I was reminded of the lingering misconceptions and prejudices against children’s theatre the other day while sitting in a class I am co-teaching this semester. The class in question is a junior level class geared to teach fledgling designers how to work in a collaborative setting utilizing two differing scripts throughout the course of the semester. The first play the students will be designing will be HOLES by Louis Sachar based on his award-winning book.
We began the discussion by asking the students to share their initial thoughts. Some commented on the cleverness and authenticity of the voices of the young delinquents that feature prominently in the story—others about the pacing. But what made me grit my teeth was their unanimous agreement that it didn’t seem like children’s theatre. When asked to elaborate on their comment, the answer was that the story, themes and actions went against their preconceptions of what children’s theatre was or ought to be. After each of the faculty grappled with this in their own way coming from their own experiences, I felt compelled to give a bit of historical context and to thrash into oblivion their assumptions so that they might never again have need to ‘pre-conceive’ what theatre for young audiences is or ought to be.
What was exciting about this discussion was seeing an awakening to the vast potential that awaits them in the world of theatre filled with audiences comprised of adults, those comprised of children and those comprised of families.
It is the first time this class is utilizing a theatre for young audiences script and I will continue to expand upon the field not only with the students I will be mentoring, but to all the students and faculty as to the relevance and importance of our work.
But today, I was reminded of the pitfalls of our field when I glanced again at the production photo of Dallas Children’s Theatre’s production of Lily’s Purple Plastic Purse. Here, in all its creative glory, was a picture of three of the actors, portraying three of the primary mice characters, dressed in precious white mice costumes with big round ears made of terry-cloth. Designed, no doubt, as an homage to the illustrations in the popular children’s books; I could not be dismayed at the feeling that we just took a step back into the precious realm of pre-conception, children’s theatre of yore, of purple dinosaurs that dance and sing. Don’t get me wrong, there is a time and place for this type of theatre and all theatres produce this type of work (see my review of Seattle Children’s Theatre’s Goodnight Moon.) But it only affirms my own commitment to share with my students how tya can and is so much more.
The larger regional children’s theatre companies must by necessity craft a repertoire that engages all ages and affirms for the young parent, nay, even justifies that theatre and the arts are important to their children. I can’t help wonder though what would happen if children saw the same amount of theatre without the use of even one terry-cloth animal costume. Would their imaginations be any less developed? Would they suffer a lapse into preciousitess (that rare and inscrutable malaise brought about by a lack of cute, cuddly and cloying theatre?) I seriously doubt it. But being reminded of the preconceptions that still linger about theatre for young audiences, it is only natural to ponder these great mysteries.
I can only say for myself that I did not suffer from preciousitess—having experienced much theatre that was draped in terry cloth, velour, feathers and fur in my day. I survived, relatively unscathed; my psyche undaunted. I can only wish that there was a magic spell, a fizzing elixir that we could slip into the coffee and tea and soda of everyone that still believes that all children’s theatre holds talking mice, bean stalks and evil stepmothers in a land far, far and away.
