Brand identity crisis

A few weeks ago I was visiting Canterbury and happened to walk past the ‘new’ Marlowe Theatre which was in its final construction stage before its opening in October. I was pleasantly surprised by the bold and striking elevations looking east towards another, slightly older, landmark building.
What particularly struck me was the titling of the building on its metal-clad fascias – there it was, bold as aluminium, “marlowe theatre” presented in that old architects’ favourite typeface: Helvetica Medium. I couldn’t resist a little bet with myself that if it hadn’t already failed to be absorbed into the brand, it would soon be ditched in favour of some other graphic representation and started to wonder how secure the fixings holding the characters to the building were. At that point, I hadn’t seen any of the pre-opening publicity material or the theatre’s web site. Well now I have, and blow me down if it’s not anything like the mark on the building! Bet won and time to cash in the chips and leave my own imaginary casino.
 

I should explain that my interest in the Marlowe Theatre has a personal component: 30 years or so ago, my first job in the arts was as Press and Publicity Officer (it was the title that attracted me) for the Marlowe Theatre, then in its original building with a resident company running three-weekly rep productions. At that time, before the dawn of brand-awareness, I had some idea that it might be useful to present the theatre’s name consistently and establish a visual link between the name on the building, its publicity material and advertising. The name above the 1960s doors set into the 1920s mock-Tudor façade was constructed as a lightbox finished in anodised aluminium. The typeface was Futura Bold in capitals, and the hole in the letter “R” had fallen off and lived in my office desk drawer (it still does!). The fly-tower featured the theatre’s name in italic Helvetica capitals and the stationery used a striking design where the theatre name ran perpendicularly, bled-off on three sides and the typeface was Avant Garde Gothic Bold capitals throughout. The posters were designed by the set designer and screen-printed from hand-cut stencils and were generally approximations to the typestyle that the designer had used on their layouts. I remember being mildly concerned about this inconsistency (in those few moments when I had time to think) and suggested that some rationalisation might be worthwhile and so when a new artistic director was appointed, I proffered the bold suggestion that we at least get the press releases (stencilled on the headed stationery) to look the same as the publicity material and the press advertisements. As I now know, this is like manna from heaven for an artistic director keen to make their mark (literally) on an organisation. It was only a short time before the theatre had a new graphic identity (or logo as it was more prosaically known then or brand mark/identity as it’s known now). But, the sign above the door with its missing hole persisted, assisted by various failed attempts to stick the hole back on, as did the inaccessible lettering on the fly-tower. However, this deck-chair shuffling was all in vain as the SS Marlowe Theatre was doomed, sitting as it did on a valuable site owned by the local authority which was to be re-developed as a lucrative retail arcade shortly after the Theatre’s eventual closure in 1981.

Meanwhile, I had moved on to be part of the marketing team for the Theatre Royal, Plymouth – a newly-built theatre where we were able to work with the architects on the interior of the new building (we even chose what colour fabric to have on our office chairs) and to discuss internal signage with them. Wonderful! Well, up to a point: we could have what we wanted as long as it didn’t interfere with (i.e. touch) their building or the logo that they had also been commissioned to realise based on somebody’s (I never did find out whose it was) concept of an octagon (the core of the building was octagonal) with a crown at its centre (Royal – get it?) It was not a very elegant or legible design, with the theatre’s name arranged around the octagon; some even said it reminded them of a prison.
The architects realised that this simply did not work on the outside of the building and compounded the identity crisis by having THEATRE ROYAL in gilded Helvetica Medium capitals (I told you it was an architects’ favourite) below yet another crest, not a crown this time, but that of the City of Plymouth (which had funded most of the £8m capital cost of the building). Unfortunately this gilded edifice was not adjacent to the main entrance and was actually on the external wall of the small studio theatre. So yet another sign had to be squeezed onto the fascia above the main entrance in mirror-polished metal (the budget was running low by now). All very well if you’re driving down Royal Parade in Plymouth and need to know which building the theatre might be, but not so useful if you’re trying to market the then largest theatre development in the UK to the good folk of Penzance or Minehead (which was our remit). We had a job to do, so we created our own tools and immediately devised a graphic that was a better fit for the purpose, part of which remains on the outside of the building nearly 30 years later, despite its absorbtion into the anonymous umbrella branding of Plymouth Theatres.

I appreciate that there are a variety of reasons why architects get drawn into this area. What a building is called and its physical representation is intrinsic to their creative vision and when making visual presentations, it’s natural that they want to identify their building. But so often it feels as though that an architect’s first sketch of that mark is carried through to final implementation without review or consultation with the client. Or, often to even greater detriment to a clear, consistent visual identity being established, local authority politics are added to the unholy mix and predictably a camel is born.
The relationship between a theatre/arts/entertainment building and its users is crucial to its success. This relationship (be it good or bad or indifferent) is in the gift of those making the decisions: the management team; the funders; the staff; and the media. Much has been said about brand, core values, mission statements yet we still have the situation in 2011 where co-ordinating graphic representations of the ‘brand’ seem beyond or unimportant to those managing a £25m project. Am I alone in thinking that this looks amateur, when even the most modest commercial enterprises manage their image with greater consistency?

Part of me wishes it didn’t matter and that the whole notion of brand and our awareness of it had been strangled at birth and that we all used our critical faculties more fully and made our own choices without reference to retail-driven brand stereotypes. But we don’t: we’ve watched commerce build a bed of brand and nobody’s going to infringe our God-given human right to go and lie down on it. So get real theatre-people (and wake-up and smell the coffee whilst you’re about it): you’re in competition with master manipulators of brand on every high street in the country – take control and get your act together!