OnStage: Club Bedlam

The Minneapolis skyline pops up like the Emerald City, a silhouette in the hazy September night. About 20 people are knocking back cold beers on Bedlam Theatre's rooftop deck -- an elegantly shabby slab of old wood adorned by tubs of flowers and plants. The shock troops from a happy-hour confab shoot the breeze at a large wooden table that dominates the floor.

Just a few steps inside the building, a circle of eight to 10 people loll on sofas and love seats around a coffee table in the aptly named "Living Room" while an actor browses through a script at a nearby table. Rising from downstairs come sounds that remind us that this is a working theater. The final dress rehearsal for "Million Dollar Museum" produces the occasional shout or shriek from the big, rectangular room Bedlam uses for performances. The show opened last Friday.

"Million Dollar Museum" is a bizarre rant set in a freak-show series of dioramas -- the Gallery of Mythical Beings, the Hallway of Mastery -- with a sloth-man, a "tubatic unit" (human tuba) and a pistol-packing cowboy. It's as much an art installation as it is theater, with Bedlam's confident, prankish attitude. Watching this rehearsal, one finds it charming that Bedlam, despite meteoric growth over the past few years, has retained an anarchic and radical point of view.

Big budget increase

There is a new entrepreneurial spirit rushing through Bedlam's hodgepodge frat-house offices. In four years, the organization has increased its annual budget tenfold, to more than $600,000. Since moving into a foundering West Bank bar and restaurant in 2007, Bedlam has become equal parts dinner theater, cabaret and social hub. By day, children attend theater classes and community groups meet over beers. By night, entertainment and eclectic eats draw crowds 52 weeks a year. A product of its generation, Bedlam boasts the largest Facebook following of any theater organization in Minnesota, with more than 1,000 followers. During the recent Minnesota Fringe Festival, Bedlam produced a show in its parking lot and played host as Fringe Central -- packed to the gills after the theaters closed at 11 p.m.

"Once they got that building, they started to take themselves seriously in many ways," said Jack Reuler from his perch at neighboring Mixed Blood Theatre. "That venue has been transformative."

Bedlam has indeed been on a curious metamorphosis since it appeared on our radar seven summers ago. Founded by former students at Macalester College, the group had spent nine years by that point as a clubhouse theater and bike-repair shop on Cedar Avenue. They deconstructed classics, created science-fiction comedies and leftist parables and sponsored 10-minute community-play festivals. And if you liked, they'd grease your chain or adjust your derailleur.

Yet, the principals in that ragged little group understood in 2002 that if they wanted to continue this endeavor, they would need to sand off the rough edges.

Those seeds began to take root and in 2006, Bedlam produced its most-ambitious show ever, "West Bank Story." The product of artistic directors John Bueche and Maren Ward, "West Bank" had the modest goal of both narrating the Cedar-Riverside neighborhood's history and creating a social experience for current residents.

As the production succeeded on the terms of its own ambition, though, Bedlam was losing its theater to a mosque expansion. As usual, crisis created clarity, and Bedlam decided to double down on its Cedar-Riverside enterprise by moving into the vacant Baja Riverside Cafe, next to the Hiawatha light-rail line, in early 2007.

"We weren't allowed to go away," Ward said, recalling a community meeting at which someone angrily told her they had better find a new place. "There was a sense the work was vital. John and I are the types of personalities that respond to that."

The building (which had once housed Knickerbockers) has triple the square footage of Bedlam's old space, plus a bar, kitchen, parking lot and rooftop deck. The risk-reward factor was enormous, but Ward and Bueche got a show up quickly and then secured the restaurant/bar license that July. They went into debt as the budget soared through the roof in 2007. The following year they broke even, and Bueche says it appears they'll be able to pay off some debt in 2009.

In the neighborhood for good

This could have been a very short story about a small group that got in over its head, except that Ward and Bueche dedicated themselves to becoming better administrators. They immersed themselves in the three-year program at ArtsLab, an in-depth program that lets small arts groups share "best practices" and pick up clues about technical assistance and operating strategies. Then they went after grants. The Theatre Communications Group announced this week that Bedlam had won a New Generations award for attracting young adults. The McKnight Foundation helped with grants for staging and lights -- and a commercial-grade refrigerator for the kitchen.

Two buzz phrases drive Bedlam's philosophy: civic engagement and social experience.

On a recent weekday afternoon, the downstairs theater was packed with howling youngsters who participate in Bedlam's theater workshops as part of a partnership with the nearby Brian Coyle Center. Bueche chairs the Cedar Riverside Neighborhood Revitalization Board. Ward heads the Neighborhood Community Building Committee.

"Where they are in terms of community-building surpasses anyone in town by far," Reuler said.

Social experience is just what it sounds like: get people in the door and let them have fun. It's interestingly similar to another theater not far upriver from Bedlam.

"They don't mind being compared to the Guthrie," said Vickie Benson, arts program officer at the McKnight Foundation. "When Guthrie was opening, one of the messages was to come here even if you're not going to a show. That's what Bedlam is saying, too."

Bueche puts it another way: Give people a reason to spend three or four hours in the building, rather than just pop in for a show. Theater and social groups hold regular happy hours at Bedlam. Ward books outside musicians or performance groups. Political events, movie nights and music all have the intention of bringing diverse audiences.

"I always say that we exist because of the community that developed in the 1990s," said Ward. "People found out about us by using the space for some other reason, and that's the experiment that continues today."

In the kitchen, Bueche's brother, Jim, introduced a "Polish fusion" menu, featuring pierogies, kielbasa and several pizzas, including a Polish option: sauerkraut, mushrooms and pickled beets. Vegans have several tempeh options, salads and chickpea casserole.

Its own drummer

Bedlam remains an odd duck in the theater community -- more by deliberate choice than anything else. Bueche and Ward will never present a season of, say, American classics. Their work is an extension of their personalities, those who work with them and their geographic and philosophical neighbors.

Critical response matters less than audience engagement, and more likely than not the work -- which bristles with enthusiasm -- feels ragged. One red flag is whether the constant programming from other groups will overwhelm the Bedlam brand. Ward admits it's a concern, but Bueche notes that the troupe still produces six new works a year.

"It comes down to individuals," said Benson. "John and Maren just won't let that happen."

Bueche listed three shows coming up, including a piece created by Theatre de la Jeune Lune co-founders Barbra Berlovitz and Bob Rosen. And, in terms that are just so Bedlam, the holiday show will be "Beaver Dance" by Corrie Zoll -- "a Marxist analysis of the Minnesota fur trade."

Somehow, that seems to say everything there is to say about Bedlam.

Graydon Royce • 612-673-7299