Introduction: During these challenging times, I will be sharing a range of ideas, dreams, essays and mostly-true tales stemming from the six decades (so far) of this wonderful career in the theater. I hope you enjoy.
– Joe Keefe
Producing the Impossible
In the early 1980s, I was cast in a play being produced by a brand-new theater company – a company now quite famous. As casting occurred at a rental space, I did not yet see the actual theater. I was contacted with the good news, provided a script and schedule and the address was provided – a building on Lincoln Avenue with which I was not familiar. On an early spring rehearsal Tuesday night, I CTAed my way to the correct block and looked up and down for the right address. The address didn’t exist.]
Continuing my trek, I deduced that a building – an A frame three flat – did exist at the address on my sheet but that it had no markings or numbers on the exterior. What the building did have was several large red CONDEMNED stickers on its facade along with notices from the city that under no circumstances should the building be occupied. I turned on my heel, making my way back to the El when the side door of the building burst open and a large, red-headed man waved at me to come over.
“Yeah!” He yelled. “Rehearsal is in here.”
Rehearsal. In a rickety three flat that wasn’t just abandoned, the building was condemned. I didn’t hesitate, after all Actors act, and I made a path down the cluttered passageway and into the building. Red Head introduced himself.
“I’m Scott. This is our theater. What do you think?”
The first floor had been entirely gutted, cleared of most everything except support beams. Coffee-can lights were suspended from the ceiling, aimed at an open area that might be the stage. An assortment of chairs were positioned on elevated scrap-wood platforms where the front door of the building should have been. The chipped plaster walls had been painted a series of blues from several unmatched buckets, the floor creaked with every step. There were two huge ragged holes in the stage floor – you could see down into the crawl space.
I stepped over a bundle of extension cords to get a better look around. Red Head noted the cables, pointing to a hole in the wall where the extension cords entered the building.
“Yeah, we rent our electricity from the bar next door. Bathrooms too. So, what do you think?”
I told him, seriously, that I loved it. And I did. Theater is based on adventure, courage, a pioneering spirit and this theater was going to be exactly those things.
“Some of the guys live upstairs. We don’t have any more space so you can’t move in. Rehearsal starts in 20 minutes.” Red Head walked to the door as he talked. “Going next door for a second. You want a beer?”
I almost cried.
Yes, the building was condemned. I was breaking the law just by being inside it. Yes, the floor had holes in it. Mice likely owned the basement and the lights were light-years away from being up to code. But this theater was working on it. All of it. They were fixing the building as they were building the stage. They were rehearsing a great show, and readying many more, while renting electricity and borrowing bathrooms.
Four weeks later the building was almost legal. Not quite but close. The cast had come together, led by adventurous Red Head, and we created one brilliant show that ended up running sold-out for almost a year in that dusty, crusty, rusty space. Sure, the lice outbreak was a bit off-putting but we soaped that away in one weekend.
I’ve produced shows in Broadway theaters, atop moving semi-trailers, on the center island of Shamu’s pool. I’ve produced shows on a 747, in an animal preserve, at the Kennedy Center, the Chicago Theatre, Lincoln Center, too many Vegas showrooms to list, taverns, roadhouses, the Watergate Hotel, mob joints, Navy Pier, and yes, in a few thousand theaters. Every show has its own challenges but the rewards so far outweigh concerns that the problems only make the joys more joyful.
There is no theatrical place on this earth that fosters more joy than our Metropolis. While our space is comparatively small, we’re able to provide big-show production values while maintaining a dynamic, tangible intimacy with our audiences. Out of 329 seats, not one is farther than 60 feet from the edge of our proscenium arch, providing excellent sight lines and the acoustic capabilities are the best in the area. In short, there is nowhere I‘d rather be producing wonderful works of performing art.
Theater is an art of making the impossible possible. Witches cast spells and fly away. Obscure chorus persons become stars. The French Revolution comes back to life and we’re all still waiting for Godot. Making something from nothing is the first fundamental rule of theater and challenges are the fuel for our art. We’re working on that art right now and it will be back bigger, better and more dazzling than ever.
Joe Keefe
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