Bedlam Theatre

It’s The End Of The World As We Know It, (& I Feel Fine) or “Well? Shall we go?” “Yes, let’s go.” They do not move. Curtain.

“They could smell death,” she said as she rolled her cigarette between her fingers. “They smelled death and everyone started tipping big.” She was talking about the regulars of a restaurant that closed, but despite the best efforts of the sunshine and summer breeze, the darkness of the end of times weigh heavy on the crowd on the rooftop patio of the Bedlam Theatre. The Bedlam is about to be evicted and downstairs in the relative cool of the brick bar, another patron sighed, “It feels like the end of a golden age.” It might be, mainly because the old aphorism is true; you don’t know how good you’ve got it ‘til it’s gone. Or in this case, on the way out.

By now you should know the details. The Star Tribune broke the story last week that the Bedlam Theatre, which has occupied a former nightclub space on the West Bank for four years now, was given notice by their landlords that they would have to leave the space by September 7th. Sheila Regan at the Twin Cities Daily Planet expanded that narrative with an excellent history of the Bedlam and what it has meant to the West Bank as a community. Even though the Bedlam is about to lose a physical space, it won’t be going down without a wash of ink and lots of peoples two cents, because opinions and voices are two of the only things that artistic-types have going for us these day. Lord knows it’s not the money or the stable future.

First Bedlam performance, “No Sugar Cookies For Herbert”

It wasn’t originally supposed to feel permanent. Four years ago, Bedlam and it’s merry band of theatre-making, authority-thumbing, romping gypsies and vagabonds were similarly evicted from a basement space and amid much wailing and gnashing of teeth, were steered into an empty building that had seen a string of failed businesses. I remember getting off the lightrail one cold day, maybe in November, and seeing people with hammers going to work on the outside of the run-down red brick building. “Whatcha doing?” “Putting in a theatre.” “Cool.” The concept seemed really simple, just take over a space and make a theatre! It hasn’t been simple at all, but it has been thrilling and rewarding to watch innovation at work. They’ve even made Shakespeare work for them.

Six months after that first encounter, I was auditioning for the first of three of the Bedlam’s 10 Minute Community Play Festivals in which I would participate. That From that first festival, I met the people with whom I would be a part of an indie-rock opera called Idigaragua. We went on to form a company called Lamb Lays with Lion and perform more works at Bedlam. I have done one-off performances there, designed for the space and written reviews of numerous shows that have been performed there. I loved a lot of it, hated some, but was rarely indifferent to what was happening in that space. I owe a lot to the Bedlam company. As it turned from just a theatre into one of the best bar & restaurant combos in town, I have had discussions, fights and feel-good sessions, been uproariously drunk and keenly sober there. Of any space in the Twin Cities, it is one where you can walk in and feel at home, whether you want to sit by yourself or get into it with a stranger. It has character, and it has community.

Bedlam’s fuzzy joyful memories

In fact, Bedlam has been central to creating a “community” on the West Bank. It sometimes feels like a neighborhood where students glide past hipsters ignoring the Somali immigrant population, all parties willfully oblivious to eachother. The Bedlam, especially through its work with the youth at the Brian Coyle Center, has made the space to change that and to bring these groups into dialogue. Bedlam has translated a fundamental tenet of theatre, that communication of personal narrative is a social force, and empowered communities and tribes in need of a voice. Fortunately this progress will not be lost, as the Mixed Blood Theatre just down the street (who own their building lock & stock) will be carrying on that community and youth based work. It only makes sense, as their stated mission is to be “dedicated to the spirit of Dr. King’s dream.”

Despite that continuation, it would be a great loss to the neighborhood, to theatre-folk, to artists, musicians and foodies, to passersby and to Minneapolis as a whole if these instigators and rabble-rousers go. Permanence may be antithetical to the revolutionary spirit, but Bedlam never let itself get bored in their space, and never bored us either. So let the mayor know that. Tell him that whether it’s through tax-breaks, real-estate incentives or good old fashioned politicking, Minneapolis needs the Bedlam’s innovative force. We should not let this go quietly, without a fight or at least a damn good party. Down in the bar, a board member was taking a distinctly different view then that of the end of days. “The moment they say so,” she grinned, “I’m ready to start a capital campaign.” She was ready to go, so let’s tip big, kick up our heels and move on to the next big change.

Spread the word! Save the Bedlam!