Palestinians used their bare hands to try to defend their property against a bulldozer as Israeli forces tore up their land and used pepper spray in the occupied West Bank. In recent days, Israel has been demolishing Palestinian homes in Nablus.
He said the quiet part out loud. As the artistic director of New York’s Public Theater and one of the art form’s most prominent leaders, Oskar Eustis is known to do that. And as always, he got the art world talking.
When Eustis, 67, announced Wednesday that he would step down from his role at the Public in 2028 — after 23 years — he said in a New York Times interview that “the American nonprofit theater movement is over.” This has been whispered about and lamented since the COVID-19 pandemic led to temporary theater closures across the country that have since become permanent, but it is rare to hear it expressed so candidly.
Did Eustis, one of the key players in that vaunted movement — the man who helped foster “Hamilton” — really mean what he said? And if so, how does theater move on in the face of obstacles that at times feel as though they are scattered across an increasingly difficult course? In a wide-ranging follow-up interview with the Los Angeles Times, Eustis addressed the path forward.
Lin-Manuel Miranda and Phillipa Soo portray Alexander and Eliza Hamilton in “Hamilton.” The megahit premiered off-Broadway at the Public Theater under Oskar Eustis in 2015.
(Disney+)
It’s not an easy one, but Los Angeles theater leaders working in the trenches, including Tarell Alvin McCraney at Geffen Playhouse, Danny Feldman at Pasadena Playhouse and Snehal Desai at Center Theatre Group, already knew that. They talked with the Los Angeles Times about their plans at the crossroads reached by American theater in light of Eustis’ imminent exit.
Eustis traces the rise of the American nonprofit theater movement to the late 1950s when W. McNeil “Mac” Lowry, director of the arts and humanities program at the Ford Foundation in New York, began organizing existing regional theaters into a national movement.
“What happened during that period was that a consensus emerged,” Eustis said, noting that it was expressed in the form of national endowments, state arts agencies, public policy institutes and corporate philanthropic departments. “An idea of the common good was held throughout the country, and there were many stakeholders. And part of that idea of the common good was a broadly held belief that Americans deserved serious, non-market-driven performing arts.”
With no feudal background, America lacked a capital city like London or Paris designed to showcase the arts, so the idea spread across all 50 states. This led to the proliferation of the regional theater movement, said Eustis, as well as that of symphony orchestras and ballet companies.
“The explosion of the regional theater movement is actually, in retrospect, astonishing,” Eustis said. “From a few scattered theaters in the 1950s, by the early ‘70s, there were over 400 professional nonprofit theaters in every state of the union. Tens of thousands of people were employed. Millions and millions of audience members every year. That’s the field that I walked into in the early ‘70s.”
Fifty years later, those stakeholders have “absolutely zero consensus on whether theater should exist as a nonprofit performing arts field or whether we should exist at all,” Eustis said. “It’s gone.”
“We’ve kind of been living, in a way, off inertia of this old idea,” he added.
The great pandemic pause, along with the racial reckoning in the wake of George Floyd’s murder and the continued fracturing of a shared reality under President Trump, served to reveal how fragile that consensus was, Eustis said, and, “It’s not coming back.”
Where does that leave American theater in 2026?
“We’re faced with the need to prove to the people in our individual communities that we matter enough to them that they should support us,” Eustis said. “Now, that’s not a very bad demand to put on an art form.”
Except, as every theater that has lately dared put on a show created by new, experimental or unknown artists knows, it can feel like an insurmountable task.
Danny Feldman, artistic director of Pasadena Playhouse, said that the days of theaters underpaying talent are over.
(Brian van der Brug / Los Angeles Times)
Smaller theaters across the country, including many in L.A., have shuttered with staggering regularity in the last six years, which puts even greater pressure on the city’s most prominent nonprofits to shine a light on a sustainable model moving forward.
Feldman, Pasadena Playhouse’s artistic director, noted that Eustis represents the second generation of leaders of the “first chapter” of the nonprofit regional theater movement. “And that to me is what is now undeniably at the end.”
He said he and Eustis have discussed the subject at length. “We are now in a very different era. And the things that got us to this point are not the things that are going to get us to the next chapter.”
McCraney, Geffen Playhouse’s artistic director, said forging a path forward in nonprofit theater without succumbing to commercial pressure to produce only guaranteed hits requires the delicate balance of surfing.
“And there’s no better place to surf than in L.A.,” McCraney said over the phone from the Public, where he was meeting with Eustis and other theater leaders to share ideas. “I feel very connected to a bunch of folks who recognize that the regional theater model has always had to have radical vision, and that those radical visions need revision, because our most practical job is to make sure that communities have stories.”
Tarell Alvin McCraney, artistic director of Geffen Playhouse, compared the balancing act theater leaders must perform to surfing.
(Jay L. Clendenin / Los Angeles Times)
It’s not just the way theater tells — and funds — stories that must evolve. It’s the entire business model, the leaders note.
The beauty and the founding of the original regional movement, said Feldman, was artists saying, “New York is not just where it’s at. We’re going to go to our communities. We’re going to make things with and for them, and really build these ecosystems that are deeply entrenched in these local communities around the country. … And I think the underbelly of that — that maybe has not been discussed as much — was always an element of subsidized labor involved.”
In L.A. and elsewhere that meant a lot of artists in the front and back of the house working for incredibly low wages. The pandemic effectively put an end to that, and as workers demanded fair compensation, the cost of producing shows skyrocketed. Most theater leaders agree that part is as it should be. Eustis points to the recent unionization of the Public’s production department as a case in point.
“For the first time in history, everybody who’s swinging a hammer on our productions has health insurance,” he said. “They have it through the union. That’s a good thing. And it’s put a shock wave through the whole industry, but you know what? We figured out how to pay development directors. We should figure out how to pay carpenters. That’s part of growing up.”
Center Theatre Group Artistic Director Snehal Desai said Oskar Eustis’ departure from New York’s Public Theater represents a “pass the mantle” moment.
(Etienne Laurent / For The Times)
Desai, CTG’s artistic director, said he views Eustis’ decision to step down as a “pass the mantle moment.”
“Oskar has been a huge mentor to so many of us,” Desai said. “It’s up to us, the next generation of leaders, to figure it out, just as his generation did in the ‘60s, ‘70s and ‘80s when they built these institutions for us.”
At CTG that means exploring a new way of doing things including touring shows, intensive work in various communities and site-specific productions, all of which “can change the financials and the model of how we’re doing business.”
As for Eustis? He plans to leave the Public in the best possible shape for the next generation of artists, and never wavers from its core mission. “This is a theater of democracy that believes that the culture belongs to everybody,” he said.
Local residents living in the Lake District National Park have complained of visitors leaving litter and leaving tents behind after illegally wild camping on the banks of lakes
“Some people have no social conscience and do not care about the impact of their behaviour on the environment or other people. We see litter on the fells, on lakesides and thrown out of cars onto grass verges. We even saw someone having a BBQ sat right next to a sign prohibiting it on Ullswater last year,” one unhappy local wrote in this year’s survey.
Another added: “I’m from the Lakes and have always appreciated the tourism and what it does for the area. However, I feel we have now got to the stage where tourism is over capacity and negatively impacting the area and the quality of life for residents and animals. Frequent traffic jams, poorly parked cars, and most upsetting of all, litter. Today we came across a discarded used nappy and a tampon. My children and I frequently go out with our litter pickers. It really saddens me to see the Lake District in environmental decline.”
It is difficult to know quite how acute the problem is. The surveys collect anecdotal evidence and solid figures on littering and anti-social behaviour are hard to come by.
What is undeniable is the shifting demographic of those coming. In 2018, 52% of visitors to Cumbria were under 50. By 2022, that’d risen to 74%.
Surprisingly, overall visitor numbers were down at the last count (2024) compared to both 2023 and the pre-Covid year of 2019. Roughly five million fewer people visited in 2024 than in 2019.
Jeremy Smith is head of campaigns and engagement at Friends of the Lake District. He believes that relations between visitors and locals have been tense since the Covid years, in part due to the changing nature of the tourists coming.
“With the increase in the number of people taking holidays in the UK, in terms of behavior, what may have been happening in Ibiza and Cyprus has been domesticated in places like the Lake District,” he told the Mirror.
Local laws were tightened earlier this year in response to resident complaints. Those causing environmental damage by littering, starting fires, or committing anti-social behaviour linked to camping or the “inappropriate use” of motorhomes can now be fined up to £100, under Westmorland and Furness Council public protection orders.
Wild camping rules are a little more complex. It isn’t legally permitted without landowner consent, but is widely tolerated if strict ‘Leave No Trace’ guidelines are followed. These require visitors to camp only above the highest fell wall (around 400m+), well away from roads and towns, stay for just one night, and never light a fire.
According to some locals, the rules are being flouted regularly.
“The path by the shore had a tent pitched in the middle of it, and when I politely pointed this out to the occupants, they swore at me aggressively,” one survey respondent wrote.
“People do not like to be questioned about leaving litter, loose dogs, motorbikes, it’s a sense of entitlement to do just as they like. There are very few authority figures, such as police or wardens. It should not be up to pensioners to police the park.”
Nigeria’s position on ransom payments rests on a sound principle: Every ransom paid strengthens criminal organisations by financing the purchase of more weapons, and encouraging more kidnappings. Every naira handed to kidnappers today may finance tomorrow’s abduction.
Yet, another reality is far more uncomfortable. It is a reality experienced daily by families whose loved ones have disappeared into forests, insurgent camps, and criminal enclaves across Nigeria. The state asks them not to pay. The same state often cannot prevent the abduction nor guarantee the rescue of the victim.
For years, successive governments have urged Nigerians to reject ransom payments as a matter of national security. The argument is strategically sound. Kidnapping has evolved into one of Nigeria’s most profitable criminal economies, sustaining terrorist groups, insurgent groups, and organised kidnapping networks across several regions. Every successful payment reinforces that economy and makes future attacks more likely.
But public policy cannot exist only in theory. It must also survive contact with human reality.
For many women and girls held captive, every additional day increases the risk of rape, forced marriage, sexual slavery, and repeated abuse. Men and boys frequently endure forced labour, torture, starvation, beatings, and execution. Children lose months or years of their education while entire families descend into financial ruin attempting to negotiate for survival.
For parents, spouses, and siblings, this is not an abstract debate about national security. They know that every phone call may be the last and that every delay may carry irreversible consequences. It is therefore unsurprising that many families choose life over policy.
Critics often ask why families continue paying ransom despite repeated warnings, but the more humane question is whether society has offered them a credible alternative.
Military rescue operations have succeeded in some high-profile cases, and security forces continue to make sacrifices under extremely dangerous conditions. However, they remain the exception rather than the experience of most victims. Across vast areas of Nigeria, rescue is uncertain, negotiations are prolonged, intelligence is limited, and families are frequently left to navigate kidnappers alone. That gap creates an impossible moral burden.
The law tells a father not to pay, but his daughter remains in captivity and the government cannot tell him when, or whether, she will come home. What should he choose?
Many policymakers evaluate ransom through the lens of national security. Families experience it through the lens of survival. Both perspectives are legitimate, but they collide in painful ways.
The contradiction becomes even sharper where governments contemplate criminalising ransom payments. Such laws may satisfy an important strategic objective, but without dramatically improving prevention, intelligence, rapid response, and hostage rescue capability, they risk punishing victims twice. First, by failing to protect them. Second, by denying them the only option they believe remains.
No family should ever have to choose between financing organised crime and abandoning someone they love. The responsibility for breaking this cycle belongs to the state, not to traumatised families.
A credible anti-ransom policy requires far more than a legal prohibition. It demands professional policing, intelligence-driven operations, rapid hostage recovery capabilities, functioning emergency response systems, stronger border control, disruption of kidnapping finances, and sustained prosecution of those who organise and profit from this industry.
Only then can the government reasonably ask citizens to bear the enormous moral cost of refusing to pay ransom. Until that day arrives, Nigeria’s ransom debate will remain trapped between principle and reality. Ending ransom payments begins with ending the conditions that make ransom appear to be the only path home.
Nigeria’s stance against ransom payments is based on the principle that such payments empower criminal organizations by funding their operations, thus encouraging more kidnappings. Despite this, families of the kidnapped face harsh realities, as they often must decide between policy and the immediate safety of their loved ones, with the state frequently unable to guarantee their rescue.
Kidnapping has become a lucrative criminal economy in Nigeria, fueling insurgent and terrorist groups. While national security concerns drive the governmental push against ransom payments, individuals affected by kidnappings experience immense personal stakes. The law against ransoms may punish victims who lack viable alternatives unless comprehensive prevention and rescue strategies are implemented.
The tension between strategic objectives and personal survival highlights the need for a robust anti-ransom policy, encompassing improved law enforcement, intelligence, and rapid response capabilities. No family should be burdened with the choice between aiding organized crime and abandoning loved ones, making it imperative for the state to assume responsibility for breaking the cycle of dependency on ransom payments.
There has been unrest on the streets of London where Morocco fans were confronted by police following their team’s 2-0 loss to France and exit from the World Cup. Several arrests were reportedly made late on Thursday night around London’s Edgware road.
EXCLUSIVE: Former Hollyoaks star Emma Rigby says she’d like to ‘sit down’ with Andrews and discover what she is willing to admit to, 30 years after the crime
The actress who plays Tracie Andrews in a new drama about the 1996 “road rage” killing of her fiancé Lee Harvey has revealed her desire to interview the convicted murderer about what really happened.
Emma Rigby, best known for her role as Hannah Ashworth in Hollyoaks, said: “I would love to make a documentary following a sit down between the two of us. I have so many questions for her. She has never told the truth on camera, it would be interesting to see what story she would tell now.”
Emma, who also starred in BBC1’s Prisoners’ Wives, was seven years old at the time of Lee’s death and knew nothing about the case before being approached for the role. To prepare, she watched many documentaries and read the book Pure Evil by Lee’s mother Maureen., played in the drama by The Witcher’s Jo Marriott.
An “avid consumer of true crime”, Emma she found Andrews’ psychology to be “fascinating” – but struggled to find one iota of sympathy for her. “The most chilling moments are when we used transcripts of what Tracie actually said,” she explained. “Her tone is terrifying and her lack of remorse is extremely sad. Tracie is the very definition of chilling. Her behaviour is shockingly unbelievable.”
The 90-minute drama, Suspect: The Road Rage Killer, will show how Tracie, then 27, was so desperate to find fame as a model, that she enjoyed being centre of attention at the press conference – even though she would quickly expose herself as a suspect rather than a witness.
“Tracie has many facets, her wanting to be on camera was one of them,” Emma says. “It was important to show how Tracie’s demise was essentially giving the camera too much.”
She said that playing her meant getting right into her head, where she found no redeeming features. “I can believe that in her way she loved Lee, and relate to a toxic situation masquerading as an all-consuming love, but this does not extend to sympathy for her actions,” Emma said. “The more I consumed, the more horrified I became. Each new detail that emerged was more shocking than the last, it makes for a gripping drama.”
Thirty years ago, Andrews was found covered in blood next to the body of her fiance Lee on a dark country lane near to their home in Alvechurch, Worcestershire. She was later found to have stabbed him in the neck and chest 42 times during an argument as they drove home from a local pub. The crime was pre-meditated, as she had hidden a knife inside her boot.
Having murdered the man she was due to marry, Andrews concocted a story about a road rage incident and said that Lee had been killed by a man in another car with “starey eyes”. But this unravelled when she contradicted statements she’d already made at the televised press conference.
The actress has struggled to understand how Andrews can have launched such a frenzied attack on bus-driver Lee, 25, who she claimed to adore. “I can believe that in her way she loved Lee, and relate to a toxic situation masquerading as an all-consuming love, but this does not extend to sympathy for her actions,” Emma said.
After being given a life sentence for murder, Andrews served the minimum 14 years before being released in 2011. Now living under the name Jenna Stephens in a southern coastal town, she married bouncer and dad-of-two Phil Goldsworthy in 2017. Two years after she was jailed Andrews, who had a history of violent attacks on her partner, admitted to killing Lee, but insisted it was done in self-defence.
Emma, 36, said it was shocking how little remorse Andrews showed over what she had done. “The key element is Tracie’s apathy – which is offset by her complete conviction to come out on top, whatever the cost.”
The actress said she’d loved getting her teeth into the meaty role, and hopes it will lead to more challenging parts being offered to her. “I hope it will reveal a whole new dimension to what I can do,” she said. “Tracie is my first onscreen role playing a real person and is someone many people are familiar with, due to the iconic press conference. I wanted to give a raw and very real performance,” she explained. “As an actor I had the most enjoyable time playing Tracie; I really loved the grit.”
