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“You know what kills me?” Casey asks, while we’re eating at our favorite fried chicken joint. “When you care so much about something, and nobody else gives a shit.” I nod. He’s talking about an improvisational theatre group he tried to start last year that pretty much bombed. Not for lack of trying, though. Casey hit the problem right on the head: nobody cared, nobody participated, and nobody put forth any effort.

That has been an ongoing problem in the theatre here. Too many new people come in, expect to get lead roles, and when they don’t, they stop paying attention, they stop participating. Even if they get roles they want, they participate only as much as necessary.

One of the biggest ways to piss me off is when you find out I’m an actor/director, you say “Oh, I was in Grease when I was in high school…”.

No.

No, no, no, no, no. Don’t even try to compare your little fun high school popularity stunt to what I want to do for a living. Theatre is my passion, it’s my life, and it’s my career. The same goes for Casey and numerous others in the profession.

These new people, they come in and think because they were Annie in the high school production that they only have to participate if they want to. If they feel like it.

I hate to break it to you folks, but you’re never going to get anywhere with that kind of attitude. People like Casey and myself do our best to further our own careers, to offer opportunities for people to perform, to work within the profession we love, to have a chance to participate. And what do most people do? They give us assurances that they’ll participate, then haul ass the other way.

That’s the problem. A big problem. The next question, obviously, is what to do about it. How can we fix this? How can we improve our situation? How can we get these apathetic individuals to care? I don’t have all the answers, but I do have some suggestions.

1) Have a plan. When I decide on a project, the first thing I do is figure out exactly what I want to do with the project.

• How many people do I want to be involved?
• How much resources do I want?
• How long do I want to get the project completed?

2) Have a backup plan. Once I’ve asked myself those questions, I come up with my backup plans. This is just in case I can’t get what I want. I ask myself some more questions:

• How many people do I need to complete the project?
• How much resources do I require?
• What is the minimum amount of time I need to devote to this project?

3) Offer incentives. For example, if I can’t get the minimum number of people that I absolutely need to complete the project, I need to figure out a way to encourage and entice people to participate. Perhaps I could offer some sort of financial compensation, a letter of recommendation, or some other sort of reward.

4) Offer to combine your project with someone else’s. One of the blogs that I’ve begun frequenting lately is Sobrietyland by madmargaret. In a recent entry, Margaret complained that the other local theatres are terrible. This is also the case around here. A possible solution would be to create a local one-act contest or scene contest or playwriting contest — whatever fits your project. Perhaps rather than starting your own project, you could offer your expertise to local theatres to help them become better. After all, we shouldn’t just be out to make ourselves better, but the entire profession.

Those are my suggestions for fighting apathy and non-participation in the theatre. Casey’s big mistake was that he hadn’t planned for a lack of participation. His project essentially failed, and he had to explain himself to the producer. Had he planned for this contingency, he might have been able to salvage the project.

I don’t claim to have all the answers, but I do claim to have some knowledge of failure and success. Planning, ingenuity, and open-mindedness will help you succeed more than putting all your eggs in one basket will.

So what do I do to help my buddy Casey out, when the weight of the world has crashed down on his shoulders, when he’s looking for assurance and support, when he needs a steadfast friend?

“That blows, man,” I mumble, as I take a bite out of some delicious fried chicken. Mmm.