Saving the theatre

The next morning, you wake up and realize that you really are the President of a theatre company. The realization hits you like a ton of bricks - the kind of bricks that Egyptian slaves were always making out of mud and straw and looking really sad and oppressed about it whenever Moses wandered by. "Stop it!" you say to yourself, "It was overblown similes that got me into this mess in the first place."

You arrive at the bank at 9:00 sharp. The Bank Manager greets you with enthusiasm and tells you he's a great lover of theatre. Unfortunately, if you can't come up with a mortgage payment in the next 30 days, the bank will have no choice but to foreclose. (You wonder what he would have said if he didn't want to be your friend.) You ask your fellow board members what to do.

Val, speaking as the representative of the feminist collective (although she doesn't have the authority to commit the collective to any decision - only the collective as a whole can do that, after giving due consideration to minority viewpoints and achieving genuine consensus), suggests that the theatre should finally produce the feminist opera that people have been talking about for so many years.

Victor thinks that, with a bit of extra publicity, the fifth annual gay polka festival could be a massive hit.

Julian says, "Give the people what they want." There is an uncomfortable silence. Although pleasing an audience would certainly be an interesting change, it's not clear exactly how Julian proposes to achieve this. "I've been doing gay theatre for years, and there's only one thing that sells," he says. "And it ain't Ibsen. Let's make a gay porn film!"

You decide: what is the best way to save the theatre?