Trophy Life














Then again, maybe not. Fagen has an unusual strategy for battling nepotism and possible abuses of adjudicating power. "Just in case anyone's trying to be vindictive," she says, "we throw out all the really low scores." (What that bizarre tactic does is spotlight a few productions that are nominated repeatedly, while many worthwhile shows and performers are completely overlooked.) "We also have the judges fill out a form every year where they can tell us if they have a conflict of interest with any company. And the theater companies are given lists of adjudicators, so they can prevent anyone from judging their shows who they perceive as having a conflict."

Jack is gleeful when I tell him about the forms. "So someone is going to write, 'I cannot judge this show because I used to sleep with the lead and now I hate her'? Please. Everyone who works in theater in this town has a conflict of interest, and most of the ariZoni judges are theater people. You figure it out."

About the list of judges, one local artistic director scoffed, "These are all the people who aren't good enough to get hired by my company."

Not every ariZonis judge is nursing a grudge. "I do my best to not be swayed by the fact that I'm seeing a show directed by a guy who didn't give me a callback," says Marc, a pseudonym for an actor who appears in local productions when he's not adjudicating them. "I try to be as positive as I can, no matter how bad the play. I keep in mind that the people involved aren't being paid, that they're doing it because they love the theater. So if the show is lousy, maybe I'll play up the set design or something. There's nothing wrong with that."

Several mask and sword clubs feel otherwise. "I think I can speak for the professional theater companies when I say that none of us takes the awards too seriously," says David Ira Goldstein, artistic director of Arizona Theatre Company, which received the most ariZoni nominations of any company this year. "Some of the performers who were nominated were on stage for seven minutes. The judges are an unknown quantity; they leave the theater saying, 'I liked the play, so the costumes must have been good, too.'"

Goldstein feels that the main value of the ariZonis is as an occasion for theater people to get together to celebrate their craft, a sentiment that Fagen echoes. "It's also great publicity for theater companies and their shows," she says, but Goldstein isn't buying that.

"I always hear that the ariZonis are a good marketing tool. How? Scapin got 15 nominations, but no one can buy a ticket to it; it closed months ago. And subscribers don't know how many awards we got. Most of them don't even know what the ariZonis is."

The ariZonis is fast becoming as worthless to actors as it is to theatergoers. Qualtire was somewhat underwhelmed to discover she'd been nominated for her performance in One More Time, a show reportedly renamed One More Crime by its production staff. "I said, 'I was nominated for that?' Believe me, this was not my very best work."

Consensus among stage people seems to be that the nepotism and would-be fair-mindedness of the ariZonis has debilitated the award, that inferior work is lauded by judges who can't see straight, while exceptional work is overlooked. "It's a flawed system," agrees ariZoni judge Marc, who wasn't aware that the awards show was being held this month. "But any boost to theater is a good thing. The ariZonis is like a grade school pageant, where the kids are told, 'Congratulations, you did a good job.'"

Qualtire, for one, isn't all that interested in such kind-hearted compliments. "I don't think I stand a chance of winning this thing," says Qualtire, "but if I get the award, I might have to say something about how I've done better work that no ariZoni judge happened to show up for."

That's an acceptance speech I'd like to hear.

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