My first time at the Humana Festival (I’ve only missed 35 of them) was eye-opening for the sheer focused verve of the thing. On the East Coast—as well as the two weeks I spent last summer covering festivals and theater conferences in L.A.—I’m used to sprawling festivals at numerous venues, where there’s so much to see that when you connect with other festgoers, the conversations are usually about what you’ve missed or what you should feel obliged to see next.
Here at Humana, there’s a steady stream of shows (I saw nine full-length shows in two and a half days, plus the three 10-Minute Plays held as part of the Saturday night awards ceremonies), but they’re all in the same place, and everybody here for the Industry weekends of the month-long Humana sees the same things, often on the same exact schedule.
This makes for deep, enriching debates in the lobbies, as long as one is willing to speak one’s mind, as I always am. I didn’t have to let discussions of the plays dwindle to one-line descriptions. I could discuss structure and sets and specific lines and performance moments. I could get to know a theater space well. I could dispense with Google Maps and confused directions, knowing that I could see a show, dash back to my hotel room a block away, post a review and make it back to the Actors Theatre of Louisville complex for the next offering without anxiety.
The ATL is an impressive operation on many levels. I’m used to East Coast regional theaters in out-of-the-way locations, lucky to have to second stage or with separate venues spread out over several blocks or even towns. ATl has three gorgeous spaces in the same building—a 150-seat black box, a 300-seat arena stage and a 400-plus seat mainstage. There’s a ballroom-sized inner lobby, an expansive box office area, and a cafe downstairs. It couldn’t be comfortable, or more completely used during festival time. And it’s in the heart of a huge Southern city with a population of something like a million.
The ATL is a comfort zone as well as a place which reacts to the urban frenzy all about it.
Conversations erupt everywhere. They spill onto the sidewalks, where they hold their own against the grumbling sports fans heading home from some big dispiriting game that got played last night.
An informal event for critics and journalists Saturday night at a nearby restaurant, Hillbilly Tea, became an hours-long extension of the too-short “Critiquing Criticism” debate officially which had been held as part of the Humana Festival Friday morning.
Even the parties were inspirational. Late last night a group of us snuck off for an impromptu reading of a short play by my friend Lou Harry (arts editor and columnist for the Indiana Business Journal).
Connections have been made professionally, socially and otherwise. Potential is unlimited. Being able to contain all the farflung fancies of a festival under one roof creates untold opportunities for refined, extensive exchanges, and the opportunities to run into the same interesting people over and over.
My festival experience was a widely shared one, and I’m a better individual for it.
