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2010 Yearly archive

A few thoughts on twitter and social media at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival this year:

For the first time, using Twitter felt like the norm rather than the exception – the festival community had collectively hit a critical mass of performers and audience members who were using it year-round, and tweeting during the festival seemed natural and obvious. Using Twitter to talk about theatre and comedy, to review and recommend, to gossip and bitch – these were all habits that were firmly in place.1

Twitter also became an unofficial clearing house for spare tickets; I’m almost surprised that a hashtag didn’t emerge to make it easier to track last-minute offers. That said, Theatre Ninjas did a great job of networking companies, venues and audiences for ticket deals through their website, Twitter and an iPhone app.

On a more personal note, Twitter’s perma-presence also meant that the distance between audience and show was shorter – and that feedback was faster. Most evenings after the Penny Dreadfuls show, we’d see two or three instant reviews of that night’s performance: mainly (and thankfully) praise, but occasionally (and inevitably) disappointment. The speed of that feedback – and its brevity – could be a double-edged sword, an instant tweak to your evening’s mood.2

It was hard to track the direct influence of an active twitter account: while we were in regular conversation with friends, audience members and other shows, there’s no easy way to measure how this translated into, say, sales.

The same is true of mentions by high-profile twitterati. The day before opening, we were delighted to discover that Neil Gaiman (@neilhimself) was listening to the Dreadful’s Brothers Faversham BBC radio series during our tech rehearsal. A few tweets later and he’d – unprompted – recommended our show to his 1.5 million followers. Did that sell tickets? Did it influence the success of our run? I have no real idea. It certainly made me happy; rumours of a Snoopy dance are not wholly unfounded.

But then to try to read the success of social media solely in terms of sales is probably to miss the point. Though we used the @dreadfuls account to retweet links to reviews and appearances on other shows, I don’t think we pursued the hard sell. We didn’t follow the example of other social media marketeers to use the account to run competitions for tickets, or to offer giveaways.3 More often than not, we used the @dreadfuls account to recommend shows that we’d enjoyed, to talk about side-projects (tom:foolery, Gutted, flyerface, Sketchatron) and – above all – to exchange poor jokes. Very poor jokes. And so, if our use of Twitter was successful this fringe, it’s because we were in it for the conversation.

  1. Even if we’ve gone a little cold-turkey since the end of August. []
  2. Spend an hour trying to make people laugh, and then having someone dismiss that effort in under 140 characters can feel like a low blow. []
  3. Though offering our non-existent official t-shirts as prizes would have been fun. []
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The rules of FlyerFace are simple: fold/tear existing flyers to make at least one new face out of two old ones. One of the nicest things about this game is that it makes you genuinely pleased to get new flyers which – if you’ve ever sat in a fringe venue – sounds almost impossible. The obligatory tumblr is over here; the hashtag on twitter is #flyerface.

Notes:

1. No Collage. We’ll leave the Modernist Cubism to the Cubist Modernists, thankyouverymuch.
2. Advanced practitioners may request actors / comedians to pose with their own flyers. Good luck.
3. If in doubt, Simon Callow. A tremendous actor, and a headshot that’s hard to beat.

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The current flurry of political rhetoric surrounding arts funding needs to be examined carefully, not least because ideological choices are being justified in terms of economics: affordability, value for money and efficiency. I’ll state the obvious – economic arguments concerning the funding of the arts (on the left and right) express particular political and cultural values.

It’s reason enough to be wary when adopting the language of neo-liberal economics in defence of arts funding: we risk accepting and reproducing of the (often unmarked) assumptions on which such logic rests. Case in point may be the Adam Smith Institute’s free market proposal for arts funding, published in March of this year. David Rawcliffe’s paper – which critiques an existing, expensive bureaucracy for distorting priorities and reducing innovation – proposes ‘consumer-side subsidies’ in the form of vouchers to all citizens. You can read the paper here. Leaving aside (for now) the paper’s extremely partial representation of arguments in favour of arts funding, I want to suggest a few problems with that model, and the assumptions on which they rest.

First, the paper appears to argue that a voucher scheme would operate outside of an existing history of practice and institutions. In its conclusion, it argues:

Any new producer could establish itself and instantly compete for customers on a level playing field with other arts producers.

But the playing field as it exists – and would exist under the scheme – is far from level: the National Theatre or the Royal Opera House does not and would not start from the same position as a small regional theatre company, or a new practitioner beginning her career. Some institutions and companies are comparatively wealthy: a few own property and have significant, independent income. Others are dependent on the ability of practitioners to subsidise or wholly cover the cost of their participation; more still are only able to make work through the generosity of their communities.1

It would follow that a voucher system would favour already established companies. While the paper argues that

No new producer can hope to compete against incumbents enjoying subsidies at the level the arts councils provide.

the voucher scheme would start with those hierarchies in place, and likely exacerbate that problem by favouring established companies, who would be able to mobilise their pre-existing profile to capture the largest share of revenue. A further economic barrier – beyond that which already exists – would be created for anyone entering the profession: in short, if you could not afford to make the work and pay for it independently in the first place, the work would be unlikely to get made at all (and the market cannot then reward that which does exist).

Accordingly, and rather than encouraging competition and diversity, culture-making would move into the hands of the few – who would in turn be incentivised to reproduce existing, known practices in order to protect their income. Experimentation and innovation would be dulled by the knowledge – or rather fear – that a mis-step could lead to financial disaster, and the end of a company’s existence.

To make these arguments is not to unthinkingly defend the status quo, but to challenge the terms on which alternatives might be imagined. If, as the report argues, that free expression – free from political interference – is central to liberty and the healthy operation of civil society, do we want to entrust the machinery of cultural production to the vagaries of the market, and the interests of intrenched producers instead?

  1. You could make the argument that the community-driven model is preferable – communities get the art they’re willing to find the energy and resources for – but that isn’t an argument for a level playing field. []
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The version of Mark Ravenhill who seems to think that arts organisation marketing departments should be targeted as examples of wasteful spending might want to have a chat with the Mark Ravenhill who wrote the following, 14 months ago:

Those of us who started working in the arts during the Thatcherite 1980s were taught that the economics was easy. It was all about supply and demand, in the arts as in everything else: you had to identify who your audience was, work out what they wanted, market yourself to them – and all would be well.

We’ve learned to do this brilliantly. [...] The occasional play would capture the public’s imagination and, largely through word of mouth, the theatre would be packed. The rest of the time, there was row upon row of empty seats. Now there is a regular, and large, audience. Many artists are reluctant to acknowledge it, but this is largely the result of new developments in marketing. Theatres have got much better at building loyal audiences, and at bringing in new audiences – people who might not have previously considered theatre part of their cultural life.

In other words, not just a soulless exercise in gaining market share – the ‘arms race’ setting one organisation against another – but part of bringing art to a broader audience. So what has changed?

Hat-tip to Tim Wood for catching Ravenhill’s earlier comment piece.

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