The plan was simple: simple and ambitious. Over a pot of spaghetti and several bottles of wine, six Los Angeles playwrights – all members of the prestigious Playwrights Kitchen Ensemble – vowed to join forces to accomplish what none had been able to do individually: produce a show of their original work on an LA stage.
The year was 1999. After more than a year of applauding each other’s work in the Kitchen’s Tuesday night developmental lab under the nurturing hand of T. Jay O’Brien, a mutual admiration society had formed. And this society soon had a name: Playwrights 6 (or P6 to its friends).
Each member ponied up $100 for the kitty, and producing assignments were divvied. One would find a suitable theatre. One would design the postcard. One would handle public relations, another finance. The show, an evening of six one-acts, would be called MAYHEM: in part, because the show was scheduled for May, but mostly because no one had a better idea.
It was determined that six playwrights, along with a dozen or so actors, could likely fill a 65-seat theatre with friends for two performances. A sexy photo of the clad-in-black scribes strolling through an alley like a literary Mob Squad magically landed in the Los Angeles time with a “Best Bet” headline. The theatre gods were smiling.
But there was turmoil. One playwright wasn’t ready as opening night drew near, and the drama on stage got a front row seat to the drama off stage. But the proverbial show must go on, and it did. Albeit to a half-empty house one night, because one overzealous actor made reservations for dozens of no-show friends, would-be agents and imaginary casting directors.
And thus Playwrights 6 learned its first valuable lesson: choose your “play”mates carefully. And always overbook the reservations.
There would be many more lessons to follow. When you rent a theatre, expect to clean the theatre. Even when you sit down and agree to a certain set of rules and parameters, someone is going to break them (and become rather self-righteous and indignant when you point it out). And if you use anything fragile on stage – be it martini glasses, a wine bottle or a toilet – it will break during a performance. So always build a broom and dustpan into your set design.
Of course, there were triumphs as well. The first Critics Pick. The first award nomination. The first time a production turned a profit: still an astounding feat in the Los Angeles 99-seat theatre scene.
With each new production – be it a group show of one-acts, a single play or 2 full-length plays running in rep – things got a little easier, and P6 gradually earned more recognition. Co-productions with established theatre companies in LA proved to be prudent ventures: sharing the risk, sharing the costs, sharing the workload, sharing the critical kudos.
Throughout all this growth, two things remained consistent: the company motto “True to the Word” and the firm belief that actors were so important to playwrights that they shouldn’t be asked to contribute financially or perform sweat equity. The playwrights would do the heavy lifting. Actors would only do what they did best: breathe life into the words.
These beliefs have served Playwrights 6 well: through its baby steps, growing pains, the decision to leave the Playwrights Kitchen and create its own writer/actor workshop, the leap to non-profit status, the first grant awarded to the company, the first revolution that almost destroyed the organization from within, and the slow rebuilding that continues even today.
In the past few years, Playwrights 6 has been featured in American Theatre magazine, LA Stage and the Dramatist. Since 1999, P6 has mounted 23 productions. This year, this company celebrated its anniversary with its 24th show: a special members-only performance inviting every playwright, actor and director who has worked with the organization to attend.
The evening was filled with nostalgia and laughter, as triumphs were toasted and tragedies were lampooned. There was wine, but no spaghetti. And as I looked at the faces of my compatriots (yes, I’m a proud co-founder), I marveled at how far we had come, how much we had sacrificed individually and how much we had accomplished collectively.
It’s funny: we’ve been Playwrights 6 for ten years now. But we haven’t had six playwrights at the helm since that very first show. Maybe that’s a goal for the next decade.
Los Angeles
The plan was simple: simple and ambitious. Over a pot of spaghetti and several bottles of wine, six Los Angeles playwrights – all members of the prestigious Playwrights Kitchen Ensemble – vowed to join forces to accomplish what none had been able to do individually: produce a show of their original work on an LA stage.
The year was 1999. After more than a year of applauding each other’s work in the Kitchen’s Tuesday night developmental lab under the nurturing hand of T. Jay O’Brien, a mutual admiration society had formed. And this society soon had a name: Playwrights 6 (or P6 to its friends).
Each member ponied up $100 for the kitty, and producing assignments were divvied. One would find a suitable theatre. One would design the postcard. One would handle public relations, another finance. The show, an evening of six one-acts, would be called MAYHEM: in part, because the show was scheduled for May, but mostly because no one had a better idea.
It was determined that six playwrights, along with a dozen or so actors, could likely fill a 65-seat theatre with friends for two performances. A sexy photo of the clad-in-black scribes strolling through an alley like a literary Mob Squad magically landed in the Los Angeles time with a “Best Bet” headline. The theatre gods were smiling.
But there was turmoil. One playwright wasn’t ready as opening night drew near, and the drama on stage got a front row seat to the drama off stage. But the proverbial show must go on, and it did. Albeit to a half-empty house one night, because one overzealous actor made reservations for dozens of no-show friends, would-be agents and imaginary casting directors.
And thus Playwrights 6 learned its first valuable lesson: choose your “play”mates carefully. And always overbook the reservations.
There would be many more lessons to follow. When you rent a theatre, expect to clean the theatre. Even when you sit down and agree to a certain set of rules and parameters, someone is going to break them (and become rather self-righteous and indignant when you point it out). And if you use anything fragile on stage – be it martini glasses, a wine bottle or a toilet – it will break during a performance. So always build a broom and dustpan into your set design.
Of course, there were triumphs as well. The first Critics Pick. The first award nomination. The first time a production turned a profit: still an astounding feat in the Los Angeles 99-seat theatre scene.
With each new production – be it a group show of one-acts, a single play or 2 full-length plays running in rep – things got a little easier, and P6 gradually earned more recognition. Co-productions with established theatre companies in LA proved to be prudent ventures: sharing the risk, sharing the costs, sharing the workload, sharing the critical kudos.
Throughout all this growth, two things remained consistent: the company motto “True to the Word” and the firm belief that actors were so important to playwrights that they shouldn’t be asked to contribute financially or perform sweat equity. The playwrights would do the heavy lifting. Actors would only do what they did best: breathe life into the words.
These beliefs have served Playwrights 6 well: through its baby steps, growing pains, the decision to leave the Playwrights Kitchen and create its own writer/actor workshop, the leap to non-profit status, the first grant awarded to the company, the first revolution that almost destroyed the organization from within, and the slow rebuilding that continues even today.
In the past few years, Playwrights 6 has been featured in American Theatre magazine, LA Stage and the Dramatist. Since 1999, P6 has mounted 23 productions. This year, this company celebrated its anniversary with its 24th show: a special members-only performance inviting every playwright, actor and director who has worked with the organization to attend.
The evening was filled with nostalgia and laughter, as triumphs were toasted and tragedies were lampooned. There was wine, but no spaghetti. And as I looked at the faces of my compatriots (yes, I’m a proud co-founder), I marveled at how far we had come, how much we had sacrificed individually and how much we had accomplished collectively.
It’s funny: we’ve been Playwrights 6 for ten years now. But we haven’t had six playwrights at the helm since that very first show. Maybe that’s a goal for the next decade.
Larry Dean Harris
lharris@dramatistsguild.com