Theater In The Year Of Corona
Indefinite
Intermission Theater life in two acts By Morgan Sills
New York
You can only imagine the indescribable complexities of closing 41 Broadway theaters. When Broadway shut down March 12, there were 31 shows running, including eight that had begun their preview period. Eight more shows were scheduled to begin performances before the end of the season. Mrs. Doubtfire, the musical, got through three previews. Plaza Suite with Matthew Broderick and Sarah Jessica Parker was set to begin previews the next night. Right away, prominent creative New Yorkers were dying, from my former acting teacher Mark Blum (Mozart in the Jungle, Desperately Seeking Susan) to Broadway actor Nick Cordero (Waitress, A Bronx Tale) to legendary Tony Award-winning playwright Terrence McNally (Anastasia, Ragtime). In March and April, social media was flooded with friends who had contracted the virus. Some had mild cases; others miraculously rebounded from near-death and are now dealing with what seem to be permanent after-effects. The deaths of places are concomitant with the deaths of people. Like everything in crowded Manhattan, all too often it comes down to real estate. Buildings you never thought you’d see empty suddenly are. Favorite restaurants, bodegas and other shops have gone out of business practically overnight, some without a chance for customers to say goodbye. Among the pandemic’s consequences were the permanent closures of huge rehearsal spaces like TheaterworksUSA’s Chelsea studios and Shetler Studios. Smaller off-Broadway indie theaters are just hanging on, and there are very few of those in locations that get tourist traffic anyway. What will come of the skyscrapers full of corporate office space now that so many are working remotely? Just as in the theater, that special connection that happens with a group of people together in the same room has been temporarily lost. Around 97,000 workers rely on Broadway for their livelihood. Actors and musicians. Theater staff, from the box office to the bar. The
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shop workers who build the shows and the backstage crews who run them. Press, marketing, advertising, legal. Families whose lives depend on the Broadway mill turning out eight shows a week, 52 weeks a year. What can creative people do when even their traditional fallback work has fallen away? Waiting tables, teaching and coaching, personal services like yoga and personal training, are all cut back or completely gone. People are getting out of the business, getting out of the city, going back to school online. What if they never return? In 2019, leisure travel accounted for 53 million visitors to New York. Culture is a huge part of what gets them there, with a side trip to the big Apple store. Broadway sells more tickets annually than all the NYC metropolitan area’s professional sports teams combined, with an annual economic impact of $14.8 billion, and 2019 was the best-attended year in Broadway history. Nationally, arts and culture production is second only to retail in the value it adds to the nation’s gross domestic product. The U.S. Bureau of Economic Analysis reports that the arts and culture sector contributes $15.3 billion to North Carolina’s economy. Most Broadway shows have to play their eight weekly performances to around 60 percent of capacity to break even. A large musical would have to sell around 7,000 tickets per week just to get by. Social distancing isn’t possible inside theaters that pack 1,000 or more people into a place where space is at a premium. Broadway means large audiences from around the country and around the world. Broadway means prestige and talent. The creative and economic spark from the theater industry powers everything around it. The shutdown has a ripple effect on restaurants, hotels and tourism. The needs of all these industries, their workers, their customers and the city are irrevocably intertwined. In March and April, friends kept saying, “Don’t come back unless you have to.” Excuse me, what? As an adopted New Yorker I’d been there for both hell (9/11) and high water (Hurricane Sandy). Those disasters weren’t fitting comparisons to this ongoing one. These days, the five-minute walk east from my Hell’s Kitchen apartThe Art & Soul of the Sandhills