Performing Patriarchy: Re-Examining Consent in Contemporary Theatre

Posted on June 12, 2025 by Thtrthts

Few contemporary playwrights’ names provoke ire like that of David Mamet. His plays are renowned for their controversy: New York Times theatre critic Frank Rich wrote in his 1992 review of Mamet’s play Oleanna, in which a college student wrongfully pins on her male professor a string of increasingly damaging sexual abuse accusations, that it “is likely to provoke more arguments than any play this year.” When I noted on Facebook that I was reading Oleanna, a handful of theatre friends descended on my comments section to express both distaste for the play and author as well as a desire to leave Mamet and his work behind as a relic of the past.

But in the theatre world, Mamet is ultimately a rule, not an exception. Rather than being a smear on an otherwise progressive art form, he is a culminating product of a whole history of sexism in the industry. As Jesse Green acknowledges in his 2022 New York Times article, “Is It Finally Twilight for the Theater’s Sacred Monsters?”, many of America’s most celebrated theatre artists and educators were also notorious predators. Green calls attention to the verbal abuse, physical violence, and sexual harassment these “greats” committed, largely unchecked, in the name of creating their art. Though the fact is plain, the article wavers on its meaning: Green seems to hint that the issue is not individual but institutional, that theatre as an art form is inseparable from a culture of caustic abuse and sexual coercion. For example, he notes an “overwhelming correlation between the most acclaimed achievements of the American theater and the lordliness, the fury, and the cultlike subjugation that allowed [Sacred Monsters like] Robbins and Fosse and Kazan and Strasberg,” and writes that “without monstrousness, we do not have what we have been conditioned to think of as the theater itself.” Despite this, he ends the article with a plea to make contemporary theatre’s newest holders of the Sacred Monster mantle “the end of the line,” implying that the issue is individual after all, and will be resolved when no Sacred Monsters remain.

By the end of Green’s article, we find ourselves scratching our heads. Why exactly is Green pronouncing this era’s twilight? If the issue is institutional, then it’s far from being solved; if it is individual, then we know from the stories of abusive entertainment bigwigs breaking the front pages daily that the issue persists. Green himself doesn’t quite seem sure– he writes, “Our theatrical world may have softened around the edges, but… [it] is fundamentally as harsh as it was in its supposed glory days.” And, indeed, it is.

That’s not to diminish the strides that are undoubtedly being made, nor the victories hard-won by union organization and movements like #MeToo and TimesUp. Intimacy directors and choreographers are slowly becoming standard amid heightened attention to consent on stage and screen. Perhaps more than anything else, the tone of the conversation is shifting: theatre is increasingly branding itself as an inclusive “safe space.” But to what extent does the depth of practical reform in the industry match the rigor of these tonal platitudes? The result may be something of a blind spot: generalized assertions that theatre is a safe space run the risk of ignoring the reality that American theatre has rarely been safe for most people, for most of its lifetime. Even if the “Sacred Monsters” are dying out, their shadows remain.

Green may have equivocated, but his pronouncement that American theatre is synonymous with monstrosity is one that resonates. Theatre has been far from a safe space for a long time, and the issue is not one of individual immorality. As Green rightfully identified, the problem is baked into our industry— codified into the art of acting, and of acting pedagogy, through a century of teachings by many of our most famous and beloved monsters.

To understand how this problem became synonymous with contemporary theatre, it’s necessary to start with one man who revolutionized it.

Konstantin Stanislavsky so thoroughly reconfigured our understanding of acting that his ideas effectively mark the beginning of the modern epoch of theatre. In his book The Great Acting Teachers and Their Methods, Richard Brestoff positions Stanislavsky as the first key acting teacher in theatre history after an only cursory mention of the ancient Greeks, a brief nod to Roman rhetorician Quintilian, and a short introduction to Delsarte. Having covered some two thousand years of theatre history in a few succinct pages, Brestoff spends the next hundred or so exclusively discussing Stanislavsky and his most loyal students.

It may seem unlikely, but the monstrosity Jesse Green believes is inextricable from the art of theatre may also begin with this great teacher. In “Willful Actors: Valuing Resistance in American Actor Training,” Kari Barclay explores the psychological and theoretical roots of certain elements of Stanislavsky’s system of actor preparation, and the implications these hold for actor consent. This system aimed at developing (among other things) a highly naturalistic style of acting, derived from a focus on emotional experience and a desire to create an empathetic link between the audience and the actor. In the book Great Directors at Work, David Richard Jones cites a central preoccupation with “truth” in Stanislavsky’s creative process: If the actors did their job by acting with “emotional authenticity,” the audience would believe their struggles, feel empathy for them, and be moved by the production. This was a critical tenet of Stanislavsky’s system: seeking a reliable, calculated way to coach actors towards this esoteric goal. As Jones puts it, he spent much of his life’s work attempting to “methodize the finding of truth” (32).

Of course, defining “emotional authenticity” isn’t a precise nor an easy task, and what a “truthful” performance entails is inevitably subjective. Nonetheless, Stanislavsky chased what Brestoff calls a “drive to codify a method to achieve truth” (28). This quest was taken up and, as Barclay argues, perverted in execution by interpreters and acting educators who followed in Stanislavsky’s footsteps. In an effort to develop truthful performances “free from inhibitions,” Stanislavskian disciples Lee Strasberg, Elia Kazan, and other American “Method” teachers imparted their own subjective and sexism-drenched influence on their students. Barclay points out a preoccupation with gendered expectations of “free will” (inspired in part by patriarchal overtones of 19th-Century American Transcendentalist settler masculinity) among these teachers (130). Male actors expressed this patriarchal will as subjects, claiming stalwart freedom to express and follow through on desire. Conversely, female actors were taught to express this will as objects, performing emotional and especially sexual vulnerability. Any hesitation on an actor’s part to perform in a way that upheld these patriarchal scripts was pathologized as an insufficiency of craft which would hold performers back from “true,” “uninhibited” acting.

This isn’t to say that Stanislavsky’s intention was to devise a system which purposefully objectified women, nor that Stanislavsky’s system— or even Strasberg’s Method— is inherently sexist. The methods themselves can transcend this sexist messaging, and teachers like Uta Hagen and Stella Adler made it their lives’ work to prove it. In such intensely hierarchical settings such as 20^th-century theatre, however, where acclaimed teachers like Strasberg unimpeachably ruled, the privilege of mediating and enforcing something as mystical as “emotional authenticity” granted easily-abused authority.

Strasberg wasn’t alone. Sanford Meisner, creator of the eponymous Meisner technique, also used “spontaneity” and “believability” in similar ways:

To demonstrate the principle of action and reaction… [Meisner] pinches the arm of one of his male students, who gives an “ouch” and pulls away. Then he turns to a female student and puts his hand down the front of her blouse to touch her breasts. When she giggles and exclaims, “Sandy!” Meisner asks the class if that was an honest reaction. They nod yes. (Barclay 123)

Barclay notes a “mixing [of] eroticism with pedagogy” that occurs in midcentury theatre history. This mandatory performance of sexuality for the male gaze reflects a number of facets of discrimination’s storied history on Broadway and in the theatre industry at large. If an appeal to a discriminatory white male gaze was required to succeed in the industry, then female actors must perform certain elements of conventional femininity. Ryan Donovan’s 2023 book Broadway Bodies explores the physical conformity this engendered, creating a Broadway that was and remains overwhelmingly white, thin, non-disabled, and conventionally attractive. And, as the book explores, the problem hasn’t necessarily gotten better with time: in some ways, the average “broadway body” has become more homogenous than ever before, due in part to economic demands placed on performers to be not just able but “hyper-abled” and prepared to do it all (Donovan 53).

The way these methods are abused by individual unscrupulous people are critical to examine, but perhaps even more critical is an understanding of how these systems open the door to abuse. Wielded with hierarchical authority by various Sacred Monsters over the last century, the privilege of moderating “truth” has been used to uphold a hostile hegemony. It can continue to be used, both intentionally and accidentally, to do so, unless the art form as we know it changes. Discarding the contributions Stanislavsky or Strasberg made to the acting canon would be both impossible and misguided. However, recognizing the ways their entrenched methodologies empower the unquestionable director to police patriarchal supremacy can help us understand how to make the theatre process more ethical for all.

Theatre is regularly hailed as a “progressive” and “liberal” space, but the industry is as dominated by outdated trappings of bigotry and patriarchal dominion as any other. The modern expressions of these issues in theatre may not be as easy to spot as the examples Green raises when pointing to the behavior of the Sacred Monsters. Bigotry has not vanished from theatre, however the implicit influence it has on the industry has become frustratingly diffuse. The result is a culture of quiet coercion which can be difficult to identify, let alone discuss– or, even more critically, address. In episode 10 of the Find Your Light podcast, theatrical intimacy professional Chelsea Pace explains one manifestation of this coercive environment:

…We’re told all throughout our training… [that] the first rule of theatre is “yes, and”… you know, “you’re always auditioning”… We get all these messages about how we have to be easy to work with. …[Actors] start to feel like being easy to work with means saying “yes” to everything, and by saying “no” or “hold on a second,” we’re being hard to work with. (22:06)

Pace illustrates one way actors are implicitly— almost invisibly— dissuaded from asserting their boundaries. Actors are not explicitly told they cannot say “no,” but an industry culture in which “no” is quietly discouraged reigns. As Pace goes on to discuss, the problem is compounded by fierce industry competition. If saying “no” in an audition to an action which goes against an actor’s boundaries may prevent them from being cast, an actor is forced to choose between compromising their boundaries or compromising a chance at employment. Much as actors in Strasberg’s studio might be discouraged from saying “no,” thereby allowing their inhibitions to get in the way of their “authentic” acting, modern actors are discouraged from saying “no” even though the industry presents it as an option.

The problem is broad, impacting actors at all levels of the industry. In an article for The New York Times, Laura Collins-Hughes writes, “Whole generations of actors have been trained to believe that the only acceptable answer to a performance challenge… is yes. Drawing a red line is not an option.” She quotes Broadway intimacy director Claire Warden: “We are having to, at a fundamental level, subvert the conditioning that all actors are put through — right from like, high school acting — which is that… if I say no — to anything — I’m being the diva. Or I’m not dedicated enough. Or I don’t want it enough.”

The coercive patriarchal hegemony enforced by Strasberg, Meisner, and many of their male colleagues did not vanish with the end of the 20th century. While these Sacred Monsters may no longer be around, plenty of new ones have arisen. Worse yet, the Sacred Monsters themselves are not requisites for coercion to occur— all it takes is a lifetime of conditioning in “the way theatre is,” as Warden indicates.

In some ways, these monstrous ideas are all the more universal and ingrained now that these Sacred Monsters are gone. Rather than their influence waning, many of these acting teachers have become household names whose ideas have been disseminated in books and classes to acting teachers worldwide. As their ideologies proliferated, they became semi-synonymous with the very arts of acting and theatre. Meisner technique and Method acting are ubiquitous. Several decades’ worth of actors now hold these strategies— and the philosophies behind them, with all their roses and thorns— as a sort of “common sense,” even if they don’t necessarily know who or where those ideas came from, or what biases their originators may have held. Because these ideas have become so widely propagated in American theater, actors who are not aware of the history and ideology behind these methodologies might assume that they are crucial to the art. And as they are increasingly fed narratives that “theater is a safe space,” they may begin to believe that these lingering shadows of sexism and predatory behavior are the way the art is supposed to be. Left unquestioned, the taking for granted of these practices makes actors vulnerable to abuse— in fact, they explicitly encourage this vulnerability, raising a lack of personal boundaries as a matter of craft that must not be tampered with.

Essentially, the implications for actor consent that Stanislavsky inadvertently made a central feature of his system, which were then used in more explicitly coercive ways by some of his predecessors (such as Strasberg), have been dispersed in a more covert, but no less impactful, form to actors worldwide. And these ideas are not limited to professional actors or high-level students training for professional careers: these ideas are, as Warden points out, present in every level of actor training, trickling down in insidious, nigh-invisible rivulets to the level of hobbyist teens and pre-teens participating in their school musicals. While Green celebrates a safer new progressive era in the industry, closely assessing the ways these messages operate under the radar will be necessary to create an industry– and overarching theatrical culture— which is truly safe.

This is very much the kind of thinking that David Mamet critiques in Oleanna. The play is rather hostile to the nuances of sexual coercion, presenting a scenario which is outlandish in exactly how clear-cut it is, and presenting a main antagonist, Carol, whose complaints are absurd in their transparency. This is not a world in which sexual violence is something complicated, the roots of which are spread through an stealthy network of implicit messaging— this is a world in which sexual violence is a blatant falsehood.

Mamet situates college student Carol as a sort of feckless anti-intellectual, existentially confused and looking for easy answers. She is hopelessly lost in John’s class; even though she is “doing what [she’s] told” by taking notes and following the lecture, she finds it impossible to parse anything from the course material to the very reason she’s in school (Mamet 4). She complains that John’s use of language is obfuscatory: “What are you talking about? What is everyone talking about? I don’t understand. I don’t know what it means. I don’t know what it means to be here” (36). John’s attempts in kind to elucidate her are taken by Carol as flirting, and she files an official complaint with the university. These complaints are unfounded: Carol has read sexual meaning into words where none exists, and Mamet makes Carol’s position as the antagonist abundantly clear by having her continuously change her story. By the end of the play, she is insisting that John raped her, twisting the language (as she had previously accused John of doing) of the law to suit her purpose: “You tried to rape me. I was leaving this office, you ‘pressed’ yourself into me. …under the statute. I am told. It was battery. And attempted rape.” (78).

Frank Rich, a Broadway icon in his own right for his long tenure as theatre critic for the New York Times, wrote that the play “rightly condemns” a certain “intellectual conformity,” acting as “an argument against fanatics… who warp the crusade against sexism, or any other worthy cause, into a reckless new McCarthyism that abridges freedom of speech and silences dissent.” In this play, the woman speaking up about harassment is the villain, and the man who has been accused is the true victim— the twisted power dynamic, and the elastic turns this dynamic takes through the course of the plot, are what set the play apart.

The grim irony of such a play presented on Broadway is that the upper echelons of the performing arts world so notoriously grapple with the opposite power dynamic. In her book Rape at the Opera, Margaret Cormier explores this problem in the adjacent world of opera performance. She opens the book by noting that, “in the opera industry, singers can be particularly vulnerable to predation and abuse by their superiors and mentors given the stark power differential in rehearsal rooms and teachers’ studios” (3). However, real-world abuse isn’t Cormier’s focus— instead, she dissects the prevalence of sexual violence within the narratives that make up the classical opera canon. The book is about fictional violence, but Cormier finds it necessary to point out that while real violence isn’t at the center of her study, it is undoubtedly related: “engagement with the experiences and points of view of more opera practitioners will no doubt enrich the continuing work on the politics of operatic production” (3). Cormier spends the rest of the book assessing the intricacies of fictional depictions of violence across a number of opera productions, highlighting the real-world “rape myths” the productions either disturb or reinforce with their unique presentations of the characters and situations.

If interpreting the text of Oleanna this same way, the play appears almost prophetic to a rising #MeToo movement speaking against harassment in the entertainment world. Mamet positions (as does Frank Rich) the wrongfully accused John as a sort of reversed Sacred Monster— a man who simply attempts to help a student discover truth. He has no ulterior motive, his words mean only what he says and nothing more. This is what Carol points to when she says of the complaints she has lodged with the university, “You think you can deny that these things happened… that they meant what you said they meant… we don’t say what we mean. Don’t we?… But we do say what we mean. And you say that ‘I don’t understand you…’” (Mamet 49). Some of the comments John makes to Carol are slightly off-color— and Carol certainly interprets them as such— but John did not mean them that way. There is, patently, nothing at all monstrous here. And the play explicitly exonerates John; It’s clear that he did not really commit the crime Carol accuses him of committing, since we have seen the interactions which she alleges were inappropriate and it is abundantly clear to the audience that they were not. (Even Rich notes that the play “might be a meatier work if its female antagonist had more dimensions.”) By the play’s end, John’s only crime comes on the final page, when he snaps and beats Carol. Mamet sets this up as a sort of natural consequence of the last three acts: Carol acknowledges the beating with a meek, “Yes, that’s right” (80).

By making Carol’s position so flagrantly false, Mamet defends the thinking that makes the Sacred Monsters so unassailable. Sure, perhaps John says a few things he shouldn’t, but he is not a predator. Carol’s insistence that he is automatically aligns viewers against her. The power dynamic never quite shifts so that Carol is superior: even when she is unquestionably calling the shots in the script, the fact that she has falsely accused John makes her platform impossible to take seriously. Mamet establishes an accuser-as-liar narrative (a narrative that is popularly spread in the real world, too) which, by its utter falsehood, grants Carol our contempt and John our sympathies, so that any misgivings we may have about him are forcibly discarded. One could draw a connection here between John and, say, Lee Strasberg— if it can’t be proven that Strasberg meant to sexually harass his students, did he really do so? Strasberg, like John, is a seeker of truth and knowledge, and to mischaracterize that search for truth as Carol does is a grave sin. In this lens, is Strasberg a villain, or are the real villains those who would read indecent intent into his teaching? Any act which cannot be fully clarified as intentional and openly abusive can be dismissed as a failure of the accuser— did they simply fail to understand the truth of the situation? Strasberg and John are both positioned as those who mediate truth, their accusers facing an impossible uphill battle.

Drawing comparisons between Mamet’s play and real-world cases of sexual harassment isn’t far-fetched, as publicity surrounding the play’s debut often centered the connection between it and the then-timely sexual harassment trial between Anita Hill and Clarence Thomas. Though Mamet insists he wrote the play before the trial took place and that it did not directly inspire any element of the play, Rich writes in his review that it is “an impassioned response to the Thomas hearings… As if ripped right from the typewriter… it could not be more direct in its technique or more incendiary in its ambitions.” Media coverage pointed to two things: how it bore striking similarity to the still-fresh court trial, and to how it asked audiences to “make up their own mind” about harassment. One feature asked, “who is harassing whom in this two-character drama at the Orpheum?” and presented opinions from six theatre-going respondents, debating the guilty party in the play.

Exploring the mythologic narrative of false sexual harassment and rape accusations, Cormier writes, “When women accuse powerful men… we hear again and again that they are doing it for attention or out of spite,” pointing out that “this kind of false allegation is exceptionally rare in reality, but dominant in the kind of stories we tell about rape” (26). Mamet presents one more, adding to the vast pile of stories of this kind, painting an image of sexual violence in broad, messy strokes which obscure nuance. The complexities of real-world harassment and assault are smoothed over. The result is a depiction that is largely unlike reality, but that claims to represent and comment on the real world as if it did so accurately. While Rich presents this as a sort of intellectual exercise of free speech, Cormier points out that such stories come at a cost: conventional rape myths put “real-life victims… in the position of having their own stories doubted based on their resemblance to [fictional stereotype]” (18).

While it is an author’s prerogative to write the stories they wish— as Mamet and Rich so ardently defend— fictional narratives have the power to shape and direct real-world opinion. Oleanna presents a narrative which openly scoffs at and invites skepticism over sexual harassment allegations, eschewing fine shades of complexity in favor of caricature. In many ways, Oleanna represents exactly why it is so hard to discuss the implicitly coercive messages the theatre industry struggles with: whereas many express an eagerness to leave the Sacred Monsters in the past, and to step into a more inclusive future, they are unwilling to observe the more covert ways monstrosity continues to color the art of theatre. The men who threw things at actors in vengeful rages and operated busy casting couches— the most obvious monsters dominating the industry— are, perhaps, becoming a relic of the past. But maybe in our rush to kick these monsters to the curb, we’ve failed to spot the less obvious ones, as well as the narratives they’ve weaved, clinging stubbornly to the industry. Only when we are willing to appreciate the nuances of hegemony woven into the fabric of the art will we be able to begin the work of undoing that influence.

As Jesse Green implies, the issue of abuse in theatre, then, could be viewed as inherent to theatre as we know it. The emergence of the director as the arbiter of what is “true” in acting created an environment in which directors were given unilateral power to extract a performance they deemed “truthful” from actors at any cost. As these directors were primarily white men, this often meant that “truth” reflected certain elements of white male hegemony. Any performer who acted in a manner incongruous to this sexist standard was therefore acting incorrectly, which is a problem the director is both obligated and entitled to correct. These ideas are understood now as something closer to common sense than codified acting technique. Stanislavsky’s quest for truth is now the blueprint, for better and for worse.

It’s easy to forget that this quest is a very recent development: only about a century old. The Stanislavskian approach to acting isn’t going anywhere, nor necessarily should it— but it is important to remember that these precepts we accept as second nature to theatre are not timeless truth, but rather fluid, changeable practice.

Theatre’s sexual harassment problem is both individual and institutional. It was explicit in the methodologies of and the cults of personality surrounding our most famous acting teachers. It remains implicit in these systems and in the hierarchical structure we are still struggling to imagine theatre without. In Great Directors at Work, Jones acknowledges both the newness of this model and the way it has rewritten theatre as we know it: “…the historical fact [is] that directors have become central to modern theatre… and modern theatre is no doubt more sophisticated and more artistic for that change” (12). When he goes on to write, “When we need a new system, we will certainly create it,” he is expressing the sentiment dismissively, it’s practically an aside as he transitions into discussing the intricacies of that system and those who formalized it— but what he unwittingly acknowledges in saying this is the reality that theatre can change, and one day we will be the arbiters of that change, whether we can imagine a better alternative at present or not.

While celebrating the end of the Sacred Monsters may be premature— perhaps even detrimentally so— Green was nonetheless right to note that theatre is in the midst of an evolution. As movements like #MeToo change the ways American society as a whole thinks about harassment, theatre practitioners are increasingly seeking ways to make theatre safer for all. These conversations must account for bigotry’s uncanny ability to hide in plain sight. Like Green implies, it’s not good enough to half-heartedly “cancel” our monstrous forefathers— they are no longer the problem. The problem now persists in our own work. Understanding the roots of our theatrical practices is necessary. Closely assessing our methods to dismantle the hegemonic, hierarchical, and ultimately harmful influences we have been fed is critical to ensuring they are not thoughtlessly passed on.

Theatre’s consent problem may be inherent to the art at present. However, it does not have to be. The industry is far from being out of the woods, but with care and an eye for complexity, it can begin to free itself from the shadow of the monsters who made it.

Actor Life, Theatre

Story Time: Let That Caffeine Kick In

Posted on November 19, 2024November 15, 2024 by Thtrthts

A couple years ago, I had the opportunity to play Miss Honey in a community theater production of Matilda. The show was a blast, and I have a lot of great memories from the production, some of which I have previously shared on this blog. There is a cautionary tale from the experience that I like to share when I hear someone talk about their caffeine dependence during tech week.

I was never someone who drank a lot of caffeine growing up. I had never liked the taste of coffee or tea. We didn’t drink much soda in my house. My mother had always hated energy drinks, so they were always a sort of forbidden fruit to me.

Early in my college career, though, I discovered the joys of popping the tab on a can of Monster and slamming out an essay due at 10 AM the next morning in he small hours between midnight and 4 AM. Energy drinks were a way for me to get more done, even when I was exhausted… especially when I was exhausted.

The side effect of having never drank much caffeine, however, was that I hadn’t quite figured out where my tolerance for it sat. I seemed invincible. I was 21 and dumb, and the acid and sugar didn’t give me reflux yet, so the world was my oyster.

I had especially taken to consuming energy drinks during tech weeks and before performances. It felt like a good way to get my energy up for a show after working a long shift or staying up late completing homework. It became such a habit that, for a long time, I mentally related the taste of the Pipeline Punch flavor of Monster with the experience of putting my make up on in the dressing room of my local community theater. Tasting my traditional pre-show flavor of Monster had me feeling like the critic in that scene from Ratatouille.

So, enter Matilda. This high-energy show had a huge cast, most of them children. I made the truly bad decision of accepting daytime shifts before every one of our shows: a shift before the Thursday show, a shift before the Friday show, and a shift before the Saturday show… having gone out with the cast after each of those shows, too. Suffice to say, I was tired.

No matter. On the way in to the Saturday show, I picked up my usual can of monster from a gas station, and I also picked up a second can in preparation for the Sunday show. I started drinking my monster on the rest of the drive to the theater.

But I was just so tired that day. Really tired. After finishing the can, I realized it had not energized me as much as I had hoped. I still felt miserably drawn.

I kept thinking the feeling would get better as I spent time chatting in the green room and warming up my body and my voice. But the closer we got to showtime, the clearer it was that I might just have to perform the show exhausted. I didn’t want to do this though– it was the second to last show, and I had a lot of family coming that night!

The line of logic was sound, and the conclusion inevitable: I popped the top on my second can of Monster. I could hear my mother’s voice screaming in my head. She always hated that stuff, but I had never experienced any adverse effects from it. And, well, I was 21 and invincible and dumb.

I finished the second can before the top of the show, and I was feeling pretty good. However, my character had a bit of a wait before she first came on stage. And it wasn’t until around then that the full effect of both of these Monsters finally kicked in.

I suppose it’s a good thing that Miss honey is an anxious character with an emotional story arc… Because I spent that show visibly vibrating with caffeine jitters, my heart pounding, my brain operating at double time. I was shivering like it was freezing cold. It was the middle of summer, in a building that had very old (read: effectively nonexistent) AC . At a certain point in the show, it hit me that the “stage fright” I was feeling was actually the physical and mental anxiety produced by drinking 300 mg of caffeine in the span of 2-3 hours, and that it wasn’t going away.

At that point, there was nothing to do but to lean into it. I embraced the anxious twitching and elevated heart rate as a character choice. I can’t say it served me well the whole show, but, well, at least I was really in character for those scary scenes with Mrs. Trunchbull.

The moral of the story is: take care of yourself during your tech week/show run, don’t try to fix the problem with caffeine, and definitely don’t try to fix it with double your standard caffeine dosage.

Teaching Theatre, Theatre

In Defense of Cutting Kids from the School Musical

Posted on November 14, 2024November 13, 2024 by Thtrthts

It’s not a popular position to take, but the fact remains: most school drama departments should not cast every single student who auditions.

It’s not fun to cut people from a show– no one wants to do do it. But I would argue this “necessary evil,” while necessary, isn’t evil in the least. Far from it, this is actually a position borne out of compassion for everyone involved. You might think it callous or heartless, but at the end of the day, cutting some people is beneficial for a number of reasons.

The most obvious benefit is practical, and in this case, the practical is also the compassionate.

Continue reading →

Guides and Tips, Theatre

How to Make Your Own Hands-Free Practice Tracks from your Musical Rehearsals

Posted on November 7, 2024November 7, 2024 by Thtrthts

Practicing outside of rehearsal is necessary in order to do your best work in a musical. Many actors take recordings during music rehearsals so that they can practice on their own later. This is great, but as a busy person, and I often find that I don’t have time to review those recordings I made with such conscientious aims. Those recordings end up going un-reviewed, and so they mostly just clog up space on my phone.

What I have discovered as a busy person who is often on-the-go is that my commute is a great time to review. To use this time, however, I need a rehearsal track that I can use hands-free while driving. If I were to sit at home and practice, I could just search through the recording manually to find the parts I need– but I obviously can’t do that and drive at the same time.

Enter my preferred new method! It takes some time, but it’s worth it, and I learn my parts well. I also end up with a resource that is easy to share with my whole cast!

Here is how I make my own practice tracks in Audacity:

Step 1: Record your music rehearsal
Step 2: Import the recording to Audacity
Step 3: Cut out everything but the voice parts
Step 4: Export to your phone
Step 5: And practice

Step 1: Record your music rehearsal

You can either use a built-in audio recording function on your phone (iOS comes with the “Voice Memos” app), or download something special. I use the app “Voice Record Pro.”

Be sure to place your phone somewhere neutral, where it won’t pick up a lot of background noise– for instance, you don’t want it in your lap if it’s going to catch a lot of sound from you picking up and putting down your music or turning pages. I usually just put it on the floor under my chair, away from my feet so I won’t step on it.

Record the entire rehearsal. Feel free to pause the recording during any breaks, but just don’t forget to restart it when you start singing again!

Step 2: Import the recording to Audacity

You can use a different program if you’d like, but Audacity is my preferred. It’s free and quite easy to use. For this step, I send the recording from my phone to my laptop (usually I AirDrop it, but you could also use any number of cloud or messaging routes), but you could also edit the audio right on your phone if you wanted. Voice Record Pro has the ability to do this, I just find it easiest to do the editing on a computer where I have finer control.

Step 3: Cut out everything but the voice parts

Comb through your recording in your audio editor. You want to delete any idle chatter and silent “dead space” to create a recording that is concise and straight to the point. Think of it like making a “highlight reel” of the rehearsal, keeping only the important parts. I like to keep some of the music director’s instructions so that the audio makes sense in context: Ie, I’ll keep things like “Look at page 53… at measure 37, altos sing…”

You can also edit out repetitions. If the music director plays the alto part 3 times to teach it, maybe only keep one. You can always simply replay that section of the audio if you need to review. I even cut out extraneous words for brevity. If the director says “Okay, um, next the altos come in here, uh, and they sing…”, I will cut it down to “Next the altos come in, they sing…”

You can be as granular or basic about this as you want. The point is to take the long rehearsal and cut it down so that it is short and easy to review and understand. I have edited 3-hour rehearsals down to only 15 minutes before.

Audacity makes this very easy to do. After importing your audio, you’ll see something like this:

Be sure to “zoom in” so that you’re able to review the audio quite closely: the numbers across the top of the working area are seconds. I am sometimes trimming out individual seconds of audio (or less) while working on these recordings.

The areas where people are singing is usually easy to spot, as those are the places where you see the tall “spikes.” Areas of relative silence are also easy to see, as they’ll look like flat lines. Regular speech will fall somewhere in between these.

Listen to the recording and pause occasionally to cut out unnecessary parts. If you zoom in and watch closely, you’ll be able to “see” the words being said in Audacity. You can select where a word starts and ends by simply clicking and dragging, and delete that section by pressing the “delete” key.

In this picture, I’ve selected the music director saying “um” followed by a second of silence to cut it out of the recording. I played the recording and was able to easily “see” the um in the track, as well as the silence that followed– trimming it makes the recording just a little cleaner and more concise.

It’s not all that granular, though– here’s almost a minute and a half that I’m cutting. You can see there’s a bit of us singing at the beginning (just a repetition of something we’d done before) followed by a lot of talking. No need to keep that! Select it all and delete.

The downside here is that you pretty much have to listen to the whole recording while you’re editing it. It’s time consuming. The upside of that is that it helps you learn, though!

Ultimately, this is your recording to do with as you see fit. You can choose whether you want to keep all the voice parts, or only your own. You can decide how much chatter you want or how much repetition you want. I like to trim my recordings to be as neat as possible while keeping all the voice parts, so I can share the recording with the whole cast– I started doing this as a stage manager making rehearsal resources for my actors! I also like to keep at least one run of the entire song in the file.

I like doing this because you can hear how things sound with your cast. Unlike with canned practice tracks, you don’t have to worry about the recording not making sense to you based on what you experienced in rehearsal– it’s literally your rehearsal! You can also hear how your music director wants things done, and can get an ear for how your own soloists are choosing to time their choices.

There are certainly easier ways to record a music rehearsal, but I think my way has a lot of benefits!

Step 4: Export to your phone

Once your recording is freshly trimmed, give it a final “proof listen” and then export the file. You can save this as an .mp4 file for audio listening, or turn it into a .mov file so it can be uploaded to a cast page, such as a Facebook group. The idea, anyway, is to have the file somewhere you can use it easily.

Step 5: And practice

Your practice track is done! You should now have a track with which you can simply press play and review your music completely hands-free. This is perfect for reviewing in the car on the way to rehearsal– or work, school, or anywhere else you have to go. You can also, of course, sit down with your music and play this track while you practice at home.

Here’s an example of a practice track I made for our cast during a production of Legally Blonde.(Featuring a meme I made from a rehearsal pic… lol.)

I hope this is useful for other performers!

Analysis, Theatre

“Dear Evan Hansen” is Good, Moral Ambiguity is Lost, and Media Literacy is Dead

Posted on November 5, 2024November 4, 2024 by Thtrthts

The following is a slightly edited version of a Facebook post I wrote after seeing the show live for the first time in early 2023. This post is a different style than many of the analyses posted on this blog– because it wasn’t originally written for this blog. Read the exaggerated tone with a touch of humor… it was a late-night Facebook ramble. 🙂

Tonight, I saw Dear Evan Hansen, and instead of having a normal person’s response of, “yeah that was good,” I have written an essay.

Dear Evan Hansen gets a lot of shit because the entire story is centered on a kid who lies, and in the worst possible way. To quickly summarize the plot: Evan is a teenage boy who working through ongoing mental health difficulties. His therapist gives him an assignment to write a pep-talk letter to himself each day, reminding himself that the day is going to be a great one. One day, he writes a letter to himself about how, actually, the day is awful, and he’s really depressed. But this letter is misplaced and found by Connor Murphy, a troubled teen, who walks off with it. Connor kills himself shortly later. When the letter addressed to “Dear Evan Hansen” is found on his person, the family assumes this letter was his suicide note addressed to his good friend Evan. The complication is that Evan has never really met Connor– they are not friends. But seeing the comfort Connor’s parents take in the idea that Connor had any friends, Evan quickly fabricates the lie that they were BEST FRIENDS. Naturally, the lie spirals out of control, getting bigger and bigger until Evan inevitably has to come clean. The drama of the plot hinges on Evan maintaining this lie through higher and higher stakes.

This show has pivoted from being quite popular act its initial release to being pretty popularly hated. The complaint is always “this show sucks because the main character is a completely unlikeable dickbag who tells a humongous lie to win a girl.“

The problem with that argument is this: the fact that Evan is not totally likeable is the point.

How do I know that? Because NEITHER IS ANY OTHER CHARACTER IN THE SHOW.

Every character in this show is seriously flawed. Every single one is incredibly selfish.

Evan’s “friend” Jared is only nice to him because his parents and Evan’s parents are friends, and Jared’s parents threatened to stop paying for his car insurance if Jared was mean to Evan. Jared is a total asshole who says some really shitty things throughout the first act (but we’ll come back to him later).

Evan’s other friend Alana is explicitly capitalizing on Connor’s suicide for attention. The plot very openly acknowledges this. She very explicitly acts like she knew him personally and that his death was deeply affecting to her, when in reality, Alana did not know Connor at all.

Evan’s mother, Heidi, is often emotionally immature and seeks validation from her son. (We’ll come back to her, don’t think this is the last word here!)

Connor’s family are all also selfish, we see many shades of this in their grieving process— his mother selfishly seeks comfort from Evan, who she also believes to be grieving; Connor’s dad selfishly believed he could do no wrong as a parent as long as he provided for Connor’s survival needs; Connor’s sister Zoe selfishly refuses to think of her brother as anything but a horrible person even when confronted with the evidence that he is not.

And yes, Evan is selfish. I hardly have to explain the ways how— the entire plot does a pretty good job illustrating this.

The selfishness is not accidental. These characters were written this way on purpose.

Why? What purpose would the authors have in making all of their awful? Wouldn’t that run the risk of their show going misinterpreted?

It must be that these writers are so out of touch with audiences that they just didn’t know that these characters would be taken this way. Or… they are written this way intentionally to send a message.

What message might that be? Let’s look at what else these characters have in common. All of these characters are also similar in that they are not doing very well. Alana is depressed and has contemplated suicide, Jared “has no friends” according to Evan, Evan’s mom is working as hard as she possibly can and still knows she’s not doing enough, Connor’s family is all obviously grieving in their own ways. It’s the old adage, “everyone is fighting a battle you know nothing about.”

Each of these characters is struggling to get through life the best they can. They are dealing with each other poorly. Barely any character gets through this show without hurting everyone else’s feelings— literally the only ones who do not directly hurt EACH OTHER are Alana and the Murphys and Jared and the Murphys… and that’s only because their sole interaction occurs in one very short scene.

This similarity is also purposeful. I think it’s crucial, in fact. Evan is not the only one hurting anybody. Everyone else is causing everyone else pain.

Why is everyone selfish? Why is everyone struggling? Why is everyone hurting everyone else?

Drum roll…

BECAUSE THAT IS WHAT LIFE IS!

Dear Evan Hansen is not about a lie, Dear Evan Hansen is about the ways life is complicated. Relationships with people you love are complicated– especially when these relationships hurt you.

It isn’t so simple as “these characters hurt each other, guess they all better stay away from each other”— all of these characters are IMPORTANT to each other, so they do not have that luxury. Jared is mean to Evan but Evan is his “only friend.” Alana is taking advantage of Connor’s death, but she’s doing so because she has been exactly where Connor was and relates to it on a personal level. Evan’s mom is insecure and this complicated her relationship with her son, but she cares deeply for him and is doing everything for him (even to an occasionally unhelpful extent).

Dear Evan Hansen is about the ways nothing is easy. Blame and condemnation is easy, but it’s also senseless in real life. You cannot simply say “Connor Murphy was a monster and it’s good he’s dead”— that’s what “Requiem” is about! You cannot simply say “social media is making the youth suicidal!”— while “Waving Through a Window” highlights the ways it is damaging, “You Will Be Found” very explicitly highlights the ways it brings us together. You cannot simply say “lying is bad!”, because while “For Forever” is entirely a lie, it makes connor’s family feel better, and in case you missed that the show is saying “LIES THAT MAKE PEOPLE FEEL GOOD ARE NOT INHERENTLY BAD,” the show explicitly states this in the final scene. Paraphrasing (because I obviously don’t have the script in front of me), Evan says, “I lied, I did a bad thing,” and Zoe replies, “it helped my parents, didn’t it?”

Saying “EVAN IS A BAD PERSON! LYING IS BAD! THE SHOW IS BAD!” so willfully ignores the entire text of the show. The show is about how “bad people” do not exist. “Good people” do not exist! Flat moral categories without room for gray area are unrealistic and nonexistent in the real world!

Not a one of these characters is “good” or “bad.” That must be intentional, because otherwise why would Jared of all characters end up being the voice of reason in Act 2?

Jared is an asshole in act one. He’s really not that likeable at all. He’s consistently a jerk who says mean and crass things that are only sometimes funny. But he is the first person in act 2 to call Evan out for what he is doing.

“Fine, fine,” you might be saying– “But Evan faces no repercussions for what he did!”

Evan Hansen is a child. He is a senior in high school who is suicidally depressed. Does this excuse his behavior? Say it with me: NO! But his behavior is not excused! By the end of the show, Evan has lost his “adoptive family” and his girlfriend, and the final scene is very clear that he does not get Zoe back (and won’t be getting her back going forward, either).

Evan Hansen did a seriously awful and fucked up thing. And despite this, it is crucial to the story being told that Evan is not alone in the end. After Evan admits his horrible lie in “Words Fail,” the song “So Big, So Small” follows, leaving us with the message that, in spite of everything, Evan can still rely on his mother. He is not hopelessly damaged for eternity. He is not condemned to Hell for being an awful horrible liar. Even though he has done a terrible thing, and even though his mother is a flawed parent by her own admission, he still needs her to be there for him.

In the final scene (which is the scene immediately following “So Big, So Small”), we see Evan is becoming a better person and things are getting better for him— whereas it was strongly implied that Evan was debating killing himself as the lie started to fall apart (see the scene where Evan talks to Connor’s “ghost” towards the end of act 2).

The most common argument against this show that I see is “Dear Evan Hansen is about a kid who tells a horrible lie and gets off scot-free.” But that isn’t what happens. Even lied and lost everything. And– I think this is what the show is all about– he is able to come back from it. Because life is weird and complicated, and because doing bad things doesn’t make you a bad person eternally incapable of redemption.

In an era known for performative moral purity for social media, this show is a hard sell. Social media is a sphere where we rush to judge and label others. The fact that this cycle is destructive hardly needs reiterated, as even most internet users denigrate the “callout culture” that has arisen in recent years. (Keep in mind that social media is a heavy element of the show’s design and plot– this certainly wasn’t an accidental connection.)

It bears mentioning that terms like “virtue signaling” and “cancel culture” have been co-opted by a variety of far-right goons, and that to call their usage of these terms dishonest is putting it extremely lightly. This show critiques the truest sense of virtue signaling and cancel culture by highlighting the fact that morality is not simple enough to put into a small, simple box. People are complicated, as is morality itself; therefore, a gray area must be left between the shades of black and white.

Crucially: Evan’s lie was not entirely a net negative. Despite how he takes advantage of it, Evan also does right by Connor’s memory. The Conor Project is an unequivocal success! The show ends with Evan sitting in the memorial orchard he helped raise money to plant in honor of Connor: The orchard that Zoe says her family is now coming to for weekly picnics, allowing them to grow closer and work through their grief together!

In short: It’s not as easy as “lies are bad!” It is not as easy as “Evan is a bad person!” Every person does good and bad things, and every action has good and bad outcomes!

People are allowed to just not like this show. I’m not the Evan Hansen police. But if your argument is that people SHOULDN’T like the show because it’s about a kid who lies— are you honestly arguing that everyone who lies is a bad person? Would you honestly argue there’s no value in lying if it can help someone feel better?

Do you actually truly think all lies are bad… or is this position just a false moral high ground you have placed yourself on instead of meaningfully engaging with the text of this show? Which is it, huh?

TL;DR: media literacy is dead, moral ambiguity is lost, this show is good, you’re all just mean.

Actor Life, Theatre

What to Expect When Your Kid Decides to Try Theatre

Posted on October 31, 2024June 22, 2025 by Thtrthts

When a kid makes the decision to try theatre for the first time, it can be a surprising experience for both the child and the parent! Having some ideas of what to expect can be helpful. Whether you have any theatrical experience or not, here are some tips to help you understand what you might see over the next few months:

It’s a commitment! (But a beneficial one)

When your child is cast and you see the rehearsal schedule for the first time, you may be taken aback. Being in a show is a big commitment, and as a parent, it often means a commitment on your part, too. Rehearsal schedules can be quite demanding– even as an adult actor with lots of experience, I am sometimes surprised by just how big of a commitment a show can be.

Remember, though, that the commitment is the point. Mounting a show is a huge endeavor, and rehearsal is required to make that happen! Consider your volunteer time an investment in the program. You’re not just supporting your own child, but also everyone’s kids by donating time and energy to the program, even if the least you do is make sure your kid gets there on time.

Theatre is a really wonderful growth opportunity for kids, but that growth is very dependent on parents being able to physically get their kids there! It can be annoying, but that doesn’t mean it’s not worth it.

Some pro tips for dealing with the time (and gas!) commitment:

A carpool setup can absolutely save your life. If your kid has any existing friends in the cast, see if you (or your kid!) can set one up with one of these friends. Fingers crossed, your child will also make new friends who can one day be part of this carpool.
Pay close attention to the rehearsal schedule you receive. It’s possible that your kid is not called to every rehearsal, meaning they’re not needed every single night. Many rehearsal schedules will include a “call list” listing either the actor or character names of all required to come to rehearsal. How often your child is called is heavily dependent on the role your child has and the nature of the show they’re in, and dependent on the director’s plan. Not every director organizes their rehearsal schedules this way, either. It’s important to pay attention to all communications from the director to make sure you’re understanding who is needed each day and who isn’t.
Ultimately, though, remember that your child’s attendance all rehearsals they are called for is critically important to their success. It is frustrating to have to drive to the theater every day, I know– even as an adult actor driving myself to my own rehearsals, I often quibble about this– but it’s worth it. Your child will get more out of the process, make stronger connections, and stand out in a good way with the director if they are always present and prepared for rehearsal.
If there is a night where it is simply not possible to get your kid to rehearsal– something has come up, or your transportation has fallen through– be sure to reach out to either the director or stage manager (the information given to parents at the start of the show should explain who to contact and how to reach them) as soon as possible so the director knows your child will be absent. Think of it like calling off of work– a no-call, no-show is never appreciated.
If you’re struggling to find time during production week (the week of the show, where rehearsals tend to run late each night), consider reading my Ultimate Guide to Surviving Tech Week.

They will grow in many ways

It’s impossible to overstate how many opportunities for growth theatre supplies. Since every child is different, every child will take different things from their theatrical experiences. Sure, they’ll learn the show itself, but they’ll also develop a number of hard and soft skills.

Naturally, kids may develop better social skills, and gain a new appreciation for collaboration and teamwork. Theatre is also a fun, low-stakes outlet for improving reading and public speaking skills. By exploring technical theatre or theatrical design opportunities, kids can discover and cultivate diverse interests and skillsets through art, technology, and mathematics. They’ll become better connected with their peers and community at large, and will likely make some new friends! Hopefully, they will also become more independent and disciplined.

Some tips for supporting that growth:

Take an interest in what they’re learning and doing! Properly encoding and understanding the material learned in rehearsal requires some “homework.” Asking your kid about what they did in rehearsal can be a good way to prompt some at-home practice.
Exactly what your child needs will depend on the child. For me, theatre helped me learn to be more independently disciplined and assess my own understanding of materials I’m studying. Some kids might learn best when allowed to explore on their own, and some might learn best when scaffolded more directly. Staying in tune with how rehearsals are going can help you gauge how you can best support your kid in the process.
Remember, the more committed they are to the process, the more they will learn and grow. It’s important to make sure your child can make it to rehearsals so they can learn what they need to learn!

They’ll Make new Friends… And you Might, Too

Your child will be spending rehearsal time bonding with their cast mates. These bonds can be super strong, and can form very quickly! Don’t worry that your kid won’t make friends in the show: it’s almost inevitable that they will, at some point of the process or another. The actors just spend too much time together to not form some kind of connections.

Meanwhile, you may find that in the time spent picking them up and dropping them off, participating as needed in parent meetings or volunteer sessions, or attending shows and recitals, you may just develop some new friends of your own! Many school theatre departments request volunteer assistance from parents, and community theaters are always in need of extra assistance. If you’re looking for a new social hobby that allows you to practice some new skills, your child’s theatre participation may help you out!

Theatre friendships can be really great for young actors! Making friends with other actors encourages kids to continually assess and better their skills. Just make sure that the friendly competition that arises between theatre peers remains friendly– don’t let your kid talk badly about their own skills, or about other actors!
Keep an eye out for any calls for parent volunteers. This is a valuable opportunity to support the program directly. Just remember that volunteering your time doesn’t guarantee anything in return… some parents think volunteer hours can be bartered for better roles for their children, which is definitely not the case.
There are a variety of ways to volunteer, and volunteers are needed at all different stages of the rehearsal process. Regardless of your skillset, there’s almost always something for you! Even if you don’t have free time to contribute, some donations are almost always welcomed, whether monetary or physical goods.

It might be frustrating at times… for both of you

Theatre, especially for young actors, is definitely not always sunshine and happiness. There will inevitably be complications throughout the process. Your child might start to feel burnt out through the process, and you might start getting sick of driving them to rehearsal every night! Remember that the process offers a lot of great opportunities, and keep your eyes on those when you both start to feel the pressure.

It’s important for both young actors and their parents to keep their emotions in check when feeling burnt out. If you’re tired from all the rehearsal time, the show staff are certainly tired, too! Being temperamental with them may ultimately hurt your chances of participating in future shows.
Remember that any learning process is going to be frustrating at times. In fact, some frustration is a sign that your child is learning and growing. Allowing space for a little productive struggle is key to developing resilience and a positive work ethic!

They Might Face Some Heartbreak

As in any activity, theatre provides the invaluable opportunity for children to lose with grace. The nature of performance is such that not every child can get the role they want every time. Your kid might be a dancing fork when they really wanted to play Belle, or they might be cut from a performance altogether. Remember that this is an opportunity for growth and learning in itself, and that learning how to get back on the horse is as important as learning not to fall off it.

How you support your kid when they’re upset over casting can make a big difference. I have an article about what to say when your kid doesn’t get the part they want.
Generally, it’s valuable to learn that disappointment can become something positive in time. Encourage your young actor to stick with the process even when they’re disappointed! I have an article breaking down why actors should stick around in a case like this.

They Will Exceed Your Expectations

When a kid makes a decision to participate in theatre, it can be an opportunity for both the kid and the parent to grow and learn new things. Ultimately, if you invest in your kid’s interest by ensuring they’re at rehearsals when they need to be, practicing at home as needed, and talking to them to support them through their frustrations, you’ll find that your child will grow more than you expected!

Support your kids, and you may just find the very expectations set by this article smashed.

Actor Life, Theatre

10 Reasons you Should Accept that Role you Didn’t Want… and 5 Reasons you Shouldn’t

Posted on October 29, 2024June 21, 2025 by Thtrthts

Sometimes, casting doesn’t go the way you want it to. In fact, maybe it’s most of the time.

Auditions are a numbers game, and the numbers are, unfortunately, rarely in your favor. Some auditions will see hundreds of people auditioning for the same role. Inevitably, the competition will be fierce, and sometimes you just won’t get the role you want.

You may be offered a different role. Maybe it’s a supporting role, or a spot in the ensemble. Regardless, it isn’t what you wanted, and it can be tempting to decline the offer. Missing out on the part you had your heart set on is upsetting, of course! But there are real reasons to resist the urge and capitalize on the opportunity to be in the show.

That said, staying in the show might not always be the best answer. There are a few situations where sticking around might be a mistake.

Let’s look at 10 reasons to stick it out… and 5 reasons not to.

10 Reasons to Accept the Part you Didn’t Want

1. It’s good practice

People often say, “good luck is about being in the right place at the right time.” In the theatre world, however, I have sometimes heard the adage, “it’s about being in the right place, at the right time, with the right training.”

Getting more performance experience is excellent practice for your next audition. Performing in front of people more frequently will help you kick audition nerves and gain confidence. You also get to practice all the hard and soft skills that casting panels are looking for in the audition room: vocal ability, pitch, sight reading, acting chops, multitasking, focus under pressure…

In short, getting all the performance experience you can may help you get more experience in the future!

2. It’s a chance to make new connections

Theatre is often about who you know as much as it is what you know. Making connections is critical in an industry where personality is so important.

To be clear, this isn’t saying you should do the show just to suck up to people! Treat the process as an opportunity to make some genuine new friends. If you approach the process earnestly and openly, your social circles may grow in both personal and professional ways. You might meet the person who will cast you in your next show… or you might just meet some really good friends. Both are worth sticking around for!

3. The role might be more fun than you think

I almost always end up having fun in a production, even– and sometimes especially– if I was initially unhappy about the casting initially.

When you pin all your hopes on playing “The Lead,” you sometimes fail to see the rest of the forest for the one tree you’re focusing on. Getting cast as a role besides the one you initially wanted can open your eyes to just how exciting the other roles can be! You may find that your character is an opportunity for some huge, ridiculous acting, or an opportunity to be in all the best songs, or an opportunity for one big dramatic moment that you never realized was so awesome before.

If you can weather the initial disappointment, you may be surprised to discover just how much you love that part you didn’t want!

4. It may be a lower commitment

Something frequently seen with young actors in particular is a desire to be the lead in every production, and a dismissal of any role they declare “not big enough.” A lot of adult actors will tell you, though: sometimes, those “smaller” roles are the place to be.

The truth is that some rules demand slightly less of a time investment than others. There, I said it. This isn’t an invitation to slack off if you’re cast as ensemble, or an admission that some cast members are less important than others. It’s just simply a fact that if you’re playing a dance lead who never leaves the stage, you will necessarily have to put in more time and energy than a cameo role who comes on stage twice. Of course that cameo role also requires energy and research and preparation… and of course that actor should still do all the work necessary to present their role with depth and creative integrity… but you cannot deny that the two roles require different efforts, if not quite different levels of effort.

Whether you’re a busy working adult or someone with lots of extra time to dedicate to a production, getting a role that demands slightly less time can be a blessing (maybe in disguise). It may be beneficial to your social life or to your homework scores if you’re not called to every single rehearsal, as the lead would be. It might be nice if you had free time to assist the production in other ways– like prop-making or scenic artistry– while the leads are busy cramming lines and blocking.

In short, try to see the other opportunities getting cast in a “small” role can provide. I have sometimes found that being completely cut from shows I auditioned for during busy times of my life ended up being a relief.

5. You might share the scene with new partners

In addition to making new connections, you might share the stage with some people you’ve previous performed with countless times, but never quite so closely. Some of my favorite theatre experiences have come from getting cast in “small” roles alongside people I previously considered friendly acquaintances, but nothing more– only for us to end up having a blast together and becoming close friends!

You may initially be sad to discover that you’re cast in a role that with never interact on stage with your existing friends. Remember, the other people you’re cast alongside can become your friends, too! You may even learn some new things by watching and working with them.

6. You could discover skills you didn’t know you had

Okay, so you wanted the Romantic Ingenue Lead… and you’ve been cast as the Funny Best Friend. NOW WHAT?!

Not getting cast in the role you had your heart set on can be more than disappointing: it can be daunting. You might not understand how you fit this role. You may feel like you’re not the right person for the part. Remember, though, that if the production staff cast you in this role, they must have seen something that makes them think you’re the right choice. Trust them!

If you lean into it and use this casting as an opportunity to explore your range and abilities, you might find that you have the capacity to perform in ways you never knew you could. Try looking at the experience as a learning opportunity. The opportunity to learn is certainly there, if you’re willing to embrace it.

7. You might discover some new favorite material

Being in shows is a great way to find new songs and monologues to include in your audition book. Hearing and seeing it rehearsed (or rehearsing it yourself) during a show process is a great way to memorize it for future auditions!

You may also discover that you just love the show itself more than you realized!

8. Quitting could send a bad message

We can debate about whether or not this is fair, but the fact remains: If you clearly had your heart set on a lead, and you quit the show when you don’t get that lead, people are likely to interpret this as entitlement or a bad attitude.

To be honest, I think this is a really reductive and unfair accusation to throw at someone– production staffs cannot read actors’ minds and certainly don’t know everything that goes into the decision to accept or decline a role. My opinion doesn’t change this reality, though. Declining a role you are offered can be taken as an insult by some production staffs.

Before you decline a role, it may be worth weighing whether or not this matters to you. Is this a director you really want to work with in the future? If this decision would negatively impact your chances of being cast in the future, are you willing to live with those consequences?

Think it over carefully. Preferably, take a little time to cool off and properly consider it. (Just don’t leave the production staff hanging too long waiting for an answer.)

9. It could be a good addition to your resume

This might be a small consolation, but remember that any credit on your resume could be a standout. There might be a niche in your resume that this production could fill. Plus, theatre is an industry where knowing people is very helpful– having a resume that shows you’ve worked with a lot of different directors and in a lot of different theaters can be beneficial.

Again, it’s up to you to decide whether or not this is worth it. Think things over carefully.

10. You’d be missing out on a lot, otherwise

The majority of my readers come from community and school theatre backgrounds, where the primary focus of most productions is simply to have fun. If you quit the show because you didn’t get the part you wanted, you will miss out on all that fun!

FOMO probably isn’t the best reason to accept a role… but it’s not a bad one. If what you’re looking for from this production is a fun way to spend your evenings, consider accepting the part. Any role can be fun if you make it fun!

… And 5 Reasons Not To

Generally, the list above is encouraging you to set aside your negative feelings and give the show a chance. But is there a time where this is counterproductive? Absolutely.

There are situations where doing the show can make the situation worse. In these cases, I would encourage someone to decline the role– remembering that declining a role can reflect poorly on you, and that most of these reasons are controllable. In other words, most of the reasons not to do the show listed below are only reasons if you let them be.

1. If you ONLY have negative feelings about it

If you feel overwhelmingly bitter and betrayed about the cast list, and you sincerely don’t think all the reasons I listed above are reasons to set that upset aside and enter the rehearsal process with an open mind: you’re allowed. Seriously, you can be upset as you want, no one can make you feel differently! But if those negative feelings are going to be too powerful to allow you to enjoy yourself, you may run the risk of making the process tense for others.

I know actors who have “powered through” after getting offered a role they didn’t want. They complained about how bitter they were the entire process and were petty and impolite towards much of the cast. Generally, they didn’t make friends, and the production staff didn’t appreciate the behavior. Had they asked me my opinion, I would have told them they were better off quitting the show and freeing up the spots in the cast to actors who were willing to invest some positive energy.

2. If you won’t be able to control your emotions

Similarly to the previous point, if you truly can’t find any positive feelings to muster up about the idea of participating in the show, and you don’t feel good about masking your misgivings: then yes, you should quit the production.

Really measure whether or not you think this is an impossibility for you. Trust me, you are likely much more emotionally resilient than you think you are. And besides, the show will likely be more enjoyable than you think it will be, too: if you quit now, you really might be missing out! But if you genuinely feel that you’ll be too unhappy to avoid lashing out, then yes, please, stay away.

3. If you’re too busy to commit properly

You may genuinely have too much on your plate and feel like committing to this show after the disappointing result is going to be too much to swing. We could argue about whether or not you should audition for shows you’re too busy to commit to… but ultimately, if you feel like you don’t have the time to spare for the production, then it is better to decline the offer and let the opportunity pass you by. Being overbooked will ultimately burn you out, and that probably won’t be fun for you or your cast mates to deal with.

4. If it’s JUST to check a box on your resume

I have known actors who participate in shows after being disappointed by the casting only because they think the show will be an important stepping-stone for them, or that it will look good on their resume. This is fine, but remember that committing to a production is, well, a commitment! If you don’t have any interest in actually being in the production, your lack of investment is likely to show.

As I acknowledged in the section above, there are times where it’s genuinely worth doing a production for the padding on your resume. But if that’s the only benefit you can see, it will probably become obvious to your cast mates pretty quickly– and that isn’t usually a good look.

5. If you truly have a bad feeling about the production

This is a very genuine reason to not partake in a rehearsal process. If you feel uncomfortable about something that happened during the casting process– if you felt some red flags or general bad vibes— these can be worth listening to. I’m not talking about “I didn’t get the part I want and that’s obviously bogus,” I mean things like a disorganized environment, rude treatment by staff, or even behavior that makes you feel uncomfortable or unsafe.

I once auditioned for a show where a member of staff tried to ask me out while casting was actively still happening. In other words, I didn’t know if turning him down meant I would be eliminated from the running. I ended up being offered a part… but suffice to say, I didn’t feel bad about turning that offer (both offers, actually!) down.

Ultimately, the only person who can decide whether or not it’s worth being in a production is you. But consider your choice carefully– there are a host of good reasons to stick it out! If one of those latter five reasons resonate with you, though, maybe declining is your best option after all.

Actor Life, Theatre

The ONLY Reason Anyone Ever Gets on a Cast List is…

Posted on October 24, 2024October 22, 2024 by Thtrthts

… because someone on the audition panel said “I want this person in the cast.”

This is the stone-cold truth. Think about the implications.

This means:

It doesn’t really matter what experience you have… you might be the most experienced person in the room, but lose out on the part to someone who has never done theatre before.
Practicing until your audition is perfect might be helpful, and it’s definitely better than being unprepared… but it doesn’t really make the difference, does it? You could have a flawless audition and still not make the cut.
Having natural, inborn talent is great and all, but that doesn’t matter much when the production staff could just decide they want someone else more.
Professional connections are always invaluable… but if the production staff just can’t see you working in this project, then they won’t help much.
You could be not wanted for any random reason: What if you remind a director of their mean ex-girlfriend? You might have made a funny face that made the choreographer think you were making fun of them. You could have included your birth date on a resume and handed it to a casting agent who noticed your zodiac sign and decided it was a poor fit for the project.

Are you lost in hopeless despair yet? Don’t be.

Yes, all those things are true. Casting is weird and random and unpredictable, and the reality is that you may be perfectly qualified, prepared, and well-suited for a part and still not get it…

But don’t give up yet, because that means it’s also true that:

You might be the least experienced person in a room… the other people might have flashy professional credits! You could go toe-to-toe with a Broadway star in an audition… and still get cast, because the audition panel just wants you.
You might practice and practice and practice and then forget every single word when you enter your audition. You leave and think “that was the most miserable failure I’ve ever experienced in my life…” and the production staff calls you back, because they just loved your energy.
Imagine sitting in a lobby before an audition and your worst fear walks in: that ultra-talented freak of nature with perfect pitch who can sing whistle tones while walking on her hands and performing ventriloquism. And also she has perfect hair. There’s no way you can beat someone that talented!! … but then she’s the one who gets cut, and you get the part, because the production staff just think you’re a perfect fit.
You don’t know a single person at the audition. Or at this organization. You’ve never even stepped foot in this venue. But the casting agent just wants to work with you, and suddenly you’re making plenty of new connections!
You could be not wanted for any random reason… but you can also be wanted for any reason! Maybe the director liked your sweater and remembered “that cardigan girl” when it came time to make the callback list. Maybe the casting agent saw you make a mistake that they thought was charming and decided they liked your vibe. Maybe you told a silly joke and the staff laughed so much about it at the casting table that they decided they just had to include you somewhere.

So don’t despair. Yes, auditions are nightmares of entropy, and every audition you go to and don’t make the cut can feel like a colossal embarrassment and waste of time… but just remember that it could randomly go your way as much as it might randomly not.

The only way you’ll ever get cast is if you show up. If you show up, someone might just decide they want you. Or they might not… but that’s the coin flip you’ll just have to accept.

Guides and Tips, Theatre

5 Strategies for Practicing Lines with a Partner

Posted on October 22, 2024October 13, 2024 by Thtrthts

Learning lines is one of the least fun parts of a rehearsal process. Nonetheless, it is necessary, and it is therefore necessary for actors to figure out ways to improve at it.

Working on lines with a partner can make the memorization process much more entertaining. Though we sometimes must inevitably practice alone, there are a variety of ways that we can work on lines with a partner… and a variety of ways that are much more beneficial than merely reading the scene back and forth a number of times.

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Guides and Tips, Theatre

5 Strategies for Practicing Lines Alone

Posted on October 17, 2024October 13, 2024 by Thtrthts

Have you ever heard a director say that “rehearsal isn’t for learning your lines, it’s for learning everybody else’s?” The adage is one of many actors’ least favorites, as it is often spoken by directors in the act of chastising actors for not knowing their part.

Acting requires a hefty amount of memorization. This is an intimidating element of the art for many. Thankfully, though, memorization is a skill, and all the average actor needs to get their memorization up to snuff for a show are a few memorization techniques that work for them.

You might not always have a partner around to practice lines with. Luckily, there are plenty of strategies for memorizing lines that one can work on privately.

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Theatre Thoughts Blog

Theatre Thoughts Blog

Life onstage, backstage, and offstage

Category: Theatre

Story Time: Let That Caffeine Kick In

In Defense of Cutting Kids from the School Musical

How to Make Your Own Hands-Free Practice Tracks from your Musical Rehearsals

Step 1: Record your music rehearsal

Step 2: Import the recording to Audacity

Step 3: Cut out everything but the voice parts

Step 4: Export to your phone

Step 5: And practice

“Dear Evan Hansen” is Good, Moral Ambiguity is Lost, and Media Literacy is Dead

BECAUSE THAT IS WHAT LIFE IS!

What to Expect When Your Kid Decides to Try Theatre

10 Reasons you Should Accept that Role you Didn’t Want… and 5 Reasons you Shouldn’t

10 Reasons to Accept the Part you Didn’t Want

… And 5 Reasons Not To

The ONLY Reason Anyone Ever Gets on a Cast List is…

5 Strategies for Practicing Lines with a Partner

5 Strategies for Practicing Lines Alone