DAVIDSON: MINDING HIS Q’s AND A’s

W hatever anyone thinks of Gordon Davidson, artistic director of the Mark Taper Forum, he has been a formidable figure on the Los Angeles theater scene. He shares with other powerful and successful people the peculiar condition of being admired, envied, lionized and despised. He has been accused of believing his own hype, practicing a controlling paternalism, offering middle - class theater to middle - class audiences and choosing to ignore the growing theatrical activity around him. He has been praised for his loyalty to artists, his sensitivity to topical issues, his vigor, his vision and for virtually creating the hospitable atmosphere in which Los Angeles theater was able to propagate and prosper. Times theater writer Sylvie Drake met with Davidson and, in the conversation that follows, let him speak for himself.

Has it been 20 extraordinary years?

For me it has. It’s been 20 years and somehow we’re still here. It’s still here. I’m still here. The number itself doesn’t mean that much, but 20 years in the Music Center--a cultural complex--has been a unique achievement.

Did you benefit or suffer from being the first major theater and the biggest?

It was exciting and scary. Lonely, in that there wasn’t enough other theatrical energy around to rub shoulders with. It was certainly easier to get attention.

Many Performers who were members of the Theatre Group at UCLA feel that when you moved downtown you did not rehire any of them. Is that true?

I’m certainly aware that changes happened. They were not premeditated. Or intentional. All that happened, I think, is that we started doing open auditions and the horizon just expanded.

In this movie/TV town, can you always get the actors you want?

I’m amazed that we do as well as we do, considering that we can’t compete economically (top salary at the Taper is $600 a week). The positive side is that the precedents have been set. It is conceivable to share your life (between stage and studio). I’ve always operated from the belief that if you respect your own work, who you are, other people will, too.

There is a perception abroad that you don’t use local actors.

You’re kidding. That depresses me. If it’s true, I don’t care. We allow for the possibility of people coming from elsewhere, but we can’t afford more than one or two. We always begin by auditioning here. What depresses me is that I understood the argument 20 years ago. But today you can’t tell me there’s such a thing as a New York actor. I once said in the press, “Does that mean someone who arrived this morning, yesterday, last week, three months ago, a year ago--what are we talking about?”

What are some of your best experiences at the Taper?

It’s like asking a father who is his favorite child. My tendency is to think in terms of plays I personally directed. Each one has been so unique that it nurtured me in some special way. “The Devils” was an extraordinary experience of opening a theater, bringing a play together, tasting that open stage and what could be accomplished there. Then the reaction to it made it a high point.

The work we did “In the Matter of J. Robert Oppenheimer” (is another thing); when I think of how ahead of its time it was to discuss the whole nuclear issue. “The Trial of the Catonsville Nine” might have been the most profound, because it really put me in touch with questions of personal responsibility--in touch with people I treasure in my life, the community of actors that came together to make this.

“Of all the plays, that one affected the audience in a way I found most gratifying--where the life outside the theater and the life inside it became one and the same. It must have been a bit like what (Clifford Odets’) “Waiting for Lefty” was for that community of people.

“Children of a Lesser God,” again, was one of the best. It took me into a world I had no knowledge of--maybe had not dared to enter. The challenge of dealing with that and the effect it had, first on those of us who worked on it and then in what it was able to communicate to an audience. . . . And one more. For me “Ghetto” was one of the most totally enriching experiences I’ve had because the subject matter allowed me to tap into something in myself. “Shadow Box,” “Traveler in the Dark,” for different reasons . . . including the (plays) I didn’t direct, like “Dream on Monkey Mountain” and “The Dybbuk.” You ask me if there are 20 extraordinary years. The years are full .

And worst experiences?

“Hamlet” could have been a better one. I don’t think I did a good enough job on “Rosebloom,” but I’m glad I did it. “Romance Language” didn’t live up to what I thought was in the play. Even though “Green Card” was a bit of a mess and could be stronger and maybe clearer, it was full of valuable images. One of the dangers of staying around for 20 years and being relatively successful--maybe very successful--is that, either in your own mind or in the minds of others, you start to give up the right to fail. The phrase has become a cliche, but finally it’s what it’s about. It’s one reason I like to shake the program up a bit.

Some people feel too many Taper plays have been more socially than artistically relevant.

You have to be more specific. The key for me has been that I haven’t been afraid to do those plays. They interest me. I think they interest a good part of my audience, and I’ve been right most of the time. I don’t discriminate against other kinds of plays. This theater and this community can support a wide range of investigations. My theater is basically not suited to kitchen drama.

All we’re doing is trying to make a little magic, a little mystery and a little combination of the things that make up the art form. It doesn’t have to live forever. Just for the moments that you’re there. If it stretches me or makes me think, my gamble is that it will do it to 750 people a night for six weeks.

Is there ever a point where you know something is not working?

A director can’t allow himself to lose faith in something. You build into your psyche that you believe--and you believe to the end. It’s visceral and it’s tangible.

You go through reversals, horrendous run-throughs, glorious run-throughs. It’s fragile. When the audience comes, something else clicks and you start looking at it partly through their eyes. That’s both helpful and dangerous because you can lose faith, you can get confused. We start (previews) on a Sunday. By Thursday, I can begin to trust some kind of consistency in the audience reaction.

Given the tightness of money at the artistic level, are charges that you may be overstaffed justified?

In the last year I’ve cut $1 million out of the budget. We had grown to $8.5 (million). We’re at $7.5. (1967’s budget: about $800,000). We get $3 million from the Music Center Unified Fund; that doesn’t pay for what it costs to run the Taper. The money problem is enormous and complex. It occupies a lot of my time and is close to becoming debilitating.

What changes have there been?

The profile of this theater hasn’t radically changed. In 1967, I started a new-playwrights program with a grant of $14,000. Right on the main stage. It was costly because it was a full union house--but it added to the excitement to have it there. We did (New Theatre for Now) from 1967 to 1975. We took a break in 1976 because the Rockefeller (grant) came to an end.

In 1977, I decided we would do New Theatre for Now every other year--partly for economic reasons and partly because I felt we could use the year in between to gestate and develop material. The expectation had started to change. People wanted more finished plays. We may have started to overproduce them. We were constantly caught between the success and effectiveness of the program and the needs and demands (of an audience).

My philosophy about this theater has always been about people. What people bring to it. Not job slots. It was Bobby Greenwald and the lab, Eddie (former associate artistic director Ed Parone) and New Theatre for Now. Paul Sills and the Improvisational Theatre Project (the Taper youth theater).

Why are you doing a major polemical play like “Aunt Dan and Lemon” in the Taper, Too?

Why not? It’s where I have the room. It will also thrive better in a smaller space. Don’t forget where it played in New York (the Public Theatre). If I had a 300-seat theater that’s where it would be. But I don’t. I’ve been promised it, but it’s never been delivered. The lab started in 1972. It became Taper, Too a few years ago only because I forced it to become a second space.

Is it less likely than ever that you’ll get that 300-seat theater?

Yes. And there’s a frustration. Looking back on the history, the idea of a resident repertory was articulated from the very first--in the manifestos of this theater, my interviews with (first board president) Lew Wasserman, with the board. I put it on hold because I knew the money wasn’t there.

Early on I experimented with repertory (“Travesties” and “The Importance of Being Earnest”), but seven years ago I committed to the idea. I thought the time had come, that we had the acting pool. The National Endowment (for the Arts) thought so. Before that, the Mellon Foundation. We started on a path and I feel that path has been sabotaged. I don’t know what to do with that. I’m angry.

How do you feel about the growth of theater in Los Angeles?

I like LATC (the Los Angeles Theatre Center). We can’t tell anything about the Pasadena Playhouse yet. I enjoyed, in retrospect, the blossoming of theater in general, when the Waiver came in and released a new kind of energy. I respect the people who have seriously tried to do a body of work. I’m concerned that all that activity the Waiver released didn’t somehow gel into specific paying producing organizations. And I don’t know why. Seattle can maintain a handful of companies, or Chicago, and we can’t. I don’t understand it. There are serious people here.

Why haven’t you used more local directors?

It’s a legitimate question and the answer is not going to please anyone. I think the pickings are slim. It doesn’t mean the opportunities shouldn’t be there. The other area of great concern--I’ve said this publicly--is that in all the years, there hasn’t been a production I’ve gone to see that I’ve said, “Let’s move it to the Taper.”

I have to say that taking on (other productions) is not the function of this or any theater, but since I keep looking for connections--I’ve done it with Long Wharf, with Circle Rep, the Old Globe--philosophically I have no problem with it.

Ever tempted to jump ship?

Never. This isn’t new news. I seriously weighed New York (the Lincoln Center) and the Kennedy Center. I’d been concerned that we’d reached a plateau (at the Taper). Standing still is moving backwards. It was important to keep some forward motion. I chose not to do the Kennedy Center and not to pursue Lincoln Center. I chose to stay here because I believe there is still work to be done.

(But) I’m very concerned about what’s happened to our value system. The values when I was coming into the theater made all this possible. These cultural centers didn’t happen because there were a few wealthy people. They happened because there was a vision about what communities maybe should have.

I don’t feel restless, which I did feel around the 15th birthday. I really care about what has been the life of the mind for me. Every play has been different. It’s like going to school, learning about human behavior all over again each time. I’ve never been bored, have really been blessed with that. But as you get older you see certain time frames ahead. You say, hey, wait a minute. If I have this amount of time maybe there is something else that is as rewarding or as important that I’d like to do.

Do you think about burnout?

I’m a pretty resilient guy. I have a lot of energy. And I didn’t take the sabbatical because of (burnout). I’m beginning to feel harassed by the survival problems and I don’t think it’s a function of age. I’ve been very good over the years at dealing with budget concerns. What’s changed is that one was always dealing with the art of the possible. If you had to step sideways or backwards a little bit, there was always some possible way. I’m not so sure any more.

There is a sense--this is dangerous what I’m going to say--that people in positions of power or influence may not be good enough. People like John Houseman and Lew Wasserman and Mrs. Chandler were giants. They were mentors. They were tough. There was something to learn from them. I feel as though the Philistines have taken over. I want to fight against it, speak out. And I say this responsibly, not to point fingers.

So where is Gordon in all this?

Giving interviews. He gives interviews is what he does--and goes to board meetings.