Pondering the exhibition industry’s sagging ticket sales, declining market value, and struggling public image, I was reminded of a person I encountered over a decade ago, in a setting which has long since passed from relevance.
I first crossed paths with Hal Drewek at a general management conference, circa 2005. By that time, he already had decades of theatre experience under his belt and was known as somewhat of a colorful character within the company we each worked for. A throwback to a different time, Hal defiantly eschewed the computers, automation, and analytics which had become standard procedure, remaining rooted to his background in showmanship, gut instincts, and human interaction. He was a guy who held strong opinions on the current state of our industry and plentiful stories of “the way things used to be”. No matter the topic, one was always sure to hear Hal’s take on it, beginning with his customary “Hal Drewek, general manager, Tallahassee 8, over twenty-five years in the business” and ending on an anecdote from one of his many career misadventures.
While one could easily write Hal off as an out of touch relic or roll their eyes in response to another one of his stories (far too many certainly did), I always looked forward to hearing what Hal had to say. Part oral history lesson, part ramblings of a stubborn curmudgeon, his voice lent a much-needed alternative take to the blindly uniform new agenda being presented. For, behind the dated ideology and less than politically correct references, there was a timeless message to be found in his frequent monologues. A reminder that, no matter how much the world or theatre industry changes over the years, we should never lose sight of what makes moving going special. The latest technologies, amenities, and procedures are merely temporary, destined to be replaced; the true magic is found in the very human social experience we provide.
As is typically the case with workplace acquaintances, I lost track of Hal over the years. After he parted ways with the company, around 2010, there was no longer a tangible link between us, and he disappeared from my life. That’s not to say Hal was ever forgotten, as I continuously noted a sizeable void in his absence at the yearly conferences. Amid the dry lectures, cutting edge reveals, and new system roll-outs, there was no longer a voice of concern or “unique” life lesson shared. Presentations simply transitioned onward, without the “Hal Drewek, general manager, Tallahassee 8, over twenty-five years in the business” interruption.
A few weeks ago, I found myself reflecting on Hal’s stories and sought to discover what Mr. Drewek had been up to since I last heard of him. Sadly, a quick internet search revealed that his stories had fallen silent on November 9, 2019. I can’t honestly say that Hal was someone I was close with or even knew all that well. Our interactions had been confined to annual meetings, held in hotel conference rooms, over a relatively brief period in our lives. Yet, I find his passing an unusually poignant reminder of the message he repeatedly attempted to impart. Looking back, I barely remember the assortment of new gadgets and programs that were introduced at those meetings; I remember the experiences found in people like Hal.
Movie going transitions onward, but there is a growing void in the experience, as we lose those who value the true magic. Perhaps, some answers to the exhibition industry’s current woes can be found in actually listening to those “colorful characters” and “out of touch relics” before it’s too late.
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