| Ladies and gents,
Let us begin with a rather scandalous thesis: perhaps there is no such thing as a flop. Not really. Not in the grand theatrical sense. The kind of failure that gets you a poster on the wall at Joe Allen? It’s a badge of honor, not a gravestone. A punchline, yes, but also a conversation starter — proof that you made it to Broadway in the first place, that your work risked something. And isn’t that the only real sin in art — to never risk at all?
The theater world loves a big, fat Broadway hit, but if those viral clips of Sylvia Browne thought us anything it’s that life really begins in the afterlife. As Heather Hitchens recently wrote in the Observer, “Measuring the health of the American musical solely by first-run Broadway recoupment is like judging a river only by its narrowest point.” She continues: “Recoupment was never a perfect metric. Today, it is a deeply incomplete one. It does not account for the multiple lives a show now leads, nor does it reflect who gets paid and when.” Hitchens notes that many shows deemed “financial disappointments” still “employ hundreds at union wages, pay out royalties, seed tours, sustain licensing income, launch international productions and enjoy long afterlives in cast recordings, classrooms and regional productions.”
So if a show doesn’t recoup, is it really a flop?
Let us consider Swept Away, which opened a year ago. From the jump, it was labeled a hard sell — and not without reason. A ruggedly masculine maritime fable, set to the haunting harmonies of the Avett Brothers, and steeped in themes of survival, guilt, and redemption, it didn’t exactly scream tourist escapism. But it possessed a spirited and talented cast, sublime direction, and technical elements worthy of any Tony roster — a shout-out here to the brilliant Rachel Hauck, whose scenic design was nothing short of transportive.
And then there were the songs. My, the songs. Melancholic and thunderous, plainspoken and profound. The Avett Brothers themselves became a backstage fixture during previews, floating ghost-like through the theater, clutching notebooks and coffee cups, clearly tickled by the whole affair. One told me he couldn’t believe how good his music sounded when it bounced off a mezzanine. Another sheepishly admitted to tearing up during a final dress, saying, “I’ve played these songs for years, but I never watched them before.”
The cast recording, as good as any in the last decade, now exists as its own living monument. Future performers will mine its book scenes, voice teachers will assign its solos, regional theaters will dream of mounting it. And so, it lives.
We build myths around our hits — but it’s time we start building poetry around our misses. For the truth is, every show that dares to open leaves behind a footprint. On the artists. On the audience. On the form.
So to every producer bleeding for a new work, every writer laboring over a lyric, every actor readying a show for half a house — I say: you’re not chasing recoupment. You’re feeding the canon. You’re seeding the next decade of artistry. And yes, perhaps, you’re buying yourself a place on the Joe Allen wall. Take it. Enjoy it. Own it.
As George C. Wolfe once said, “Broadway is about paying the rent, every day.” But I’d add this: it’s also about feeding the memory. About betting on the afterlife. Because the show always goes on — regardless of what’s on the marquee.
Tidbits from around town…
Spied tech tycoon Peter Thiel quietly slipping into a back row seat at Messy White Gays at The Duke. The co-founder of PayPal remained stone-faced during a name-check he receives in the cult hit. Then again, at this point, “stone- faced” is about as expressive as his face gets.
Witnessed power couple (and “White Lotus” season 3 scene stealers) Leslie Bibb and Sam Rockwell parade around Studio 54 saying hi to friends and acquaintances before the opening night curtain went up on Robert Icke‘s stunningly modern new Oedipus.
Overheard CNN icon Wolf Blitzer, over lunch at Le Bernadin, remaining stoic in the face of what he described as a “bruising loss” to the Texans: “We’ve been through worse and come back to fight another day.”
As always, a toast of something sparkling to you and yours!
Kisses, |
