Art and artists have historically tenuous relationships with their native geography. Think of Hemingway and the other American ex-patriots of the Lost Generation. Think of my friends and family who have moved away from Michigan to pursue writing or acting. Think of Squidward, feeling trapped in Bikini Bottom. He loves modern dance, men’s chorus, sculpting, his clarinet, fancy living, and his superior taste and intellect. The other characters populating SpongeBob are beneath his endeavors.
Squidward represents all that is bad with small-town artistes. They want to be special, the standard-bearers of all that is culturally excellent, but look down on the very people who could be their audience. They yearn for “these people” to be more refined and sophisticated. Ironically, some are not talented. There’s a reason they never tried to make it in the big city.
The professional artists at the Williamston Theatre are nothing like Squidward. The founders are big-pond tested Midwesterners who love the small-town way of life, and believe that art can be a thread in the greater fabric of a community.
With this belief, the Williamston Theatre challenges attitudes held by many so-called artists, as well as so-called regular people. Some artists assume that they know what “the common man” likes, and dismiss their interests and opinions. Some regular people assume that “those artsy types” are purveyors of snobbery and elitism. Under these conditions, an evening at the theatre becomes a regrettable one-and-done date instead of a potential long-term relationship.
From the beginning, things were different here, according to artistic director Tony Caselli. He describes their process of becoming a theatre as a perfect storm of challenges and opportunities. He was working for the Purple Rose, Jeff Daniels’s theatre in Chelsea, and found out he’d be downsized in a year. Around the same time, John Lepard, executive director, had moved back from California with his wife to raise their daughter in Williamston.
Meanwhile, says Caselli, a Lansing-based professional theatre, the Boarshead, was shopping for a new location. Williamston rolled out the red carpet. When the Boarshead decided to stay in the state capitol, Lepard stopped in to see the mayor of Williamston to see if they really wanted live theatre in the city of about 3700. They did.
From 2004-2006, Caselli, Lepard, Emily Sutton-Smith, and Christine Purchis started to build relationships and gather support. The four founders of the theatre didn’t want to thrust art upon the town, but rather tell stories with, for, and about their audiences. They went into area businesses and held staged readings, says Caselli, gathering backers and fans.
“We went in and said, ‘We want to make it about here, plays that audiences relate to.’ We struck a chord with people,” says Caselli.
This attitude permeates everything they do. It’s what they’re about: “We believe that theatre can enrich our lives and make a positive difference in our community, both culturally and economically. We believe that theatre should be accessible and affordable to everyone, whether they live in a large coastal city or a small Midwestern town. We believe that there are voices in the Midwest worth hearing, and our goal is to create moving, entertaining, professional theatre for and about this part of the world.”
A look at their past seasons shows that these weren’t just words on their website. They do plays by Michigan playwrights like Annie Martin and Joseph Zettelmaier. Other works reveal common interests. Rounding Third is about Little League; Guys on Ice combines the musical form with ice fishing; An Infinite Ache explores the nature of a relationship from a first date to the end of life and back.
And then there’s the well-received Voices from the Midwest project. Caselli conceived this three-year series for both practical and artistic reasons. In the theatre’s fledgling year, unsure of their audiences, they scheduled eight-week runs. This turned out to be too long, so they scaled back. The buzz was that they might not make it. Caselli enjoyed working on premiere productions at the Purple Rose, and was looking to develop new works, so he planned the multiple-season work as a way to reassure the community and create something from scratch.
For Voices from the Midwest, they begin by gathering source material from real people in the community and across the region. Area writers, musicians and actors develop an evening of theatre by reflecting on and interpreting the responses. They began by looking at the lives of women in Mothers, Maidens and Crones. In year two, they turned their eyes to the experiences of men in Flyover, U.S.A. This season, they are exploring the idea of family in Home, set to open May 13th.
Beyond their play and project selection, Caselli delights in and passionately defends all members of the audience.
“Don’t tell me that the people paying money coming into my theatre have an opinion that should be of a lesser value. They have just paid their money. They were moved, or they weren’t,” says Caselli. “…That’s just as useful to me in the making of our art with a deadline as the ‘higher’ train of understanding. I don’t need to know how my digital watch was built … but I can tell you if I think it’s cool … and if it works.”