Who Killed the Vancouver Playhouse Theatre Company?

(with apologies to Bob Dylan and Cock Robin)

Who went and killed the Vancouver Playhouse?
Who ruined the company? Who was the louse?

Not us, said City Hall, they depended on us,
And we gave them free rent, in that you can trust.
Although we clawed back surcharges galore,
Still, it’s just that the theatre should have made more.
Forty-eight years of no grants, whereas others got lots?
Yes, but why didn’t the company make pots and pots?
Sure we took tens of thousands from them each year
Did we think it would break them? Well, we don’t have a seer!
Look, last year they were desperate, we tossed them a bone,
But they failed just the same. Maybe accident prone?

Who went and killed the Vancouver Playhouse?
Who ruined the company? Who was the louse?

Not us, said the Olympics, from their vast bed of cash
If they say so, it’s envy! Their teeth they can gnash!
We kept them out of First Avenue? Yes, that is true.
But constructional dust would’ve made athletes blue.
So we forced them to wait, but your blame we defy;
It’s not all our fault downtown rents are so high.
Too bad they were cash-broke once we had done.
But we did pretty performances; weren’t they good fun?

Who went and killed the Vancouver Playhouse?
Who ruined the company? Who was the louse?

Not us, said the Feds, when they looked up at last
And anyway theatre belongs in the past.
It’s prisons and jets where our money must go;
And corporations need more, as you surely must know.
Maybe THEY could’ve helped Playhouse out of this jam
The ordinary folk, we know, don’t give a damn.

Who went and killed the Vancouver Playhouse?
Who ruined the company? Who was the louse?

Not us, said big business, why look at us?
They should make their own money and not moan and cuss.
We’ll sponsor a show where our profit seems sure
And we’ll place a few ads in a glossy brochure.
But the kickback we get from the Feds is our own
And you know that you’ll never get blood from a stone.
The community’s health, hey that’s not our affair,
And the media says profits trickle down there.

Who went and killed the Vancouver Playhouse?
Who ruined the company? Who was the louse?

Not us, said the media, indignant and hurt
You can’t expect US to wear a hair shirt.
We’ve cut back on arts coverage, this much is true
But celebrity gossip is more fun to view.
As for moral duty, it’s weighed in the scales
And we struggle ourselves now to keep up our sales.
Intelligent critique is boring old hat
The public is fickle, but certain of that.

Who went and killed the Vancouver Playhouse?
Who ruined the company? Who was the louse?

Not us, said the public, shocked and aghast,
We’re beyond all reproach, we should never be asked!
If our taste has been coarsened, that is our right,
An evening of theatre? A dead boring night!
Sure, once in a while, some of us go,
But then only if it is “something we know.”
Reality t.v. is what really shines,
‘Cause we’re down to earth. (What’s “philistines?”)

Who went and killed the Vancouver Playhouse?
Who ruined the company? Who was the louse?

It was I, said Max Reimer, I did the deed.
I killed it when all it could do was just bleed.
My artists and I did our best to persist,
But the time finally came to no longer resist.
Yes, art and finance is a balancing act;
One wants both acclaim and the theatres packed.
But with hits of both kinds, we’d begged for support,
‘Til at last we just had to give over the fort.
Exhausted and heart-broken: that is my cost.
I wonder if others even know what they’ve lost?