The Lobby has Ears

Theater is a lot of fun, but it is not all sunshine and unicorns. Disappointment is part of theater. You won't get every role you want. You won't agree with every casting decision. You won't love every production you see. Sometimes you'll dislike the script, hate the ending, question the director's choices, or sit in the audience absolutely convinced you would have done something differently. And that's okay. Art is subjective from start to finish. Not every production, performance, design choice, or directorial decision is going to connect with every person. You are absolutely entitled to your opinion. But there is something worth remembering before you share it: The lobby has ears.

You have every right to dislike a show. You can think a particular performance didn't work. You can think the costumes were ugly, the set was weird, the pacing dragged, or Act I was forty minutes too long. You can disagree with the casting. You can even privately believe that you would have been better in a particular role. You do not owe anyone false praise. But you do owe the people around you a little awareness of where you are.

Community theater is, quite literally, made by your community. The person standing behind you in the lobby may be the director's husband. The woman washing her hands next to you in the restroom may have designed the costumes. The teenager waiting for a cookie at intermission may have spent three weekends helping build the set. The stranger standing within earshot may be the actor's coworker, teacher, best friend, mother, or child. And the actor whose performance you're loudly dissecting may be standing ten feet away. In community theater especially, there may be only one or two degrees of separation between virtually everyone in the building. You don't have to pretend you loved something you didn't. But the lobby, restroom, concession line, or parking lot immediately outside the theater may not be the ideal location for the full unabridged review. Save the detailed critique for the car.

And definitely don't do it during the show.  There is another person in the equation who may have absolutely nothing to do with the production: the patron sitting next to you. They bought a ticket too. Maybe they're loving the show you hate. Maybe this is their daughter's first time onstage. Maybe they've been looking forward to this night for weeks. Maybe they're completely immersed in the story until the person behind them starts whispering about how terrible someone's accent is. There is a difference between having an opinion and making another person's theatrical experience collateral damage for it.

Years ago, we had an actor who was deeply unhappy about a casting decision. She had wanted a particular role, wasn't cast, and came to see the production. Unfortunately, she didn't leave her disappointment at the door. During the performance, she openly criticized the production, the casting, the director, and especially the actor who had received the role she wanted. She also unknowingly happened to be sitting directly behind that actor's extended family. So, yes. We heard about it. All of it. Her commentary didn't change anyone's opinion of the casting decision. It didn't make the other actor less deserving of the role. What it did provide was some unexpected insight into how this person responded when another actor received an opportunity she wanted. And in theater, that matters. And in theater, that matters.

Casting isn't only about who can sing the highest note, give the funniest line reading, or deliver the best monologue. (You can refresh yourself on that particular rabbit hole in our June 1 blog, Casting a Show.) Directors are building an ensemble. They need people who can collaborate, take direction, handle frustration, celebrate each other's successes, and support the person who did get the role. Not getting a role you wanted can genuinely hurt. You may be disappointed, angry, embarrassed, confused, or convinced the director made the wrong decision. Those feelings are real, and you are allowed to have every one of them. But the actor who got the role didn't take it away from you. They auditioned, just like you did. Someone else made the casting decision. That actor deserves the opportunity to enjoy the role they earned without being diminished because someone else wanted it too.

Of course, casting disappointment isn't the only kind of criticism that can spill into the lobby. Maybe you're an audience member who simply didn't enjoy the show. Maybe you worked on the production and disagree with decisions that were made. Maybe you thought your friend's performance was fantastic but didn't care for anyone else's. Maybe you've done the same show before and are absolutely certain your production did it better. Have the opinion. Just choose the audience for it. That includes being careful with the seemingly harmless backhanded compliment:

“Well, you were great. I don’t know why you weren’t the lead.”

Or:

“You were my favorite. The rest of the show was...interesting.”

Those may be intended as compliments, but they come at someone else’s expense. And in a crowded lobby, you never know who just heard the other half of what you said.

Criticism immediately following a performance is also a particularly vulnerable moment. Actors have just poured themselves onto a stage. Crew members have been working in the dark. Volunteers have spent hours making the evening happen. Directors may be watching weeks or months of work come to fruition. Friends and families are waiting excitedly in the lobby. There will be plenty of time for thoughtful criticism later; in that moment, a little grace goes a long way.

That doesn't mean criticism is forbidden. Criticism isn't disloyalty. You don't have to love every Hamilton Players show. You don't have to agree with every casting decision. You don't have to think every actor was wonderful. You don't even have to think you wouldn't have been better in the role. And if you have genuine feedback you want the theater to hear, tell us. Thoughtful criticism can be valuable, especially when it's shared with someone who can actually do something with it. That's very different from broadcasting a running review to everyone within earshot.

And sometimes you aren't offering feedback at all. Sometimes you just didn't like the show and want to talk about it. That's okay, too. Talk about it over coffee tomorrow. Analyze it with your spouse on the drive home. Discuss what worked and what didn't with your theater friends. Have thoughtful conversations about directing, acting, design, scripts, casting, and artistic choices. Those conversations are part of loving theater, too. There is a time, a place, and an audience for all of it. Just remember that criticism doesn't become more valid because it is delivered loudly, immediately, or within earshot of the people it concerns.

Theater is collaborative. It is also remarkably intimate. In a community theater, the line between audience and artist is especially thin. Tonight's patron may be next season's actor. The person building the set may be sitting beside you at the next show. The actor you're criticizing may direct you someday. Or none of those things may ever happen, and kindness and discretion are still worthwhile. Your opinion about the art is yours. What you do with that opinion tells people something about you.

So critique freely. Disagree thoughtfully. Be disappointed when you're disappointed. You don't have to love everything that happens onstage. Just remember where you are. Because the curtain may be closed. But the lobby has ears.

Theater Etiquette, Part 2 of 2: The Things Nobody Tells You

 A week or two ago, we talked about some of the basics of theater etiquette: arrive on time, put away the phone, don't talk during the performance, remember that there are people sitting behind you, and please, for reasons I still cannot believe require explanation, keep your shoes on. But there are other pieces of theater etiquette that aren't quite so obvious. In fact, calling them "etiquette" might make them sound more formal than they really are. They're mostly little customs regular theatergoers pick up along the way. But if nobody has ever told you about them, how would you know? So consider this Theater Etiquette, Part 2: The Things Nobody Tells You.

If you need to leave, timing matters.

Sometimes you have to get up during a performance. Nature calls. A coughing fit starts. Some emergency crops up. It happens. If you can comfortably wait for a natural break in the action, that's usually the best time to slip out. If you can't, quietly make your exit.  Coming back in can be a little more complicated.

Opening the auditorium door or walking back to your seat during the show can be incredibly distracting to both the actors and the audience. Actors may also be unexpectedly using the aisles or entrances. So please follow the direction of the Front of House staff or House Manager. They may postpone your reentry for a few minutes until there's an appropriate moment to return to your seat, often during a scene change or applause break. They're not trying to punish you or keep you from seeing the show. They're trying to get you back to your seat with the least amount of disruption possible and keep you from inadvertently becoming part of the show yourself.

You don't have to know when to clap.

People who don't attend theater often tend to worry about this one: "When am I supposed to applaud?" The answer? Whenever it feels right! In a musical, audiences frequently applaud after songs. In other productions, applause may come after a scene or a particularly wonderful moment. Sometimes an audience is so caught up in what's happening that nobody makes a sound. Laugh when something is funny. Gasp when something surprises you. Applaud when you're moved to applaud. You don't have to know some secret theater code. Live theater is meant to have a live audience. We love knowing you're out there, and genuinely reacting to the story unfolding onstage is one of the best ways to show it.

A standing ovation isn't mandatory.

Sometimes a performance brings an audience immediately to its feet. Sometimes a few people stand and others remain seated. Sometimes everyone stays seated and applauds enthusiastically. All of those are perfectly okay. A standing ovation has traditionally been one of an audience's highest expressions of appreciation: the theatrical equivalent of saying, That was extraordinary. That's part of what makes receiving one so meaningful to performers. When an entire audience rises to its feet, it can be an incredibly powerful moment for the people standing onstage. And that's also why you shouldn't feel obligated to stand simply because the person next to you did. A standing ovation is supposed to be an expression of genuine enthusiasm, not the final required activity of the evening. If a performance makes you want to leap to your feet, by all means, stand! If you loved the show and want to remain comfortably seated while applauding enthusiastically, do that. Save the standing O for the moments that make you want to stand. That's what makes it such an extraordinary compliment when it happens.

Curtain call is still part of the show.

We know you want to beat the crowd to the parking lot. But unless you genuinely need to leave, stay through the curtain call. Those bows are the performers' opportunity to step out of the characters they've inhabited for the last couple of hours and acknowledge the audience. They're also often the audience's only opportunity to recognize the entire company, including ensemble members whose work may not have received an individual moment during the performance. And in community theater, those bows can mean a great deal. Applause is quite literally the only payment most of those actors will receive.

That person taking a bow may be performing in their very first show. They may have spent six weeks rehearsing after working all day. Their family may be seeing them onstage for the first time. They may have spent the entire production moving scenery in the dark, changing costumes at lightning speed, or singing harmonies you barely noticed but absolutely would have noticed if they weren't there. Give them those last couple of minutes. Besides, nobody wants to be the person who starts the mass exodus. The parking lot will still be there in three minutes. Curtain call won't. And yes, actors can be fragile creatures. Sometimes they need that Sally Field moment: You like me! You really like me!

Intermission is for talking!

After all this discussion about being quiet, here's the good news: at intermission, talk to your heart's content. Talk about what you loved. Ask your companions what they think. Debate what might happen next. Explain something that confused your child. Go find someone you know and tell them you're having a great time. Just be careful about spoilers. If you've seen the show before or know the story, remember that the person standing beside you at concessions may not. Nobody wants to hear, "Just wait until you find out the butler did it!" while buying a cookie.

Please don't call out to someone you know onstage.

This is one of those uniquely community-theater temptations. You know that person! It's your coworker! Your neighbor! Your kid's teacher! Your best friend! And suddenly there they are, walking onto the stage. Resist the urge to yell their name or wave at them. The fact that you know the actor is wonderful. Cheer loudly for them at curtain call. Tell them afterward how much you enjoyed seeing them. But while the performance is happening, they're trying very hard not to be your coworker, neighbor, teacher, or friend. They have spent weeks learning lines, rehearsing, developing a character, and working toward this moment. For the next two hours, let them be somebody else. This is particularly important during youth productions. It can be incredibly tempting to wave at a child you know or try to get them to acknowledge you from the stage. But they've worked hard to learn the same skills we're asking of our adult actors, including staying focused and remaining in character. Don't undermine all that hard work by distracting them or encouraging them to break character. They know you're there. You can make a HUGE fuss over them afterward.

Close enough to touch doesn't mean interactive.

Actors sometimes enter through the audience, perform in aisles, or end up very close to patrons. Unless the production makes it clear that audience interaction is invited, continue watching just as you would if the actor were onstage. Don't grab them, talk to them, hand them something, or try to make them break character. They're close to you because that's where the staging put them, not necessarily because they've invited you into the scene.

Backstage is still backstage.

After the show, you may be excited to congratulate someone you know in the cast. Please don't go looking for them backstage unless you've specifically been invited. Immediately after a performance, backstage can be surprisingly busy. Actors are changing clothes and removing microphones. Props and costumes are being put away. Crew members may be resetting things for the next performance. And sometimes actors simply need a few minutes to come down from the experience before greeting people. But there's another reason backstage access matters: it is shared space.

The dressing room doesn't belong only to the person you came to see. It may be shared by ten, twenty, or thirty other performers who are changing clothes, fixing costumes, gathering their belongings, talking through something that happened during the performance, or simply decompressing. Bill may be delighted to see Aunt Mary backstage. That doesn't mean the other fifteen people changing clothes in the same room are delighted to see Aunt Mary. Backstage and dressing rooms are both working spaces and personal spaces. That's why "Cast and Crew Only" signs really do mean Cast and Crew Only.

If performers are coming out to greet the audience, give them a little time. They'll find you. And when they do, you can tell them how fabulous they were without accidentally meeting half the cast in their underwear. Everybody wins.

Be aware of the space you're sharing.

Theater seats can be cozy, especially in older or smaller venues. Try to keep coats, bags, and other belongings within your own space and out of the aisles. You might even consider how much baggage you'll need to "store" before you leave the house. Be mindful of armrests and the people sitting beside you. And because many people are sharing a relatively small room for a couple of hours, going easy on strong fragrances is a kindness to people who may be sensitive to them. None of this requires perfection. It just requires a little awareness of the people around you.

Most theater etiquette isn't really about theater.

That's probably the biggest secret. There isn't an elaborate rulebook experienced theatergoers have memorized. Most theater etiquette comes down to one simple idea: you're sharing a space and an experience with other people. You're sharing the room with the audience around you. You're sharing the story with the actors performing it. You're sharing the experience with people who may have waited months to see this particular show. And unlike a movie, every performance is temporary. Tonight's audience will never gather in exactly the same way again. The actors will never give precisely the same performance again. The laughs will land differently tomorrow. A quiet moment may feel completely different with another audience. That's part of the magic. So laugh. Applaud. React. Enjoy yourself. Talk about it at intermission. Tell the actors afterward that you loved seeing them. And if you didn't love it? Maybe wait until you're in the car. Because the lobby has ears. …but that's a blog for another time.

 

Raising the Curtain on the Next Generation

 

There is something pretty wonderful about watching a child experience live theater. Maybe it's the first time they see a set transform in front of them. Maybe it's realizing that the people singing onstage are actually singing, right there, just a few feet away. Maybe it's the moment they become so completely absorbed in the story that they forget they're sitting in a theater at all. A great experience with live theater can create memories that last a lifetime and, sometimes, begin a lifelong love of the performing arts. But taking children to the theater can also require a little preparation.

Unlike watching a movie at home, there is no pause button, no volume control, and no easy trip to the kitchen when attention starts to wander. Live theater asks something of its audience, and learning how to be part of that audience is a skill. Fortunately, it's a pretty fun one to teach.

Start with the right show.

The single most important question isn't necessarily, "Is my child old enough?" It's "Is this a show my child will enjoy?" Children are wonderfully individual. One six-year-old may happily sit through a two-hour musical while another has reached the absolute limit of human endurance after 45 minutes. Some children love big music and spectacle. Others prefer familiar stories, comedy, or smaller productions. Consider your child's interests, attention span, maturity, and sensitivities when choosing a performance. And don't assume that "musical" automatically means "for children." Plenty of musicals contain mature themes, frightening moments, strong language, violence, or other material that may not be appropriate for every child. If you're unsure about a particular Hamilton Players production, ask us. We're happy to help you decide whether a show might be a good fit for your family.

Tell them what they're about to experience.

If a child has never attended live theater before, the experience itself can be surprising. Explain that the theater will get dark when the performance begins. There may be loud music or sudden noises. Actors might yell, cry, fight, wear unusual costumes or makeup, or appear somewhere unexpected. If you know a production contains something your child might find frightening, prepare them ahead of time. Knowing that a loud sound is coming, or that the "scary" character is really an actor playing pretend, can make a big difference. You can also explain some of the fun parts. People will laugh together. The audience may applaud after songs or scenes. There may be an intermission when everyone gets to stretch, use the restroom, and talk about what they've seen. And at the end, everybody gets to applaud the actors.

Give them a little bit of the story beforehand.

You don't have to spoil every surprise, but knowing the basic story can help children follow what is happening onstage. Tell them who some of the main characters are. Explain where the story takes place. If it's based on a book or movie they already know, talk about what they might recognize and what might be different. Then, once the show begins, they can concentrate on watching the story unfold rather than trying to figure out who everybody is.

Teach theater manners before you get there.

Children aren't born knowing theater etiquette. Someone has to teach them, and it's much easier to explain expectations at home than to introduce them for the first time in a dark theater.

Keep the rules simple:

• We stay in our own seat during the performance.
• We keep our feet off the seats and don't kick the seat in front of us.
• We use quiet voices only when absolutely necessary.
• We don't use phones or other electronic devices during the show.
• We try not to do things that make it hard for other people to see or hear.
• If we need a break, we'll quietly go to the lobby together.

Notice that none of those rules says a child must remain perfectly motionless for two hours. Children wiggle. They change positions. They react to things. Sometimes they ask a question. That's okay. The important distinction is whether their behavior is beginning to interfere with someone else's ability to enjoy the performance.

Set everyone up for success.

Use the restroom before the show. Even if they insist they don't need to. You know why. If you think your child might need a break during the performance, aisle seats can make getting in and out much easier. Make sure everyone has eaten, isn't overtired, and has had an opportunity to get some wiggles out before settling into a theater seat. These are small things, but they can make an enormous difference.

Let them know that taking a break is okay.

This may be the most important preparation of all. Before the show begins, tell your child that if they become scared, overwhelmed, restless, or simply need a break, you can step into the lobby together. It isn't a punishment and it doesn't mean they did anything wrong. Sometimes we all need a break. At Hamilton Players, if a child becomes restless or upset enough that it begins disrupting the performance, we ask an accompanying adult to step into the lobby with them. Our Front of House staff will be happy to help you return to your seats at an appropriate break in the performance. Knowing that there's an escape hatch can actually make the experience less stressful for both children and adults.

Every person needs a ticket and a seat.

At Hamilton Players, every audience member, regardless of age, must have their own ticket and their own seat. Babes in arms are not permitted. There are several reasons for this, including safety, comfort, and sightlines for the people seated behind you. More importantly, very young babies simply aren't developmentally ready for most of what live theater asks of an audience. They can't understand why the room suddenly became dark, why there was a loud noise, or why everyone around them suddenly burst into applause. There will be plenty of time to introduce them to theater when they're a little older, and we hope you will!

Remember that you're teaching a new skill.

A child's first theater experience doesn't have to be perfect to be successful. Maybe you make it through the entire show. Maybe you spend ten minutes in the lobby during Act II. Maybe they whisper one too many questions. Maybe they are absolutely mesmerized and spend the entire ride home talking about how the scenery worked. All of those experiences are part of learning how to be an audience member. The goal isn't to teach children to sit silently and disappear into their seats. It's to teach them that live theater is something special. Real people are onstage telling a story for us, and we're sharing that experience with all the other people in the room. We listen. We react. We laugh. We applaud. We make room for everyone else to enjoy it, too. And then, hopefully, we come back and do it all again. Because one of the best ways to ensure that live theater continues for generations is to invite the next generation in and teach them how much fun it is to be part of it.

 

Theater Etiquette (Part 1 of 2)

One of my favorite things about community theater is seeing new faces walk through our doors. New audience members, new volunteers, new actors, and sometimes people experiencing live theater for the very first time. So every once in a while, it seems worth revisiting a subject that isn't terribly exciting, but really does make a difference: theater etiquette.

Going to a live performance is a little different from going to the movies. At a movie, the performance has already happened. The actors can't hear your phone ring, notice you getting up, or see the glow from your screen. Their work has been captured through multiple takes, camera angles, editing, and all sorts of movie magic.

Live theater is different.

The people onstage are performing right in front of you, in real time. There is no rewind button and no second take. Every performance happens once, with that particular group of actors and that particular audience, and then it is gone. That's part of what makes theater so wonderful. It also means that the audience is part of the experience. Your laughter, applause, gasps, and even that wonderful silence when everyone is completely absorbed in a scene can affect the energy in the room. Actors feel it. Other audience members feel it. So, how can we all help make that shared experience a great one?

Give yourself a little extra time.

Nobody plans to be late. Parking happens. Babysitters happen. The person in front of you decides that this is the moment to drive 12 miles under the speed limit. But once a performance begins, seating late arrivals can be tricky. Depending on the theater and the production, you may need to wait for an appropriate break in the action before being seated. In some theaters, late seating isn't possible at all until intermission. It isn't meant as a punishment. Opening a door, walking through a darkened theater, searching for seats, and asking an entire row to stand can pull dozens of people out of the world the actors have just worked to create. Give yourself enough time to park, pick up your tickets, visit the restroom, grab something from concessions, find your seat, and settle in. It's a much nicer way to begin the evening anyway.

Let your phone enjoy the show quietly, too.

This is probably the biggest change in theater etiquette since I first started writing about the subject. Our phones have become such a constant part of our lives that we sometimes don't even notice how often we look at them. Inside a dark theater, though, everyone notices. A ringing phone is obviously distracting, but so is a glowing screen. Even on silent, checking a text, scrolling through a notification, or answering a quick message can light up several rows around you. And unless the theater specifically tells you otherwise, please don't photograph or record the performance. Performance rights and licensing agreements frequently restrict photography and recording, and the rules vary by production. More importantly, holding up a phone can distract the performers and the people sitting around you. So before the lights go down, silence the phone, tuck it away, and give yourself permission to be unavailable for a couple of hours. The rest of the world will almost certainly survive.

Beware the surprisingly powerful cough-drop wrapper.

There is some mysterious law of acoustics that makes a tiny candy wrapper approximately 700 times louder inside a quiet theater. If you know you're going to want a cough drop or piece of candy during the performance, unwrap it beforehand. The people around you will silently thank you. And if you do need one unexpectedly, that's okay. Just try to open it as quietly as you can. We're theater people, not monsters.

React to the show. Just don't compete with it.

A good audience doesn't have to sit perfectly still and silently. Please laugh. Applaud. Gasp. Cry. Respond. That exchange of energy between the audience and the performers is one of the things that makes live theater special. Conversation, however, is another matter. Even whispered conversations can carry surprisingly well in a theater. If you need to say something that can wait, save it for intermission. And during musicals, resist the temptation to sing along unless the performers invite you to. We love that you know every word. We really do. But the person sitting beside you bought a ticket to hear the people onstage sing it. You can absolutely give your own Tony Award-winning performance in the car on the way home.

Remember the people behind you.

Sightlines can be tricky in any theater, especially a small one. Large hats, leaning far forward, or putting two heads together can unintentionally block someone's view. You don't need to sit at attention for two hours. Just occasionally remember that someone behind you is also trying to see the stage. It's one of those tiny courtesies that makes a big difference.

And because apparently this needs to be said: please keep your shoes on.

Yes. This one comes from experience. No further explanation should be necessary.

Mostly, just enjoy yourself.

Theater etiquette isn't really about a long list of rules. It's about remembering that live theater is something we experience together. The actors are aware of the audience. Audience members are aware of one another. Every person in the room contributes, in some small way, to what that particular performance feels like. That's actually one of my favorite things about theater. No two performances are exactly alike because no two audiences are exactly alike. One night the laughter is enormous. Another night you can practically feel the audience holding its breath. Sometimes the applause begins before the lights have even finished fading. For a couple of hours, a room full of strangers agrees to put away the outside world and enter another one together. So arrive with a little time to spare. Put away the phone. Unwrap the cough drop. Keep your shoes on. Then settle in, enjoy the show, and help us make a little magic together.

10 Things I've Learned from the Youth Theater Program

 I recently had the privilege of being the lunch speaker at a local Kiwanis Club meeting. When I was invited, the dear friend - educator, Kiwanian, and frequent collaborator - who invited me suggested I talk about Hamilton Players’ youth program. Now, I could spend HOURS talking about the theater and its various programs, so narrowing the topic to youth theater was helpful...but still waaayyy too broad.

As I thought about all the things I could share, I realized I kept coming back to a handful of stories that delivered the same message: Those kids were teaching me more than I could ever teach them. So, I decided to distill those lessons into an easy-to-digest list of ten things I’ve learned from the Hamilton Players’ Youth Program. And then I thought, why not share them with you, too?

10 Things I’ve Learned from the Hamilton Players’ Youth Theater Program

1. Bravery doesn’t mean not being scared.

I’ve noticed that as people get older, we often become more cautious about taking risks. I don’t mean the bungee-jumping/hip-breaking kind. I mean the make-new-friends, try-a-new-restaurant, visit-a-new-place kind. Comfort zones can get awfully comfortable. But kids remind me that courage isn’t the absence of fear. Courage is being terrified to audition, sing alone, try improv, or walk onto a stage…and doing it anyway. On the other side of that fear, they discover new friends, forge new paths, and make incredible memories simply because they chose action over fear.

2. Failure is much less important than adults think it is.

Adults can give failure far more weight than it deserves. We replay our mistakes, analyze them, agonize over them, and sometimes let the possibility of failing keep us from trying at all. Kids forget a line, miss an entrance, mess up choreography...and keep going. Five minutes later, they’re laughing. They remind me that mistakes are part of learning, not evidence that we shouldn’t have tried. Failure should be a stepping-stone or a detour not a roadblock.

3. Belonging can happen remarkably fast.

Making new friends as an adult can feel daunting. It takes time, vulnerability, and effort, and we can get remarkably good at talking ourselves out of it. Kids often skip right past all that self-restriction. Put a group of kids together who may not know one another on Monday, give them something to create together, and by Friday they have inside jokes, shared experiences, and a community. A year later, they may walk back through the theater doors and greet one another with hugs as if no time has passed. Kids remind me that sometimes friendship gets harder because we’ve learned to make it harder. We create rules and definitions instead of simply meeting people where they are.

4. Every kid needs a place where their particular kind of “weird” is useful.

As adults, we tend to compartmentalize our “weird” and only bring it out when we feel safe and seen. But theater thrives on weird. Theater has a place for the loud kid, the quiet observer, the kid who memorizes everything, the class clown, the artist, the musician, the organizer, and the kid with the wildly specific obsession who has been waiting their entire life for someone to ask what they know about medieval weaponry, yoyo-ing, or obscure Disney villains. There are a lot of ways to be valuable. Theater has a wonderful way of seeing and acknowledging them.

5. Kids are capable of much more than we sometimes expect of them.

This is a big one, and it never fails to amaze me. The fact that a group of 40 kids can learn the blocking, dialogue, music, and choreography for a 75-minute show in a ONE-WEEK CAMP absolutely blows my mind. I once gave a TEDx talk that I wrote myself and still had trouble memorizing it! But give kids real responsibility, clear expectations, good instruction, and somebody who genuinely believes they can do it, and they will often meet, and exceed, those expectations. In 16 years of teaching summer theater camps, I have yet to see a group fail to rise to the occasion.

6. Confidence is built through doing, not through being told to be confident.

Adults can get pretty bogged down in self-talk. Encouragement and visualization are helpful, but nothing quite replaces actually doing the thing. You can tell a child, “You can do this,” a hundred times. But there is something transformative about the moment they actually do the hard thing and realize: “I did that.” That accomplishment belongs to them. No one handed it to them. They earned it. And they own it forever. Every time they do something they weren’t sure they could do, they add another piece of evidence to the growing belief that maybe, just maybe, they are capable of more than they thought.

7. Play is serious work.

This is one that touches me on an almost daily basis. I have the extraordinary privilege of having a career built around the what-if of imagination. I am constantly creating worlds in my mind and helping bring them to life onstage, and it is one of the most fulfilling things I have ever done. Imagination, improvisation, pretending, experimenting, and being silly aren’t wasted time. Through play, kids practice creativity, communication, problem-solving, empathy, flexibility, and trust. Those abilities matter far beyond a stage. They matter in relationships, classrooms, workplaces, communities, and pretty much anywhere humans have to figure things out together. Which is...everywhere.

8. Being seen matters enormously.

As adults, we sometimes devalue recognition. We convince ourselves that it is altruistic, or maybe even morally superior, not to care whether anyone notices what we contribute. But acknowledgement matters. Being seen matters. And kids have reminded me of that. Not every child in our program is the lead. That doesn’t matter. Sometimes one of the most important things an adult can do is simply notice:

“I saw what you did there.”

“I saw you help that younger kid.”

“I saw you keep trying.”

“I saw how much work you put into that.”

Those are small sentences. But at the right moment, to the right person, they can mean an enormous amount. Kids have reminded me how powerful genuine recognition can be, and that maybe adults need it, too.

9. The goal isn’t to create professional actors.

I’ve learned not to get bogged down in perfection. Most of these kids won’t pursue theater professionally, and that’s not the point. We’re helping create adults who can speak in front of people, collaborate with others, accept feedback, solve problems, take risks, recover from mistakes, and appreciate the arts. We teach them to keep going when something is difficult. To give their best effort. To contribute to something larger than themselves. To find beauty and pride in accomplishment, whatever that accomplishment may be. If some of them grow up to be professional actors, wonderful. But if they grow up to be teachers, engineers, nurses, plumbers, scientists, business owners, parents, or community volunteers who are a little more confident, creative, empathetic, and willing to stand in front of a room and speak? That’s a pretty great outcome, too.

10. The impact often isn’t visible when you’re making it.

This might be the hardest lesson, but the longer I am in theater, the more I see evidence of it. I now have kids I taught when they were 10, 11, or 12 years old coming back with children of their own and telling me they want their kids to do theater because it changed their lives. The arts make an impact on kids. But you don’t always know which rehearsal, role, friendship, compliment, ridiculous improv game, or quiet moment backstage is going to stay with a child. Sometimes you don’t find out until years later. Kids have taught me that the small moments matter precisely because we don’t get to choose which ones become important. We just have to keep creating them.

Maybe the Teachers Aren’t Always the Teachers

We talk a lot about what arts education gives kids. But after doing this for years, I’m increasingly aware of what the kids give us. They remind us to be brave. To play. To risk looking foolish. To recover quickly when things go wrong. To make room for each other. To notice people. To try things we aren’t sure we’ll be good at. And to celebrate what we create together. We may be the instructors. But we are definitely not the only teachers in the room.

 

Guest Blog: Music Beyond the Musical

When people hear the words musical theater, they naturally think of unforgettable songs, lively choreography, and the thrill of a live orchestra. While musicals place music center stage, music still plays an important role in the many different stories we share at Hamilton Players. Whether we're presenting My Fair Lady, a straight play like Boeing-Boeing, a Reader's Theater performance of Macbeth, or one of our youth performances, music is one of the many elements that helps shape the audience's experience.

Music begins its work before the first line is spoken. In a musical, the overture sets the tone and draws us into the world of the story. From that moment on, the score becomes part of the storytelling, guiding our emotions and giving voice to thoughts that dialogue alone can't always express.

In a musical, songs celebrate triumphs, reveal fears, and deepen our understanding of the characters. The performers, musicians, director, and technical crew all become storytellers, creating an experience that can only happen in live theater.

Our non-musical productions take a different approach. The focus is on the actors, the script, and the power of the spoken word. When music is used, it's intentional—perhaps to establish a time or place, support a transition, or underscore a key moment. Just as meaningful are the times when there is no music at all. Silence can heighten tension, draw us closer to a character, and allow an important scene to unfold without distraction. Choosing when to use music—and when to let silence speak—is part of the art of theater.

At Hamilton Players, music also represents something larger than the notes on a page. It reminds us that theater is a collaborative art. Whether it's a pit orchestra rehearsing for a musical, a music director working with performers, or volunteers backstage preparing for opening night, each person contributes to the story. That spirit of collaboration has been part of Hamilton Players from the beginning. Built through the dedication of community volunteers, our theater continues to thrive because people share their talents, their time, and their love of the performing arts.

One of the strengths of a community theater season is its variety. Some productions fill the theater with music from beginning to end. Others rely almost entirely on dialogue. Both invite audiences to laugh, reflect, and connect with the stories unfolding on stage. 

As another season unfolds at Hamilton Players, I hope you'll notice the care that goes into every production. Sometimes you'll leave humming a favorite song. Other times you'll be thinking about a powerful conversation.. Whether through music, silence, or the spoken word, every artistic choice is made with one purpose in mind—to bring a story to life.

Guest Blogger Emily Athman is the Hamilton Players' Board Vice President and one of several Resident Music Directors who shape the sound of our musical productions.

Every Rule Has a Story (Usually an Expensive One)

One of my favorite things about community theater is that people are endlessly creative. Unfortunately, that creativity occasionally extends to finding new and exciting ways to accidentally create policies. Contrary to popular belief, the Hamilton Players staff does not gather once a month around a conference table asking, "How can we make life just a little more inconvenient?" Quite the opposite. Most of our rules exist because somewhere, sometime, somebody, with the best intentions, did something that made all of us collectively say, "Well...I guess we need a rule for that now." So today I thought I'd pull back the curtain and explain a few of the rules that tend to generate the most questions. Spoiler alert: none of them were created out of boredom or a power fetish.

Rule #1: No food in the House. 

At first glance, this one seems a little harsh. It's just popcorn. Or a cookie. Or half a granola bar… What's the worst that could happen? Well, allow me to introduce you to the unofficial stage crew of the Hamilton Playhouse. Mice. Pack rats. Squirrels. Birds. Wasps. Yellowjackets. Ants. Spiders. One skunk. And enough miscellaneous wildlife that I occasionally wonder if we're secretly operating a petting zoo.

Historic buildings are charming. Historic buildings are also full of tiny little places where tiny little creatures can decide they'd like to become paying tenants. Food crumbs are basically Zillow listings. One forgotten cookie under Row G becomes an engraved invitation. So when we say, "water only," we're not trying to deprive anyone of snacks. We're trying to keep your theater experience from including an unscheduled appearance by Mickey and friends.

Rule #2: Backstage food is weirdly specific. 

Our approved backstage snack list looks like it was written by someone's extremely cautious grandmother. Baby carrots. Mini pretzels. Red Vines. Hard candy (natural colors only). Oddly specific, right? There's a reason. Backstage isn't just backstage. It's also where several thousand dollars' worth of costumes are hanging.

Silk. Velvet. Satin. Fabric that seems to absorb chocolate from three zip codes away.

Actors also arrive well before the audience, often straight from work, and they may be at the theater for four hours before they head home. So yes, people need to eat. We just try to avoid foods that explode, melt, crumble, drip, smear, splatter, stain, or somehow migrate onto the only white costume in the show. It's less "No Fun Allowed,” and more "Let's not baptize Cinderella in nacho cheese."

Rule #3: No photography backstage.

This one isn't about secrecy. It's about dignity. Backstage doubles as our dressing room. That means costumes are changing. People are changing. Sometimes very quickly. Everyone is focused on getting the perfect picture of their best friend without realizing that someone's uncle is accidentally reflected in the mirror wearing approximately half of a pirate costume. The internet is forever. Wardrobe malfunctions should not be. So, the easiest solution is simple. No backstage photography. Everyone gets to focus on getting ready instead of wondering whether they're about to become an accidental internet meme.

 Rule #4: The lobby opens one hour before the show.

Not 75 minutes. Not whenever someone notices a car in the parking lot. Exactly one hour. Here's why. Imagine inviting forty people into your bedroom while you're still getting dressed. That's essentially what happens to the cast once the lobby opens. The actors retreat backstage, where dozens of people share one dressing room, one bathroom, costume racks, makeup stations, props, and varying levels of pre-show nerves. The hour before the lobby opening is their last chance to breathe, stretch, chat, and enjoy a little elbow room before they become glorified sardines. It's also your last chance not to see them. Part of the magic of theater is that your first glimpse of the characters happens when the curtain rises. Not when Cinderella is wandering through the lobby in curlers and a ratty track suit looking for her cell phone.

 The Moral of the Story

There are dozens of rules around the Playhouse. Some are required by law. Some protect our historic building. Some protect expensive equipment. Some protect people. And some protect all of us from discovering exactly how much chocolate can ruin velvet. None of them were created because we enjoy saying "no." They're simply the accumulated wisdom of thousands of rehearsals, hundreds of productions, and countless volunteers all trying to answer the same question: "How do we make this place safe, welcoming, and just a little less chaotic?"

 So, if you've ever wondered whether there's a funny story behind one of our rules, the answer is almost certainly yes. Some of those stories are safe to print. Some are probably better left to theater legend. Either way, the rule likely wasn't written until after someone cheerfully demonstrated why it was needed. Every rule has a story. Some of those stories are funny. Some are expensive. Most are both. The good news is that you don't have to learn those lessons the hard way. You just have to follow the rules that grew out of them.