I’ve seen a Giant Eyeball, or actually an advertised Giant Eyeball behind a closed door, vaporize a psychologist after he confessed to killing puppies as a hobby.
I’ve seen a woman in a cowboy outfit, face down on the floor and tangled in a rope, regain her will to live when an inspiring book falls with a smack from the rafters.
I’ve seen a 300-pound man dressed only in a red polka-dot bikini and pretending to be a 12-year-old girl.
In other words, I’ve been attending the Fringe Festival, that 10-day extravaganza of theater in Minneapolis in August, with 176 separate shows, selected not by jury but by random lottery and a magnet for theater geeks like me.
Maybe I’m delirious from watching too many plays, but I’ve been drawing lessons for entrepreneurs from all that drama. I’ll call them business education from the fringe. Here goes:
If you can’t say it on a deadline it’s not worth saying. The beauty of the Fringe is that no show is longer than one hour, so whether it’s purely divine or utter dreck it must be completed on time. Put that same discipline into your business. You’ll be surprised how much can happen when you absolutely must make way for somebody else, in 60 minutes or less.
Saying the “f” word doesn’t get funnier when you say it 13 times. Neither does talking about the weather in Minnesota, in a show about Minnesota. Originality counts, like when the same actor in this play finally got to his bit about what happens when Betty Crocker gets it on with the Pillsbury Doughboy. Now THAT was funny, because I’d never thought of it before. Make sure your business is original, too.
Postcards are not the only form of marketing. Neither is the same canned speech at the end of EVERY SINGLE SHOW, inviting audience members to tell their friends if they loved the play—and their enemies if they hated it. Mix it up, people. What do you think we’re doing with all of those postcards all of the actors are handing out? No, we’re not putting them in a scrapbook, unless we’re your mother.
People can tell when you’re faking your reviews, especially if the same seven people are posting raves on the same seven people’s shows, and vice versa. Customers hate fake stuff, and it’s easy to sniff out on social media. Keep it real, even if it means enduring criticism.
20 characters + 20 songs + a scene with a real inflatable pool = a hot mess. Editing is your friend, and I’m not saying that just because it’s my profession. When plays (or businesses) try to do everything they end up doing nothing well—although I will admit that scene with the fake opera singer coming to life after having her organs removed was a barn-burner. So was the one with the little girl inappropriately singing about her mother’s sex life. So was…. As I tell my writing students: choose the best and cut the rest.
No one cares if you’re trying to be a vegan. Also, it’s creepy when you describe what you were feeling when watching your lover sleep. Use your resources to develop themes that actually matter to your customers, or your audience. Throw your passion into areas where you can make a difference.
Go big or go home. That’s a common saying in business, which means to really go for it, to commit to one path and give it your all. So if you’re exploring themes about privacy and exposure in modern society, have all the cast members perform nude, like that one show I saw at the Fringe. (Yes, I am now trying to expunge it from my memory, just like the large man in the tiny bikini.)
No one will wonder what you’re trying to say—although I recommend this particular tactic only as a metaphor. Even a diehard Fringer like me couldn’t handle a business meeting all in the nude.