The little theatre that could
From its days as a smoky, dingy space in George Street to the beating heart of regional theatre, Centrepoint celebrates its 45th birthday this month. Greer Berry reports.
They have been treading its boards for 45 years – the equivalent of 900 human years. That is the standing joke from Kate Louise Elliott, the general manager of Centrepoint Theatre, or as she likes to refer to it, the ‘‘little theatre that could’’.
Elliott says it is amazing and humbling Centrepoint still exists among a landscape of fallen arthouse soldiers. And she is extraordinarily grateful for it, as she lists off theatres around the country that have turned up their toes and now only exist in the fading memory of those who experienced their uniqueness.
‘‘We really should still be here,’’ she quickly adds.
‘‘We are the little engine that could. We are doing OK, we are wanting to improve. We have plans.’’
Her voice trails off and you can tell she is thinking about all of those future ideas and hopes for the place she calls home.
‘‘This theatre has such a huge heart, it is the Palmerston North, Manawatu¯ people who say no, we don’t want this to go. It is part of everyday life.’’
Centrepoint Theatre began its life in 1974.
A group of theatre lovers realised there was a gap in the entertainment market and established Centrepoint in a disused nightclub in George St.
‘‘It was a smoky old place,’’ says Elliott, who has been involved with the theatre for more than 20 years.
‘‘The place would leak, you would move your tables and chairs to get away from the leak.’’
The founders would rehearse all day, and perform at night, and theatre-goers could enjoy dinner and a show, a novel concept at the time, for a couple of bucks.
The pay was almost nonexistent but was made up for in passion and drive.
Those early foundations formed the heart of what would eventually be New Zealand’s only regional professional theatre.
That is a fact that anyone close to the theatre quite rightfully boasts about, and it is a big deal.
Centrepoint Theatre has managed to ride the tides of funding issues and downturns, and the various crises that befall the industry.
But as Elliott and artistic director Den Pengally both are quick to say, the arts is not a business.
‘‘We don’t directly save lives but that is not to say we are not lifesaving,’’ says Elliott.
The people who have been involved in Centrepoint over the years have given their everything.
‘‘They have given their lives to the place, to the industry,’’ she says. And there is no recompense for that.
Pengally, a relative newcomer to the scene, has been involved with the theatre for three years now and says he doesn’t think the arts will ever survive without funding.
‘‘It kept running because all the people involved said: we’re not going to let this die,’’ he says.
‘‘I just look at that, going: that is incredible. It terrifies me, would I be able to do that?’’
Centrepoint receives funding from the Government and the local council, with about 50 per cent of its income coming from ticket sales.
‘‘Palmy loves theatre, they sponsor it, attend it,’’ says Pengally. ‘‘That is the only reasonwe are still here.’’
And that is a good point. Why, or how, when all the other regional theatre companies were falling over, did Centrepoint charge ahead?
‘‘It is really genuine,’’ says Elliott. ‘‘I have worked in other theatres, and they are great. But it has got your back.’’
Pengally calls the place an ‘‘incredibly bizarre beast that makes it work’’ and reckons being a part of the show That Bloodywoman, based on Kiwi icon Kate Sheppard, solidified for him the unique situation Centrepoint finds itself in.
‘‘It summed up Centrepoint in so many ways, community actors getting on stagewith professionals, and everybody slogged their guts out and just worked for it,’’ he recalls.
‘‘There is a sense of community and family as well as amazing talent and the willingness to work their arses off.’’
So what is next for the little theatre that prides itself on punters being able to sit in the back row and still be spat on?
Pengally and Elliott are united in their passion.
One hope is that they may be able to expand their shows to take them on the road, sharing the theatre love with cities such as New Plymouth, Hamilton, Tauranga and Napier.
Pengally says there is a certain amount of obligation that comes with receiving community money.
‘‘If we are getting public funds, we feel the responsibility to get the most benefit for New Zealanders,’’ he says.
So they have been thinking bigger.
‘‘In those cities, there is still an under supply of entertainment at nights.
‘‘One of the sad things of theatre, you invest all that money, you put the show on and then it is gone.’’
By thinking and going bigger, the pair hope to make it more financially viable, affordable and accessible as possible, for other communities to attend productions.
‘‘We would like to get out to them,’’ says Elliott.
When looking to the future, the pair also want to see the next generation of theatre lovers have the space to grow.
‘‘Kate and I feel really strongly that it is our responsibility to support those coming up,’’ says Pengally.
That includes schemes such as expanding the Basement Company for 17 to 21-year-olds, adult acting classes, high school training, and even aiding and supporting primary school children with stage skills.
They also intend to offer scholarships and access to those who would not otherwise have the opportunity.
Elliott has grand physical plans too – hoping a building feasibility report will expose a structure that, she says, is held together by putty.
‘‘We can’t stay here, it is haemorrhaging as it is,’’ she laughs.
‘‘It is a big hole that we are filling in.’’ In her dream oasis, Centrepoint will be a destination venue, with accommodation and dining.
Most of all, Elliott would like to see the community continue to support the much loved, intimate theatre.
She laughs when people throw around the term ‘‘high brow’’, retorting that it is not a label that sticks to anyone at Centrepoint. There is no pretension, just a communal desire to see ourselves reflected on stage.
‘‘You are seeing your neighbours up on stage, you care about them more,’’ she says.
‘‘It is like a saveloy pie.’’ A what? I ask.
She explains: You don’t know what it is, it sounds weird, horrible in fact. You are concerned, worried, this thing is new to you.
‘‘But as soon as you bite into it you are like: this is amazing; this is what this theatre is like.’’
It is hard to argue with logic like that.