Zach Helm on His Experiences With Interviewing the Audience

About the Author:
As the playwright of Good Canary, screenwriter of Stranger Than Fiction and director of Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium, Zach Helm usually finds himself away from the eyes of audiences. However, for his latest project Interviewing the Audience, Helm is taking center stage at the Vineyard Theatre to continue the traditions of playwright Spalding Gray, as he calls random audience members up on stage to discuss their lives. Just before the show's February 10 opening, Helm offered insight into his interview techniques, the show's unpredicatable nature and the fascinating onstage experience that spurred his desire to interact with theatergoers. 

As I write this, I will be walking onstage in a few hours for the opening night performance of Interviewing the Audience at the Vineyard Theatre, a moment for which I am thoroughly excited. Anything beyond that moment, however, is a mystery.

Interviewing the Audience was created by the ground-breaking performer and writer Spalding Gray, who began the piece in 1981 and performed it numerous times over the following decades before his death in 2004. As a young theater student, I was enraptured by Mr. Gray’s ability to balance his own humanity (even in its most mundane form) with poetry and imagination. A few years later I was able to see Mr. Gray perform live. The show was Interviewing the Audience, and what occurred, as I will relay now, was as memorable a moment as I have ever had in the theater:

One of the guests Mr. Gray invited onto the stage was a young girl, who had attended the show because her school had given her the assignment of attending a piece of “theater or dance.” Unfortunately, the girl’s mother had been tardy in acquiring tickets and in the last minute, could only find reasonably priced seats to Mr. Gray’s show. The girl, come to find out, had never been to see theater before. Laughter erupted at her sincerity. Mr. Gray, gracefully, turned her freshness to the medium into a youthful wisdom and near the interview’s end, he commented that the girl had achieved something quite special; in her attempt to see theater, she had in fact become theater. Her response was immediate, and unintentionally profound: “That’s weird. I could’ve been anybody.”

I have held that dialogue as a personal treatise ever since. Too often do I see, and frankly create, drama entirely drawn from intangible ideas, contrivances, machinations of plot. The concept that drama can be rooted in the narrative of “anybody” is one that reminds me of the primary characteristic of great theater: humanity, simple or complex, feathery or trenchant, humorous or profound... but authentic above all else.

A few years ago, at a particularly frustrating time in my career as a writer, I revisited my thoughts on that moment. As I remembered that event, I realized that Mr. Gray’s concept was too essential to not be carried on, and I thought about our culture’s recent transition away from the joy of human conversation. I decided to attempt Mr. Gray’s brilliant concept, in my own small way.

Whereas Mr. Gray preferred a series of set questions, I began to rehearse the piece without any guidelines. Immediately I found myself forced to listen to my guests intently, and my questions could be inspired only by my own curiosity. I realized that this process might result in a wide range of interviews, for better or worse, but it also unlocked a very satisfying result: People could be themselves.

Audience members, nervous about attending the show, are always worried that if they are brought on stage, they will not be entertaining or interesting. From where I have sat, now nearing 100 times, I have witnessed and heard some of the most entertaining and interesting narratives of my life: romances, rivalries, ambitions and histories. Ex-patriots, historical needle-pointers, consumers of erotic jewelry. Love lost, choices made, fates unraveled and friendships kept.

Not every evening is a revelation. Last Sunday, for instance, was deeply emotional. Monday, however, was light and funny. Tuesday, in turn, was communal and connective. Yet each show had its own unique joy to it, and each interview became another thread in our communal tapestry. And what makes it all so beautiful for me is each night I walk out, I never know who I, or the audience, will meet. I can never predict the outcome, nor can I control the result. It is a tight-wire act, perhaps, but every night we are given an opportunity to share in the evening’s potential and its unpredictable outcome. To me, that is the joy of theater.

So in that moment before I walk on stage, I must admit I feel somewhat selfish towards the mystery about to unfold... as I have come to realize that Mr. Gray and I, for the past 30 years, have simply had the best seat in the house.