Season Brochures: Seven Deadly Sins

In 2007 I went to an arts marketing conference where a headline speaker proudly proclaimed that “season brochures will be extinct within five years.”

Fast-forward nearly twenty years and they’re still around and kicking. The reality of a digital world, with inboxes overflowing, and social media an increasingly congested (and expensive) marketplace with increasingly little social connection has made the analogue – the things you can hold and smell – much more engaging. They are not without their critics and flaws but the season brochure can be a reliable way of driving early sales, landing organisational messaging, spreading spend for multiple shows into one hit, managing workload and capacity, and, as if that’s not enough, can do sterling work with top level attenders, donors and funders. I mean let’s not pretend that it’s not expensive – it is – and let’s not pretend that getting them delivered is perfect – postal delivery can be shambolic – but it can deliver the big bucks when done in the right way.

For many arts organisations they work.

I was trying to work out how many season brochures I’ve paginated, written, designed, led, proofed or, occasionally, pulled-back-from-oblivion, and I think it must be comfortably over 70. I found myself browsing a current theatre brochure and realised, as I grimaced through the pages, that I have a set of brochure-icks, things that I see regularly that make my heart sink. So, in response to that, a horror show piece of print that I accidentally picked up, here are seven deadly sins I keep seeing in season brochures that I wish, frankly, would just stop forever.

#1 – The Tedious Artistic Director Introduction.

The opening spread. The first thing that people read when they open up your hallowed text. The most valuable bit of real estate after the front cover and here we have…

Oh God… Someone’s decided to rewrite War and Peace.

You’ve all seen it, a picture of an Artistic Director or CEO, proudly leaning back on a theatre seat in a completely empty auditorium (why always so bleak), now wanting to pass on a few (never less than 6 paragraphs) choice words before you embark into this season’s programme.

What will they talk about I wonder? And will they use punctuation?

Surely it won’t be a blow-by-blow listing of the shows that are contained less than one page away but with some utterly pointless supporting text – “…in May we’ll be welcoming the return of the Regal Shakespeare Company with Titus Andronicus, a real highlight for all…” or even worse (and seen this in a live Autumn brochure by a producing theatre), “…while on page 13 you’ll find some of the best comedy coming to [redacted]…“

Surely it won’t be a tight 486 words (yes, I counted) of densely packed text rammed full of compound sentences and more jargon than you can shake a theatrical stick at. There will be, of course, a list of funders thanked, without ever letting you know what they are funding, followed by mentioning some people, probably actors who are nice to have around but who 99.99% of your audience won’t of heard of, before finally mentioning that the theatre has been going from strength-to-strength while offer little to no supporting evidence despite what’s written in the local newspaper.

Surely it won’t be written in such a way that it requires a PhD to understand it and it, inexplicably, picks the least endearing things to talk about – how they’ve decided to introduce a booking fee (which frankly you probably wouldn’t have noticed anyway), why with the changes to parking access is more difficult, and how the venue is struggling and that any support is always welcome – coins as well as notes.

This is valuable page space. I’m not saying the CEO or AD voice isn’t important. But make sure it’s interesting. Makes sure it’s concise. Make sure that there aren’t so many different messages all trying to find space that they merge into a blur of words and grand statements.

Make people excited about the experiences contained within.
Make people feel good about supporting you.
Give people messages on a plate.
Project success.
Be interesting.

Oh, and don’t let them write it if they’re terrible writers.

#2 – The Inexplicable Contents Table.

When I was at university there was a book I read about British Theatre since 1920. It was hugely detailed, charted the pre-War years and the development of pantomimes and the challenges of censorship, followed Olivier as he founded the National Theatre, took me on a journey with the playwriting greats – Pinter, Ayckbourn, Bennett, Kane, Coward, Stoppard, Churchill – before talking passionately about the demise of the repertory system, the new regional powerhouses of the 70s/80s/90s and the titans of the RSC. It ran at comfortably over 400 pages and the opening contents page listed maybe 20 – 25 different sections.

I think about that when I open a 32 page brochure and am confronted by a contents table on page two. Who is it for? Are there people really needing this sort of specific guidance – who looks at the mighty 32 page brochure and think “well, I’ll never find my way around this again!”

Stop it. Stop it now.

#3 – The Microscopic Seating Plan.

The full detailed seating plan taking up a full page at the back of the brochure. What function are they fulfilling in this piece of marketing literature? Are there people ringing up, presumably with a magnifying glass, asking the box office about specific seats? Or is it merely a visual representation of what the theatre looks like… And why didn’t you just include a photo?

Look, I get that there are circumstances where a seating visualisation might be useful. If you’re in the round or traverse perhaps? Or if the theatre has some sort of weird quirk – maybe it’s a spiral of seats made of wicker with a single stool in the centre on which one actor stands under a single spotlight. But a visualisation can be small, it can be designed to help people understand the concept of what your auditorium looks like if a photo isn’t available. A seating plan, showing the row numbers and letters, is a huge waste of space.

“But wait” I hear you cry, “Eddie from the box office says that customers are ALWAYS wanting these when they come to buy tickets”. A word to the wise. Print out 10 copies of the seating plan on A4 and get one copy laminated on A3 and give them to Eddie and see how regularly it ever gets mentioned again.

#4 – Title Pages For No Apparent Reason.

I saw this in a brochure I read last week. Four pages were being used functionally as chapter markers – they were “Produced Shows and Touring Productions”, “Visiting Shows (One Night Events)”, “Comedy” and “Music”. A full page for each, with simply those words. That’s an extra page of A4 per brochure to accommodate it. That’s potentially 20k extra pieces of A4 paper per print run. That they’ve paid for. It’s probably at least a trees-worth right? I should ask, they had quite an exhaustive environmental policy. Thank God it was printed on FSC approved paper.

First up, for a non-theatre person what is a “produced show”? Are there shows that are “unproduced shows?” Surely everything is produced so what makes those specifically different or special. Also why are they grouped with “Touring Productions” – what does that mean?

“Visiting shows” assumes that people know that not everything is made by the venue (apologies reader, they do not), and also assumed that they’re, well, not touring? But the curiosity that one nighters are separated out – do people think, “you know what I really want to see? A show that is only in [town redacted] for one evening”.

“Comedy” was a full page, then followed by 4 pages of comedians, many of whom are household names, 80% of which were holding microphones.

“Music” was followed by six pages, with 14 shows, of which 7 featured people holding guitars.

I don’t have a problem with genre marking – for challenging or unclear work it can be an incredibly useful tool – but a whole page? For a genre title?

Everything you do should be about making the browsing experience better for audiences, selling more tickets or developing the brand. Try small labels or tabs on the pages…

#5 – How To Book Pages For Mathematicians.

Where do I start with this one?

Is it the explanation that website sales are available 24/7? Or the requires-NASA-to-decode-it opening times next to the phone number, next to the words “friendly box office team” (opposed to “psychotic box office cabal”). Maybe it’s the ticket delivery section that informs you that you can have tickets by e-mail, or printed for collection, or printed and posted to you – sadly no option to get them tattooed to my forehead then – and also that there is a postage cost in case you forgot that postage costs money.

That’s all before we even get into the tables of prices.

So to be clear. If you want to see [generic show one] then it’ll be £25 on a Monday, Tuesday and every second Wednesday of the month, unless it’s raining in which case it’ll be £26.25 for the Band A tickets, but then it’s £24.74 for the Band B tickets, but only available on rows A to D, and never on a full moon or a solar eclipse. Then if you’re under 25 you can save 18% (smart right?) on a Monday, but we generally don’t have a show on a Monday, and if you’re over 67 you can get 20% (no logic) off on a Thursday matinee and a free cup of tea and biscuit (rich tea).

I have thoughts about pricing (click here to read one from a few years ago), but this can all be terribly off putting. People on this page are considering a purchase.

Make it clear, concise and easy.

#6 – Not Following The Money.

This is a particular passion of mine.

Money, as they say, makes the world go round. For an arts organisation maximising income is key – it allows you the flexibility to take risks, try new things, invest and be creative. If the season brochure is a core component of your revenue generation strategy then it makes sense that the allocation of space and prominence will relate to what makes the money.

Of course it’s never quite as simple as that – there’s also the brand identity, recognising that some areas bring in money in different ways (an education or learning team can drive the bottom line through trust and foundation income – not that the season brochure is necessarily the place to do that), and of course recognising that every organisation serves a community and sometimes there is good reason to weight messaging or community product accordingly.

What is a bugbear of mine is where the weighting isn’t questioned or challenged.

One of the things I’ve been an advocate for is to try to ask the question of every bit of content as to what weight it offers in relation to everything else. This isn’t fixed and can change over time – so it’s a decision in one singular moment.

The basics: A show that could earn the organisation £20k should have much more space than a show that could earn the organisation £1k. A show that is as close to a dead cert to sell out might have less space than a show that needs more support. Specialist programmes that are areas of rejuvenation might get prioritised. Things that encourage multi-buying should be pushed up the list. Major announcements that will drive substantial organisational change – bigger and further forward. Small-scale storytelling shows about dogs written by middle-aged glasses wearing legends (see here) should have a double-page spread…

Obviously not, but you see my point – it’s easy to say follow the money and then get turned by emotional response. Stay strong, be clear on why everything gets what it does and the financial reasons for that.

I always encourage marketeers to really understand what the deal memos really mean – it helps with prioritisation, planning around risk and where opportunity can be found. It’s also worth remembering that your weighting will be impacted by the audience and distribution approach for your brochure. A brochure targeting your top 1000 bookers should look different to a brochure going in tourism racks.

#7 – Use of the word “Unique” (and others).

I’ve been in a few seaside resorts recently and I read, in one particularly thick brochure, an entry about an Elvis impersonation show. The copy opened by describing this particular impersonators voice as “truly unique”. For a man whose whole job is to try and sound as much like another man as possible, surely, I thought, there can be no worse review of an Elvis impersonator’s voice as “truly unique”. You may as well have written “doesn’t really sound like Elvis.”

It’s really easy to be sent copy and simply copy and paste. For one it often saves a lot of arguments and time.

I would, however, implore you to always carefully read everything before it goes anywhere. I’ve read copy that has been practically indecipherable (and not just from contemporary dance), where they’ve used so much hyperbole that I’ve suspected there will now be a national shortage, where spelling, punctuation and grammar have been so absent that you start to wonder if you know what written English actually looks like, and copy where each sentence is so long that by the end you’ve forgotten how it started (like this one!).

Make sure it tells people what the event is.
Offer proof through reviews and awards.
Nail the USPs early (but check they’re actually USPs first).

Don’t be afraid to go back to a promoter with changes to their copy – most will be thrilled you’re so actively engaging in their product and for the few who get pissy, it’s okay to mention that you know the audience at your venue and give them the reasons you’ve amended it.

It’s also worth mentioning that one of my most positive experiences as a touring performer (wait, what, you’re a marketeer AND a creative? More) was when I toured to the Lawrence Batley Theatre in Huddersfield – they took my copy and developed it for their audience – it was great and gave me such confidence in them as a venue and a team – and that gig sold better than any other on the tour – a lesson that customisation is positive and sometimes you can be too close to your own work!