters with clear internal motivations and desires, rising action and conflict, a few Aristotelian unities, and so forth. Sure, there were a few moments of direct address, but they didn’t try to be clever or impress anyone with gags and tricks or insert random dance breaks or require impossible stage directions. For the most part, they were just ripping good yarns, told with verve and crackle. If you ask me, we need more of that in the theater, too.

I can hardly wait until next year.