That crisp day in April 1994 was not, in fact, the first time the Indians played a game in the new ballpark. It had happened two days earlier when the team contested the Pittsburgh Pirates in an exhibition game. A full house, made up of many of the same individuals who would later attend Opening Day, poured into the stadium on a Saturday afternoon to get their first taste of the new Indians and their first view of the new facility. The event did not threaten to spoil the thrill of attending the first official game because this was a dress rehearsal, a chance for fans to preview the new Indians extravaganza.
Just outside the park, a uniformed man busied himself with a broom and dustpan-on-a-stick, sweeping the sidewalk immediately adjacent to the East Ninth Street entrance. His blue pants and red-and-white striped shirt stood out among the passing crowd, clearly demonstrating that this street sweeper worked as an employee of the ballpark. Many people witnessed the seemingly small act, but few paused to examine the extraordinary nature of his gestures: his whisks gathered no debris, for the place already sparkled! After all, the grounds couldn't very well get dirty when no one had yet visited. So why did the man perform this work? For the same reason Streisand chewed her nonexistent gum: his was an act of pure theatre. He did not sweep in order to clean the pavement but to create a specific impression on the passing parade of first-time customers. After playing for sixty-two years in Cleveland Municipal Stadium, the ball club had directed this individual to don his costume and sweep in order to support the Indians' new theme: “There Is No Place Like Home”—that is, to show ticket holders that the new ballpark was clean, safe, comfortable, and eager to come to life.2
The Act of Acting
Political commentator and avid baseball fan George Will has helped many casual observers of baseball to see the game differently in his punctilious book Men at Work. His single-minded point: “Professional baseball is work,” demanding mental as well as physical exertion of those who take the field.3 Will strove to encourage a greater appreciation of the game by persuading readers of one fact: the players are working. Major League Baseball, the business, furnishes the workplace. Players practice, analyze past performances, and constantly adjust the way they go about their duties. These star performers share the stage with extras, who, like the sweeper at Jacobs Field, labor in more minor roles.
All business, as well as the work that defines it, from executive suites to factory floors, demands the same kind of performance as that featured on Broadway and in ballparks. In the Experience Economy, performers of all sorts—executives, managers, and other laborers—must take a different view of their occupations. Work is theatre. Think about it. Pause. Reflect. And now say it aloud: Work is theatre.
In acknowledging this truth, we strive not to detail every nuance of theatre, nor to provide a comprehensive list of theatre how-tos. Neither can we resolve any number of alternative or conflicting views of how theatre is best conducted. Rather, we simply aim to share enough about theatre to persuade you to think differently about your work and to embrace some principles of theatre as your model for work in the Experience Economy.4
Let us be very clear: we do not mean to present work as theatre. It is not a metaphor but a model. We do not apply the principles of theatre to work merely to force new comparisons. Too many metaphors already litter the contemporary business landscape. We have no interest in dancing with elephants, swimming with sharks, toppling the pyramids, jumping the curve, finding blue oceans, or pursuing any other kind of mismanagement-by-metaphor that all too often distracts executives and managers from the real issues they face. Rather, we seek to focus attention on the quintessentially dramatic nature of an enterprise. Thus, we literally mean, Work is theatre.
The word drama derives from the Greek drao, meaning simply “to do.” In all companies, whether or not managers recognize it, the workers are playing, not in some game but in what should be a well-conceived, correctly cast, and convincingly portrayed real-life drama of doing. Indeed, understanding this crucial point brings whole new meaning to often-used business terms borrowed from or shared with the performing arts, such as production, performance, method, role, scenario, and a host of others.
Studies of theatre often begin with Aristotle's profound Poetics.5 It serves as the foundation of our Western understanding of theatre, even with its emphasis on literary forms. Aristotle's notion of plot—what he called “the arrangement of the incidents”—forms the basis of any staged experience and the sequencing of cues required to create a desired impression. And his components of plot—surprising reversals, progressive revelation, unity and balance of events, and the emotional effect of tragedy—explain much about what makes an experience memorable. Likewise, his prerequisites for a compelling portrayal—good choices, befitting the role played, and consistency within character—delineate suitable job qualifications for anyone cast in the staging of an experience. Indeed, in defining theatre, Aristotle differentiated it from all other daily activities. Consider some of the following theatre concepts advanced by Aristotle and their implications for work.6
First and foremost is the issue of choice. Acts of theatre demand that boundaries be drawn; actors must formulate and pose tough questions that no one else can ask or answer for them; and they must discern the significant from the insignificant elements in any play performed. Even those businesses that do not yet stage experiences must understand that whenever employees work in front of customers, an act of theatre occurs. What should occur on that stage, and what should be relegated to offstage activities? One grocery clerk talking over a customer's head to the clerk in the next aisle about what they're going to do after work may seem to them insignificant, but for the customer it is an act of indifference. So what acts make for compelling theatre? The grocery clerk should ask himself how he might scan the canned goods with flair, what dramatic voice and entertaining words he might use when asking for a credit card, and especially how to perform the personal touches that come with exchanging cash, credit card, or receipt. The most important questions are often those for which no answer appears readily available, but you know an answer would prove invaluable to your performance.
Second, consider the sequence, progression, and duration of events. How are work activities arranged? What continuums exist in the organization of events? Where does work begin, reach a dramatic climax, and have its dénouement? Consider an office sales call. When does it begin? When the sales representative makes an appointment with a secretary, the moment he arrives on-site, as he waits outside the door, or only on making eye contact with the prospect? Different answers yield decidedly different contexts within which to craft the performance. Once the rep is face-to-face with the prospect, how should the event proceed? With small talk? Or should the rep dispense with that and get right down to business? What sequence of discussion points—call them sales scenes—should be painted in the mind of the prospect over the course of the call? What's the best way to move toward the intended climax of the call, known as clinching the sale? The old saw in sales circles—that you should stop talking once you make the sale—should not be taken literally, but it does serve to signal that the culmination of the sales event has occurred and that now the task shifts to dealing with outcomes and bringing about an effective dénouement. Only after you thoughtfully answer questions such as these can any experience be captivatingly staged.
Finally, consider the rhythm and tempo of work, for these define the relationships between dramatic elements. What transitions present themselves and need to be managed? What building, diminution, contrast, and release enrich the scene's energy level? How many incidents of what intensity occur over specific periods of time? FedEx employees deliberately rush about to convey the impression of speed as the essence of the company, but so should the burger flippers in a fast-food joint, even when they aren't busy. (Visit Pike Place Fish Market in Seattle and specifically observe all the action that occurs when fish are not selling—action that induces customers to start buying!) Or think of a waitress in
a fine restaurant, where every course presents a dramatic scene in the dining experience. How long should she make each last? How should the end of one course flow into the next? Should she unobtrusively remove the salad plates while making a show of refilling the water glasses, or perhaps the reverse? And at what precise right moment should she deliver the check? Answers to questions such as these distinguish engaging performances from the monotonous on the one hand and the overly intrusive on the other.
Think back to your last encounter with a cab driver, sales rep, or checkout clerk, and you will quickly come to the conclusion that these Aristotelian design elements, although known for thousands of years, remain regrettably absent from much work today.
Renowned stage director Peter Brook declared, “I can take any empty space and call it a bare stage. A man walks across this empty space whilst someone else is watching him, and this is all that is needed for an act of theatre to be engaged.”7 Business enterprises would gain an invaluable perspective by similarly declaring their work to be theatre. For when a business calls its workplace a bare stage, it opens up opportunities to distinguish itself from the myriad humdrum makers of goods and providers of services that perform work without recognizing the true nature of their acts. With theatre furnishing the operating model, even the most mundane of tasks can engage customers in a memorable way. Furthermore, new work elements, previously unimaginable within a goods and services mindset—such as sweeping clean sidewalks—can be introduced to this new stage solely to enhance the experience.
Technology-mediated interactions also present a bare stage for business theatre. Brenda Laurel provides a detailed application of Aristotle's philosophy to computer-based performances in her book Computers as Theatre. Laurel, believing human–computer interaction should be a “designed experience,” defines principles and techniques using computers as a medium rather than an interface.8 Describing this technological stage, she writes, “Thinking about interfaces is thinking too small. Designing human-computer experience isn't about building a better desktop. It's about creating imaginary worlds that have a special relationship to reality—worlds in which we can extend, amplify, and enrich our own capabilities to think, feel, and act.”9 Exactly. It is clear from Laurel's book (despite her unfortunate use of the word as in its title) that she truly believes that working with computers is—or at least should be—theatre.
Laurel also analyzes the model of dramatic structure advanced by nineteenth-century performance theorist Gustav Freytag in explaining the structure of compelling performances. Plotting complication over time, Laurel presents the “Freytag Triangle” in not three but seven stages, as seen in figure 6-1. These are exposition (introducing the context), inciting incident (setting the action in motion), rising action (rapidly increasing possibilities and intensity), crisis (heightened activities and obstacles), climax (of the many things that could happen, only one does), falling action (resulting consequences), and finally the dénouement (tying together plot threads; a return to normalcy).10 A too-flat structure, or one that climaxes too early or too late, results in a much less engaging experience than the ideal that Freytag identified. That explains why making instant coffee lacks the appeal of brewing one's own cup (even if in a single-serve maker), as well as why the morning frenzy of finding one's own cup on the round delivery shelf at Starbucks actually enhances the experience by making the coffee more cherished once secured from the hovering masses. (It's indeed worse service, but it stages a more compelling experience!)
Figure 6-1: Dramatic structure
Source: Brenda Laurel, Computers as Theatre (Reading, MA: Addison-Wesley Publishing Company, 1993), p. 86; derived from Gustav Freytag, Technique of the Drama, 2d ed. (Chicago: Scott, Foresman, 1898).
In the emerging Experience Economy, any work observed directly by a customer must be recognized within the dramatic structure of the performance as an act of theatre. Indeed, flight attendants and hotel staff routinely perform acts of theatre when they direct patrons to the nearest exit or hotel room. The work of retail store associates is theatre when they straighten merchandise on a shelf. Bank tellers, insurance agents, and real estate brokers engage in theatre when they explain terms and conditions. So do cabbies when they converse with taxi riders. Your costumed UPS route driver performs an act of theatre with every package he delivers, and FedEx's overnighting is absolutely, positively theatre. Watch your food server the next time you dine out: the taking of orders, the placing of dishes, the busing of tables—it's all theatre. Selling, whether the salesperson pitches automobiles or bottles of perfume, is theatre. A presentation by an ad agency to a client's marketing manager, after all, is an act of theatre. Doctors who perform surgical operations in an amphitheater also perform theatrical operations by the side of every patient's bed. But how differently (and more memorably) would all these activities be performed if those executing them understood that their work is theatre and acted accordingly?
We've all heard the phrase, “Walk the talk.” This platitude takes on meaning when we recognize that work is theatre. That's because it not only means practicing in person what one espouses in public but also declares that someone else is watching.11 The very notion of aligning behavior with stated values presupposes an audience. While customers certainly are the primary audience for the onstage work of business, sometimes the only audience is a vendor, a peer, or a supervisor. This internal viewing, without the presence of a customer, is no less theatre and no less important. Indeed, “offstage” work affects the connections formed with customers because internal performance influences external relationships.
Thus a stevedore unloading cargo engages in theatre. Two guys tossing pizza dough back in the kitchen are performing. A floor full of claims adjusters shuffling papers for an insurance company is choreographed. A foreman overseeing workers on an assembly line observes the way they act. A proposal to the boss entails theatre; likewise, a presentation to the board of directors. All this work is theatre, even when the audience isn't made up of paying customers, because internal acts make impressions on customers who do pay. In the Experience Economy, businesses must figure out how to make work, whether performed onstage or off, more engaging.
Sociologist Erving Goffman perhaps first recognized that theatrical performances offer a model for work. In The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life, published in 1959, Goffman examines the dramaturgical principles evident in a number of ordinary social and work situations. Studying personal expressions, he recognized that people exhibit differing degrees of awareness of how they appear to others from one moment to the next. Some are oblivious to everything, while others simply don't care what others think of them. Yet others, as a means to other ends, manipulate their expressions in order to create certain impressions in other people. Goffman called such people “cynical performers” who “are interested in deluding the audience.” But he called “sincere” those “individuals who believe in the impression fostered by their performance.”12
For Goffman, all human activity is acted, whether rehearsed or not. “The incapability of the ordinary individual to formulate in advance the movements of his eyes and body,” Goffman writes, “does not mean that he will not express himself through these devices in a way that is dramatized and pre-formed in his repertoire of actions. In short, we all act better than we know how.”13 This point alone should encourage workers to gain a better understanding of the impact their behaviors have on customers and to exert what Goffman calls “expressive control” over actions in order to create sincere impressions. Calling one's work theatre, treating it accordingly, and developing the capability to influence perceptions through performance separate the magical from the mundane. It is the act of acting that, in the end, differentiates memorable experiences from ordinary human activity.14
Staging Business Performances
Richard Schechner, a prominent expert in the field of performance theory, provides an invaluable perspective for thinking about the basic components of performance. E
choing Peter Brook, Schechner defines performance as “an activity done by an individual or group in the presence of and for another individual or group.”15 This definition embraces not only the staging of plays but also the bare stage of business. Within that construct, Schechner developed a valuable framework for understanding different kinds of staged “enactments,” as he calls them, centered on four key concepts: drama, script, theatre, and performance.
For Schechner, drama is central to the whole structure of performance. It consists of “a written text, score, scenario, instruction, plan, or map. The drama can be taken from place to place or time to time independent of the person or people who carry it.”16 Residing at the core of the performance, drama may be expressed in different media in different situations and cultures, business included. Drama depicts the theme of the experience for internal consumption, telling the actors what they should do. On the bare stage of business, strategy is drama, central to what an enterprise does but expressing itself through a wide variety of means, such as strategic visions, mission statements, business plans, competitive imperatives (such as Komatsu's single-minded focus from the 1960s on to “Beat Caterpillar!”), or elaborate lists of programs (as in the objectives generated in a GE Workout session). No matter what form the strategy takes, the owners of the enterprise reveal the drama over a duration of time (the strategic horizon). Even as employees come and go, drama remains the enduring crux of all commercial activity for those who play a part in the enterprise. Drama provides the substance of actions hoped for, regardless of the workplace in which the business stages its performance.
Similarly, a script is “all that can be transmitted from time to time and place to place; the basic code of events” that “pre-exists any given enactment.”17 The script, then, transmits the drama in ways that transcend specific moments, instances, or conventions. In business, processes are the script, the (usually) codified approaches that an enterprise uses to enact its strategy. Employees must learn the script, identify its subtext (ideas not explicitly stated in the strategy), and refine it for production, modifying it as required to ensure the best possible performance. The script must interpret the drama, remaining true to the drama's original meaning, exploiting the expectations of the audience in a surprising way.
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