For the love of it.

Amateur (n.) Fr. “lover of”. Orig. from L. amatorem (nom. amator) “lover”, agentive noun from amatus, pp. of amare “to love”. Its meaning as a “dabbler” as opposed to serious professional, is first being used circa 1786 and as an adjective from 1838. The word ‘amateur’ is often pejoratively used in the theatre world. It is often used to denote a grade somewhat lesser than the perceived professional standard. Of course, there may be an element of truth in that taxonomy. Yet, what is sometimes forgotten in the delegation of superiority and inferiority, is that those in the amateur ranks, those wonderful souls who put in the long hours and the hard graft, do it because they are lovers not hookers. That is, they are lovers of the game, rather than on the game. (OK, that’s a bit harsh, but it had a certain poetical symmetry to it. We’ve all ‘prostituted’ ourselves for our art right? Right? Oh oh....) Anyway, what is also sometimes forgotten is, we have all seen sub-standard productions and performances from the ‘superior’ professional grade. Those evenings where we cringed and squirmed and wished we’d stayed home and watched The Bill or the footy. Equally, we have all seen ‘amateur’ productions and performances of such a standard that we were left gobsmacked, enthused for the genre, and uplifted by the experience. Sure, the critical pendulum favours the professional game more so than the ‘amator’. Sure the professional ranks are filled with those who have done the hard graft, jumped through the hoops, done their time in the Limbo of arts schools and colleges, and traipsed from failed audition to failed audition. Sure they’ve been through a rigourous homogenisation which allows the cream to rise to the top. A filtering process evolved from years of trial and complete money-wasted flop. Yet, what of all those poor milk sops with the ‘dream of cream’ still in their veiny udders? What about all those who do their twenty-five year tour of familial duty and then wake up one day looking blearily at their tatty bucket list and sigh when they read “#1 Star of Stage and Screen”, before carefully drawing a line through the word ‘screen’? The reverse logic is worth exploring here. Let’s think about a world without the Indies, the Amatores, the Commies (hmm, the symmetry wasn’t so good this time—‘commies’ for community theatre?—ouch!). What would all those people who participate in the Love-In that is amateur theatre do if there was no rehearsal, performance, bumping in, bumping out, and watching? The audience might be resigned to the idiot box on Saturday night, parents of the kids who do the workshops resigned to sitting their darlings in front of the digital babysitter, the actors, backstagers, and frontstagers resigned to wandering the streets like the living dead, looking for a theatre experience fix (at least they’re getting some exercise). And what happens to all those financial transactions buying sets, props, bar items, phone calls, petrol, that new frock for opening night and the dry cleaning bill to clean it after the closing night party, that move the economy just a little all over the country, everyday, year in and year out? Then there’s the costs to the community when people do nothing, especially the young’ns. At the risk of sounding like a reformed young’n, boredom has a way of costing people more than just dollars, for some, it can cost them the rest of their lives. OK that’s brought a far-too-sombre note to proceedings. But you get my point, don’t you? There’s a lot more involved in the Amatorium than whether a performance is good or not, whether the set looks spectacular or not, whether the costumes are off the Judith Head rack or from the St Vinnies rack. There’s the love of it! The love of being terrified, the love of being humiliated, the love of ridicule and criticism....wait a minute, that’s a bit unkind to say those things about professional theatre. Forgive me. My point is, we—the amatores, the lovers—do it for the love of it and that’s all that matters in the end. Isn’t it?