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.

Rehearsal vs. Real Life: What It Means to Commit to a Show

Doing a show is a whole experience unto itself. For most people, theater is something they do after work, after school, after family responsibilities, after errands, and after all the other obligations of everyday life. Then, suddenly, they find themselves spending six or seven weeks immersed in rehearsals, memorization, choreography, costumes, music, and production meetings. At Hamilton Players, the rehearsal process typically runs six weeks for plays and seven weeks for musicals. That's about 12.5 hours per week in scheduled rehearsals alone. Add the recommended minimum of 30 minutes a day for memorizing lines, practicing music, reviewing choreography, or refining blocking, and you're looking at roughly 16 to 17 hours per week devoted to the production. In other words, for a couple of months, you've essentially taken on a part-time job. And with that comes a whole set of realities that no one really talks about until you're already knee-deep in the process. Let's talk about them now.

Why Commitment Matters

One of the unique things about community theater is that there are often no understudies waiting in the wings. Every cast member matters. If someone becomes seriously ill, suffers an injury, or is unable to continue, the entire production can be affected. Sometimes roles can be recast. Sometimes emergency solutions can be found. Occasionally, they can't. In more than thirty years of community theater, I've only been involved with two productions that had to cancel or postpone performances due to illness. That's actually a remarkable track record. But I've also seen plenty of last-minute emergencies that required frantic problem-solving. In one particularly cursed production (whose title shall remain unspoken, in keeping with theatrical superstition), the director and music director both ended up onstage covering missing cast members during opening weekend while a replacement stage manager was called in at the last minute. And even as I write this, a Music Director and a Board Member are preparing to step into ensemble roles because of a sudden injury.

Theater people are incredibly resourceful. "The show must go on" is often more than a saying. But there are limits. When half the cast comes down with viral laryngitis or norovirus, there is only so much determination can accomplish. Sometimes the only option is to cancel, refund tickets, reschedule performances, and disinfect everything in sight. That's why commitment matters. Not because anyone expects perfection. Not because life never happens. But because every person in the cast has accepted responsibility not only for their own role, but for the success of the entire production. Here's some of what you should expect.

1. You Need More Sleep Than You Think

This sounds backwards. After all, rehearsals often run late. Casts socialize after rehearsal. Adrenaline makes it difficult to wind down. Yet the rehearsal process is surprisingly exhausting. You're learning new skills, memorizing information, making creative choices, solving problems, and often engaging in significant physical activity several nights a week. Your body and brain need recovery time. Sleep is one of the most effective ways to protect yourself from burnout and illness during a production.

2. Fuel Matters

If you're in a musical, there will likely come a rehearsal where you're expected to sing, dance, act, and think simultaneously. Usually several times. Possibly many, many times. The first combined  choreography-and-music rehearsal often feels less like art and more like an endurance event. Good nutrition helps maintain energy, concentration, vocal health, and recovery. This isn't the time to survive entirely on coffee and leftover concession stand candy.

3. Hydration Is Not Optional

Your voice is a physical instrument. Hydration supports vocal stamina, reduces vocal effort, helps preserve range, and assists recovery after heavy use. It also helps your entire body perform more effectively during long rehearsals. If you plan to sing, dance, project, and perform at your best, keeping a water bottle nearby becomes less of a suggestion and more of a lifestyle.

4. Rehearsal Doesn't End When Rehearsal Ends

This surprises many first-time performers. Rehearsals are where you learn the material. Home practice is where you retain it. When actors spend time outside rehearsal reviewing lines, music, blocking, and choreography, the production moves forward. When they don't, rehearsals become a cycle of relearning the same material over and over again. A little daily effort goes a long way. Thirty minutes a day may not sound like much, but over seven weeks it adds up to more than twenty-four hours of additional preparation.

5. A Show Becomes a Priority

When you accept a role, you are agreeing to make room for the production in your life. That doesn't mean abandoning your family, your job, or your other responsibilities. It simply means recognizing that, for a limited period of time, the show needs a meaningful share of your attention and energy. It also means making reasonable choices that protect your ability to participate. For example, the middle of a production may not be the ideal time to learn snowboarding. Or take up rollerblading. Or try bungee jumping. Because while an injury may not be the end of the world, it could be the end of a show. And as a general rule, crutches and choreography are not natural companions.

6. Tech Week Is Its Own Species

Everything you've done up to this point has been preparation. Tech week is where it all comes together. Costumes. Hair. Makeup. Props. Lights. Sound. Scene shifts. Quick changes. Full runs. Notes.  adjustments. And, of course, a significant portion of it now happens in the dark. The hours are longer. The stakes feel higher. Everyone is tired. Everyone wants the show to succeed. This is the point where self-care stops being a luxury and becomes a necessity. Get the latte. Buy the fancy tea. Use the good lotion. Paint your nails. Take the extra-long shower. Whatever helps you recharge, this is the week to do it.

7. Tell Your Family What's Coming

The people who love you deserve a heads-up. For a few weeks, you may be less available than usual. You may be distracted. You may spend evenings and weekends at the theater. That's normal. Make sure the important people in your life understand that your temporary obsession with a fictional world is exactly that: temporary. And when the show closes, remember to reconnect with the people who supported you through the process.

8. Expect High Highs and Low Lows

Theater is emotional. There will be moments when you feel brilliant. There will be moments when you feel completely overwhelmed. You may run the same scene, song, or dance number ten times in a row, even if your own performance is already solid. You may receive notes you don't agree with. You may be asked to make changes you don't understand. The collaborative nature of theater means individual success isn't enough. The entire group has to succeed together. That can be frustrating. It can also be one of the most rewarding lessons theater has to offer. 

9. Remember That Everyone Is Human

Yes, theater should be fun. And most of the time, it is. But almost nothing worthwhile is fun every  single moment. Even the perfect day at the lake comes with sunburn and mosquitoes. Community theater has its own version of sunburn and mosquitoes: stress, fatigue, frustration, and the occasional short temper. That doesn't make rudeness acceptable. Respect still matters. Professionalism still matters. Kindness still matters. But it does help to remember that everyone around you is carrying the same production stress you're carrying, plus whatever challenges exist in the rest of their lives. A little patience, a little grace, and a little tact can solve an astonishing number of problems.

So Why Do It?

After reading all of this, you might reasonably wonder why anyone signs up for theater in the first place. The answer is simple. Because somewhere between the late-night rehearsals, the missed dinners, the endless line memorization, the tech week exhaustion, and the occasional moments of panic, something magical happens. A group of strangers becomes a team. A script becomes a story. A collection of individual efforts becomes something none of those individuals could have created alone. And when the lights come up, the audience laughs, cries, applauds, and experiences that story with you, all of the hard work suddenly makes sense. The commitment is real. The sacrifices are real. The stress is real. But so is the joy. And for most theater people, that's why we keep coming back.

Dream Roles Aren't Always Lead Roles

We’ve spent some time discussing casting, auditioning, and the equal-but-different importance of principal and ensemble roles. And during almost every audition cycle, there are actors hoping to land the lead. That’s understandable. Lead roles are often the most visible, the most challenging, and the most celebrated. But after more than thirty years in theater, I’ve noticed something surprising. Some of the happiest actors I know aren’t chasing lead roles at all.

Ask a room full of new actors what role they want, and many will point to the lead. Ask a room full of theater veterans, and the answers become much more interesting. In fact, many experienced actors, including some exceptionally talented performers, aren’t necessarily hoping for the biggest role in the show. For those who are new to theater, that may come as a surprise. We often assume that the lead role is automatically the most desirable role. But theater, like life, is a little more complicated than that. Sometimes the most rewarding role in a production isn't the largest one. Sometimes it's the one that best fits your interests, your schedule, your personality, or your stage of life.

To illustrate the point, let’s talk about one of my favorite examples: King George in Hamilton. King George is not the lead. He isn't even one of the principal drivers of the plot. He appears for only a handful of scenes. Yet he is one of the most memorable and beloved characters in the entire show. His first song, “You'll Be Back,” was what hooked me on Hamilton in the first place. The audience loves him. The actor playing him usually has an absolute blast. And despite his limited stage time, he's often one of the characters people remember most. Now, not every supporting or ensemble role is as delightfully scene-stealing as King George. But smaller featured roles and ensemble parts often offer rewards that are easy to overlook.

Here are just a few reasons an experienced actor might intentionally audition for the ensemble rather than a principal role.

1. The Time Commitment Fits Better

This is perhaps the most practical reason. The larger the role, the larger the commitment. Lead actors often spend countless hours outside of rehearsal studying lines, memorizing music, practicing choreography, reviewing blocking, and refining character choices. Everyone in a production puts in work outside of rehearsal, but the workload isn't distributed equally. A principal role can become a second part-time job for several months. Sometimes an actor loves theater but simply doesn't have the time available for that level of commitment. An ensemble role allows them to stay involved, contribute meaningfully, and enjoy the production without sacrificing every free evening to rehearsal homework.

2. The Lead Isn't Always the Most Fun Character

The lead role carries responsibility. In many shows, the protagonist must carry the emotional weight of the entire story. They may spend two hours wrestling with tragedy, heartbreak, conflict, or impossible decisions. Meanwhile, somewhere nearby is the comic relief character getting all the laughs. Theater needs contrast. If every moment is dramatic, eventually nothing feels dramatic. Audiences need moments to breathe, laugh, and reset before the next emotional punch lands. Those supporting characters often become audience favorites. They may not drive the plot, but they frequently steal scenes. And let's be honest: being the person who gets to make an audience laugh can be tremendously satisfying.

3. The Ensemble Builds Extraordinary Friendships

One of the greatest gifts of community theater isn't applause. It's people. Ensemble members spend enormous amounts of time together. They rehearse group numbers repeatedly. They learn choreography together. They share dressing rooms, backstage jokes, costume mishaps, and countless inside references that make absolutely no sense to anyone outside the production. There's a unique bond that forms when you've run the same dance combination forty times in a row or waited together in the wings night after night. Some of the strongest friendships I've seen in theater were forged in ensemble rehearsals. Long after people forget who played the lead, they'll often remember the friendships they built along the way.

4. Life Changes—and So Do Theater Goals

Priorities evolve. Perhaps there was a time when you were eager to tackle every lead role that came along. Maybe you had fewer responsibilities, more free time, and endless energy. Then life happened. Careers grew. Families expanded. Relationships developed. Children arrived. Pets arrived. Other hobbies appeared. Sleep became more appealing. Yet the love of theater remained. For many experienced actors, ensemble roles provide the perfect balance. They can continue participating in an art form they love without asking theater to dominate every corner of their lives. And there is absolutely nothing wrong with that.

5. Ensemble Roles Often Offer More Creative Freedom

This is one reason many veteran actors quietly adore ensemble work. Principal characters usually arrive with a great deal of information already provided by the script. We know their motivations. We know their relationships. We know their emotional journey. But ensemble characters? They're often wide open. The chorus member crossing the stage may have an entire life story that exists only in the actor's imagination. Perhaps the tavern keeper is hiding from a decades-old crime. Perhaps the barmaid was once a celebrated performer. Perhaps the newspaper boy bravely pushes through hardship every day just to support his family. Within the boundaries of the script and the director's vision, ensemble actors often have remarkable freedom to create fully realized people from very little information. And creating those stories can be enormously fun.

6. Sometimes the Role Fits Better Than the Recognition

Early in an actor's journey, it's natural to seek challenge, visibility, and recognition. Later, many actors begin looking for something different. Community. Flexibility. Balance. Joy. A role that fits comfortably into their life. A role they can perform well and feel proud of. A role that allows them to contribute to something larger than themselves. The "best" role isn't always the biggest role. Often, it's simply the role that is the right fit for that particular season of life.

Success Looks Different in Community Theater

One of the beautiful things about community theater is that success is defined much more broadly than who gets top billing. People participate for many reasons. They're learning new skills. They're serving their community. They're making friends. They're finding creative fulfillment. They're challenging themselves. They're simply having fun. Some of my happiest theatrical memories came from ensemble roles. Some of my closest friendships were formed while standing shoulder-to-shoulder with fellow cast members rather than carrying the weight of a principal role. In fact, ensemble actors often receive something that can be harder for principals to access: time.

Time to build relationships.

Time to laugh backstage.

Time to learn from others.

Time to enjoy the process itself.

Lead roles bring visibility, responsibility, and a unique kind of psychic income: the satisfaction that comes from being at the center of the story and receiving direct audience recognition. But ensemble roles offer their own rewards: camaraderie, flexibility, creative freedom, and shared accomplishment. Neither path is better. They're simply different. So, if you're auditioning and wondering whether you should check the box that says, "I'd accept any role," remember this: Dream roles aren't always lead roles. Sometimes the role you'll treasure most isn't the one with the most lines. Sometimes it's the one that gives you the most joy.

 

There Are No Small Roles...But There Are Different Ones

You've probably heard the saying, "There are no small roles, only small actors." While I understand the sentiment, I've always thought it misses an important point. Not because some roles are unimportant - they aren't - but because different roles serve different purposes. Every role in a production exists for a reason. Principals need supporting characters. Supporting characters need principals. Ensembles provide context, energy, atmosphere, and credibility. Principals provide the dramatic through-line. Remove any one of those pieces, and the show begins to unravel. The truth is that principals and ensemble members often have very different experiences, different challenges, and different rewards. Neither is inherently better. They're simply different jobs.

Principal characters drive the action. We generally learn the most about them and become emotionally invested in their journeys. Sometimes we desperately want them to succeed and live happily ever after. Sometimes we passionately root for their downfall. They can be heroes, villains, antiheroes, or something in between. But if we don't care what happens to them, then they aren't doing their job. Because principals carry so much of the story, they also tend to carry a significant workload. The larger the role, the more there is to learn: lines, blocking, choreography, music, character development, and occasionally even special skills such as juggling, magic tricks, stage combat, dialects, or ear-splitting whistling. The more there is to learn, the more time principal actors spend outside the theater studying, memorizing, practicing, and preparing. Very often, principals have little safety net onstage. If they miss a line, lose their place, or make a mistake, they frequently have to solve the problem themselves while the audience watches.

Supporting and ensemble actors often have different responsibilities. While they may have fewer lines, they are frequently responsible for creating the world in which the story takes place. They become townspeople, party guests, soldiers, students, villagers, customers, dancers, and countless other characters who make the stage feel alive. Ensemble actors often work as a group, which creates its own challenges. Success depends on coordination, awareness, consistency, and teamwork. A musical number only works when dozens of people move, sing, and react together. One performer can shine, but an ensemble creates momentum. One advantage of ensemble work is that there is often a stronger sense of shared experience. Ensemble members frequently rehearse together, solve problems together, and spend a great deal of time supporting one another through the long rehearsal process. Lifelong friendships are often formed in the ensemble.

Meanwhile, principals can sometimes find themselves on a surprisingly solitary journey. Because they are carrying so much material and often working scene by scene, they may spend less time participating in the social side of rehearsals. While they receive more attention from directors and audiences, that attention comes with greater scrutiny and responsibility.

This brings us to something particularly important in community theater: psychic income.

Since most community theater performers are volunteers, nobody is measuring success by a paycheck. Instead, we are rewarded through other forms of compensation: artistic fulfillment, personal growth, friendships, accomplishment, recognition, applause, audience reactions, and the simple joy of creating something meaningful. Those rewards aren't distributed equally. Principal actors often receive a larger share of the direct psychic income. They hear the audience laugh at their jokes. They receive recognition from patrons after the show. Their names appear prominently in programs and promotional materials. They often experience the most direct connection between their performance and the audience's response.

But ensemble actors receive psychic income of a different kind. They gain the satisfaction of being part of something larger than themselves. They build friendships. They create shared memories. They experience the joy of collaboration and collective achievement. Many seasoned theater veterans will tell you that some of their favorite theatrical experiences happened in ensemble roles rather than leading ones. Neither form of reward is superior. They are simply different.

There is also a freedom that comes with ensemble work that principals rarely enjoy. The audience's focus is naturally concentrated on the principal characters. The ensemble helps create the picture rather than carrying the burden of being the picture.

Think of it like a photograph of a house. The house is beautiful. It is clearly the focal point of the image. Your eye goes there first. But now add the landscaping. Add flowers, trees, a lawn, a garden path, and a bright sky overhead. Suddenly the image feels complete. The house becomes far more meaningful, attractive, and emotionally resonant when the supporting elements arrive. The flowers, trees, lawn, and sky don't replace the house. They support it, frame it, and help tell its story. The house is still the focal point. But the picture is richer because the ensemble showed up.

Theater works much the same way. The audience may remember the principal character's final speech. They may leave humming the lead's big song. They may talk about a particularly memorable performance on the drive home. But those moments rarely happen because of one actor alone. They happen because an entire company came together to create a world worth believing in. And that's why every role matters.

Why Warmups?

Warmups can be either the most fun or the most dreaded part of a rehearsal process. Some people eagerly jump in. Others suddenly become terribly busy backstage the moment warmups are called. And many performers warm up vocally and physically on their own. So why do Directors, Music Directors, and Stage Managers continue to torment their casts with group warmups? The answer may surprise you a little. And no, it isn't because they enjoy torturing you.

Community theater presents a unique challenge. Most actors aren't arriving at rehearsal from another rehearsal. They're arriving from jobs, classrooms, family responsibilities, errands, and all the other demands of everyday life. One actor may have spent the day teaching third graders. Another may have been on a construction site. Someone else may have rushed over after a stressful day at work or a difficult conversation at home. Warmups provide a bridge between the outside world and the world of the play. They give actors a chance to leave their day at the door and arrive fully in the rehearsal room. There are several reasons warmups are important, and because different reasons matter to different directors, I'll go through them in no particular order.

1. Physical Readiness

Physical warmups build stamina and help prevent strain during demanding rehearsals and performances. They transition the body from a resting state to an active one, preparing it for peak performance while reducing the risk of injury.

Specifically, physical warmups

• Raise overall body temperature, loosening stiff muscles and ligaments.
• Increase blood flow, delivering oxygen-rich blood to the muscles about to be used.
• Lubricate joints by promoting the flow of synovial fluid, reducing friction, and improving range of motion.
• Activate the nervous system, improving balance, coordination, and motor control.

2. Vocal Readiness

Vocal warmups stretch and engage the vocal folds, facial muscles, and breath support system. They encourage diaphragmatic breathing, improve articulation, and expand vocal range. Most importantly, they help actors project clearly and consistently while reducing the risk of vocal fatigue or injury. Reaching the back row should not come at the expense of your voice.

3. Mental Readiness

Warmups don't just prepare the body and voice—they prepare the mind. They help actors focus, become present, and shift into a space of imagination, creativity, and active listening. Group exercises and games help synchronize the energy of the cast, break down barriers, strengthen trust, and reinforce the sense that theater is ultimately a team sport. Those three reasons are the most obvious and the most frequently cited.

"But why," you might ask, "do I have to warm up as a group? I can do all of that on my own." Fair question. The truth is that physical, vocal, and mental preparation are only part of the story.

4. Situational Awareness

Group warmups bring the entire cast together in one place, allowing the Director, Stage Manager, and Music Director to assess the overall health of the production. For example, Bob and Ruby have been inseparable throughout the rehearsal process. They're constantly chatting, laughing, and standing together. Then one day, during warmups, they're on opposite sides of the room and carefully avoiding eye contact. That doesn't necessarily mean there's a problem. But it is a noticeable change in group dynamics, and it's something a Stage Manager may want to quietly keep an eye on. Actors are human. Relationships, misunderstandings, stress, and hurt feelings can affect even the most mature and professional performers. Warmups often provide an early glimpse into issues that might otherwise remain hidden until they begin affecting rehearsals or performances.

5. Physical Check-Ins

Group warmups also give the production team an opportunity to assess everyone's physical condition on that particular day. If someone who is normally energetic and physically engaged is suddenly marking choreography, moving cautiously, or struggling to keep up, it may signal illness, fatigue, stress, or injury. Often people don't think to mention these things, or they may not realize how significantly they’re affecting them until rehearsal begins. Warmups allow the production team to notice changes early, make adjustments when necessary, and help prevent minor issues from becoming major problems during a performance.

6. Entering the World of the Play

Lastly, warmups help actors transition from everyday life into the world of the production.

They encourage performers to set aside the concerns, responsibilities, and distractions they carried in from work, school, family life, or the rest of their day and focus on the story they are about to tell. Warmups help actors exchange their everyday posture and mindset for the physicality, focus, and collaboration required of both a character and a member of an ensemble. Smart productions schedule warmups in a way that still allows actors to maintain their own personal pre-show rituals. The goal is not to replace individual preparation. It is to complement it.

At their best, warmups are about far more than stretching muscles or running tongue twisters. They prepare the body, voice, and mind. They transform a collection of individuals into an ensemble. They give the production team an opportunity to check in on the health and well-being of the cast and crew. And they create a deliberate transition between the outside world and the world of the play. So, the next time the Stage Manager calls, "Warmups in five minutes," resist the urge to suddenly become terribly busy backstage. Those fifteen or twenty minutes aren't a punishment. They're one of the most valuable tools a production has for helping everyone perform safely, confidently, and together. And if the warmup happens to include a few ridiculous games, awkward stretches, or tongue-twisters that make everyone laugh? Well, that's just a bonus.

 

The Characters Without Lines: How Sets, Costumes, Props, and Design Tell the Story

When we think about characters, we usually think about people. The hero. The villain. The comic relief. The best friend. The love interest. In literature, characters are the figures who drive the narrative forward. They speak the lines, make the decisions, create conflict, and ultimately shape the story. But theater has another cast of characters - characters who never speak a single word.

Today, I'd like to talk about these characters without lines. These characters are the sets, costumes, props, and even the visual details that surround the actors on stage. While they may not deliver dramatic monologues or take center stage, they help tell the story every bit as much as the performers do. If that sounds overly dramatic, let's try a simple experiment.

Take a Look at These Coffee Cups

What do these cups tell you about the person holding them? Which belongs to a duchess? A park ranger? A socialite? A proud father? Notice what just happened. You instantly began assigning personalities, occupations, ages, incomes, and lifestyles to people you couldn't even see. All you had was a coffee cup.

Now Let's Try Dresses

All four dresses come from the same decade, yet they suggest very different people. Which one belongs to a suburban housewife? Which one belongs to a fashionable socialite? Which one belongs to a teenager eager to make a statement? Again, the clothing tells a story before a single line has been spoken.

And Then We Come to the Sets

What do these environments tell you about the people who inhabit them? Just as the coffee cups suggested personalities and the dresses suggested lifestyles, the sets tell stories too. Before an actor ever steps on stage, you've already formed expectations about the people who live in these spaces and the worlds they inhabit. A rustic farm suggests one kind of life. A medieval castle suggests another. A comfortable living room implies a different set of circumstances than the bridge of a spaceship.

And here's where it gets really interesting. The same set can tell completely different stories depending on who occupies it. A farmer standing on the farm set creates one story. A well-dressed socialite standing on that same set creates another. An alien standing on the spaceship bridge feels expected. That same alien standing in the living room instantly creates mystery, tension, or comedy. The environment becomes part of the storytelling.

Every piece on stage - the pictures on the walls, the view from the windows, the shape, color, and size of the furniture, even the dimensions of the space itself - is chosen to advance the story. The director and designers carefully craft and curate all the details surrounding the characters to support the plot, conflict, and resolution...and sometimes even to lead the audience astray. Colors and textures are selected to enhance the emotional and psychological subtext of a scene. Drab neutral colors may support melancholy, while a colorful set paired with drab costumes may reveal a character's feelings of isolation, desperation, or inadequacy. Costumes in complementary colors can subtly suggest connection between characters, while clashing colors may hint at conflict or discord.

Props play their role as well. Consider a large satchel versus a sleek, tiny clutch purse. Which suggests a more organized character? Which suggests someone who is overly prepared? Can you imagine Mary Poppins pulling all of her magical items from a tiny evening clutch? Or consider an angry character brandishing a knife. What is the psychological difference between a small paring knife and a large butcher's knife? What assumptions do you make about the character wielding it? Or how about this: which screams "sleek assassin" more effectively: a silenced pistol or a baseball bat? The object itself helps tell the story.

But visual elements are only part of the picture. Sets, costumes, props, along with lighting, sound, projections, and special effects are all members of this cast of characters without lines. Like the actors, they have jobs to do. They establish mood, reveal character, create tension, provide clues, and sometimes intentionally misdirect us. A warm amber wash can make a room feel welcoming and nostalgic, while the same room bathed in cold blue light suddenly feels lonely or threatening. The distant howl of wind, the creak of a floorboard, the rumble of thunder, or the whistle of a passing train can all become characters in the story, influencing what we feel long before we consciously recognize why.

These design elements don't simply decorate a production, they help carry the narrative itself. Nothing on stage is accidental. Every choice is made in service to the story. Sometimes it's character-specific and sometimes it's show-specific, but these characters without lines are always there, supporting, guiding, and defining the action. The remarkable thing is that audiences rarely notice most of it consciously. They simply feel it. And even though these characters don't have any lines, they may be speaking the loudest of all.

The Nonprofit Board Paradox: A Structure Built to Struggle

Let’s start with something that sounds completely backwards. Imagine a business where the people legally responsible for the organization’s success spend four hours a month thinking about it. Meanwhile, the person who spends forty-plus hours a week running it has less authority than they do. Most people would look at that arrangement and immediately start asking questions. In the nonprofit world, we call it governance.

To be clear, this isn’t an attack on nonprofit boards. I’ve worked with some exceptional board members over the years—smart, generous, mission-driven people who care deeply about their organizations and communities. Most nonprofit boards are filled with people who genuinely want to help. The problem isn’t usually the people. The problem is that we’ve built a system that asks ordinary volunteers to perform an extraordinarily difficult job and then act surprised when tensions emerge.

At the center of almost every nonprofit sits a curious arrangement: The Executive Director carries operational responsibility. The Board of Directors holds ultimate authority. And between those two realities lies one of the most persistent sources of nonprofit dysfunction. Not because anyone is malicious. Not because anyone is incompetent. Because the structure itself creates tensions that are almost inevitable.

The Authority Problem

In the for-profit world, authority and accountability are generally aligned. A CEO answers to a board of directors, but those board members typically have a direct financial stake in the organization’s success. If the company performs well, they benefit. If it struggles, they feel the consequences. Nonprofits work differently. Board members are unpaid volunteers. They don’t own the organization. There are no stock options, dividends, or equity stakes. The organization’s success or failure doesn’t directly affect their financial well-being. That doesn’t make board members less committed. Many care deeply. But it does mean one of the primary accountability mechanisms that exists in the corporate world is absent. The structure becomes even stranger when board members volunteer for organizational activities. A board member may help at a fundraising event, serve on a project team, or volunteer for a program. In those moments, they often fall under the supervision of the same staff they govern. One minute they’re the boss. The next they’re a volunteer reporting to staff. The authority relationship literally flips depending on the context. Organizations that fail to define these boundaries clearly often find themselves dealing with confusion, frustration, and conflict that can be remarkably difficult to untangle.

The Information Problem

One of the least discussed realities of nonprofit governance is that the board and the staff experience the organization in fundamentally different ways. The Executive Director lives inside the organization every day. The board visits periodically. An ED sees every personnel issue, every budget challenge, every grant deadline, every community relationship, every operational headache, and every small decision that eventually becomes a big one. The board sees reports. This isn’t a criticism. It’s simply the reality of volunteer governance.

A typical board member may spend a few hours each month attending meetings, reading reports, and participating in committee work. The Executive Director may spend 160 hours or more each month immersed in the organization’s operations. That creates an unavoidable imbalance: the people with the most authority often have the least direct access to information, while the people with the most information often have less authority. That’s a difficult structure to manage even when everyone involved is acting in good faith. And most of the time, they are.

The Recruitment Problem

Nonprofits rarely recruit board members because they’re governance experts. They recruit them because they’re passionate. Or generous. Or influential. Or connected. Or respected in the community. Those are all valuable qualities. They’re just not the same thing as governance expertise. A person can be an outstanding donor, volunteer, business owner, attorney, accountant, physician, artist, or community leader and still know very little about nonprofit operations. Yet once elected to the board, they’re expected to provide strategic oversight for an organization they may only interact with a few hours each month. That’s a remarkably difficult assignment when you stop and think about it. The result is a governing body that is often asked to oversee work it doesn’t fully understand—not because board members lack intelligence, but because they lack exposure. Passion for a mission and expertise in governance are not the same thing. Unfortunately, nonprofit boards often assume they are.

The Impossible Executive Director Position

The Executive Director occupies one of the most unusual roles in the professional world. They are expected to be the organization’s operational expert. They hire and supervise staff. They manage finances. They oversee programs. They maintain community relationships. They implement strategy. They support the board. They educate the board. And they are evaluated by the board. In many cases, the person being supervised is also the person with the deepest understanding of how the organization actually functions. That dynamic can work beautifully when trust exists. It can become deeply frustrating when it doesn’t. The healthiest board-ED relationships eventually evolve into something that feels less like a traditional boss-employee relationship and more like a partnership built on mutual respect, clear communication, and shared commitment to the mission. But getting there takes work.

The Working Board Trap

Most nonprofits begin with a working board. A small group of founders and volunteers does everything. They write grants. Plan events. Answer phones. Balance budgets. Make decisions. At that stage, the board isn’t just governing the organization. The board is the organization. As nonprofits grow and professional staff are hired, the board’s role is supposed to evolve. The doing gets handed off. The board transitions toward governance: setting strategic direction, ensuring financial health, evaluating the Executive Director, and serving as a steward of the mission. This transition is one of the most important milestones in a nonprofit’s development. It’s also one of the most frequently mishandled.

People who helped build an organization often struggle to let go of operational control. Their identity is tied to the work. Their sense of ownership is understandable. Sometimes this evolves into what’s commonly called Founder Syndrome—a situation in which founders or long-time leaders continue operating as though the organization belongs to them, even after it has grown beyond that stage. The result is often a board that remains heavily involved in day-to-day operations while neglecting the broader strategic responsibilities only a governing board can fulfill. Ironically, over-involvement in the small stuff often coexists with under-engagement in the things that matter most: long-term sustainability, succession planning, strategic direction, and organizational resilience.

A Note About the Rules

Here’s something that surprises many people. Much of what we think of as nonprofit board governance isn’t actually required by law. Governance scholar and nonprofit thought leader Vu Le has written extensively about this reality. Many practices that feel fixed and immutable are actually traditions that have accumulated over time rather than legal requirements. The current model feels permanent because it is familiar. Not necessarily because it is the only way. That’s an important distinction. It means we can examine the system honestly. We can ask whether certain practices still serve organizations well. And we can be open to innovation rather than assuming every governance challenge is simply the price of admission.

What Healthy Governance Actually Looks Like

Critiquing the structure doesn’t mean boards aren’t important. Far from it.  At Hamilton Players, I've been fortunate to work with board members who care deeply about the organization and the community we serve. Like most nonprofits, we've experienced many of the tensions described above. We've also seen firsthand that when boards and staff invest in communication, trust, and shared understanding, those same tensions can become strengths. Great boards are transformational. The best board members understand that their role is not to run the organization. It is to govern it.  Likewise, great staff understand that their role is not to govern the organization. It is to operate it. The goal of nonprofit governance isn't for the board to think like staff or for staff to think like the board. The goal is for each group to contribute the perspective the other lacks. Staff bring operational expertise, institutional knowledge, and day-to-day experience. Boards bring outside perspective, community connections, accountability, and long-term stewardship.

They ask thoughtful questions.

They maintain accountability.

They provide perspective.

They safeguard the mission.

They help ensure that today’s urgent challenges don’t eclipse tomorrow’s long-term needs.

Most importantly, they understand that governance is not about having all the answers.

It’s about asking good questions and being willing to learn. The strongest boards I’ve encountered aren’t the ones filled with people who believe they’re experts.They’re the ones filled with people who are curious enough to become informed. When each side respects the value of the other's role, the partnership becomes far more effective than either could be alone.

The Good News

The structure has real flaws. But the structure isn’t destiny. Organizations that navigate governance well tend to share a few common traits. They invest in board education. They provide meaningful onboarding. They define roles clearly. They actively manage the transition from working board to governing board. They foster open communication between board and staff. And they cultivate a culture of humility, curiosity, and continuous learning. There’s a saying that goes, “Culture eats structure for breakfast.” Bylaws matter. Policies matter. Committee structures matter. But none of them matter as much as the culture in which they operate. A board built on trust, curiosity, humility, and mutual respect can succeed despite imperfect structures. A board lacking those qualities can struggle even with impeccable governance documents. Ultimately, the difference between a board that helps an organization thrive and one that unintentionally holds it back often comes down to a simple question: Are the people involved more committed to the mission than they are to their own authority? When the answer is yes, remarkable things can happen. 

The nonprofit sector has become increasingly willing to have honest conversations about governance in recent years, and that’s encouraging. The challenges are real. The tensions are real. But so are the opportunities for improvement. The structure may be imperfect by design. Fortunately, it’s still run by people. And people, given the right tools, the right mindset, and a willingness to learn, are capable of doing far better than the design itself might predict.

A (Very Practical) Guide to Major Acting Techniques

Or: Why There Are So Many Ways to Teach Someone to Pretend Professionally?
 
If you’ve ever sat in a rehearsal and thought: “I know my lines. I know where I’m supposed to stand. Why does this scene still feel flat?”  Well, welcome to the world of acting technique. Over the last hundred years, a lot of very smart (and occasionally very opinionated) theater people have tried to answer one simple question: How do actors become believable onstage? The result is a collection of techniques, methods, systems, schools, philosophies, and occasional theatrical holy wars. The good news? You don’t have to pick one and swear lifelong loyalty. Most actors borrow from several approaches. Most directors do too. Understanding the major techniques simply gives you more tools to pull from when you’re stuck. Think of them less as competing religions and more like different items in a toolbox. Sometimes you need a hammer. Sometimes you need a screwdriver. Sometimes you need to stop overthinking and just listen to your scene partner. Let’s start with the person almost everyone traces back to.
 
The Stanislavski System (1900s)
Konstantin Stanislavski • Moscow Art Theatre, Russia
If acting techniques had a family tree, Stanislavski would be the trunk. Before him, actors often relied on grand gestures, dramatic poses, and stock emotions. Stanislavski wanted something different: truth. His big question was: “What would I do if I were this person in this situation?” That idea changed acting forever. He encouraged actors to understand a character’s circumstances, identify what they want, and pursue it honestly. Much of modern acting—whether it realizes it or not—is built on his foundation.
Why community theatre actors should care: If you’ve ever asked, “What does my character want in this scene?” congratulations—you’ve already been using Stanislavski.
Key concepts: Objectives • Given Circumstances • Emotional Memory • The Magic If
 
The Method (1930s–50s)
Lee Strasberg • Group Theatre & The Actors Studio
If Stanislavski planted the seed, Strasberg turned the volume up. A lot. Strasberg believed actors could access truthful emotions by drawing on their own experiences and memories. The goal was authenticity, but the approach could get pretty intense. This is the version of acting most people think of when they hear stories about actors staying in character for six months, refusing to answer to their real name, or making everyone around them slightly uncomfortable. To be fair, the Method produced some extraordinary performers. It also produced a fair amount of debate. But for the record, community theatre generally does not (and should not!) require emotionally scarring yourself for authenticity!
Why community theatre actors should care: The useful takeaway isn’t reliving your childhood trauma. It’s understanding that personal connection can deepen a performance.
Key concepts: Affective Memory • Sense Memory • Substitution • Relaxation
  
Stella Adler Technique (1930s–60s)
Stella Adler • Stella Adler Studio of Acting
Adler studied with Stanislavski and came home with a message that basically amounted to, “Please stop digging around in your emotional baggage.” Instead, she championed imagination. Her belief was simple: actors don’t need to have personally experienced everything their characters experience. They need the ability to imagine those experiences vividly and truthfully. She also expected actors to understand the world of the play—its history, culture, relationships, and circumstances.
Why community theatre actors should care: This is incredibly liberating. You don’t need to have lost a kingdom, fought a war, or been stranded on a desert island to play someone who has.
Key concepts: Imagination • Script Analysis • Given Circumstances • Action
 
Meisner Technique (1940s–70s)
Sanford Meisner • Neighborhood Playhouse
Half the battle of acting is getting out of your own head and Meisner basically built an entire technique around that idea. Meisner looked around and decided actors were spending way too much time thinking about themselves. His solution? Pay attention to the other person. His famous definition of acting is: “Living truthfully under imaginary circumstances.” The hallmark of Meisner training is the Repetition Exercise, which teaches actors to truly listen and respond in the moment rather than planning their next line while pretending to listen.
Why community theatre actors should care: Honestly, this may be the single most useful skill in any rehearsal room. A surprising number of acting problems disappear when actors stop worrying about themselves and start listening.
Key concepts: Listening • Repetition • Instinct • Moment-to-Moment Response
 
Practical Aesthetics (1980s–90s)
David Mamet & William H. Macy • Atlantic Theater Company
Practical Aesthetics asks a refreshingly simple question, “What am I trying to do to the other person?” Rather than chasing emotions, actors focus on actions. Maybe you’re trying to reassure. Persuade. Seduce. Challenge. Comfort. Intimidate. Choose the action. Play it fully. Let the emotions take care of themselves. It’s one of the most straightforward and accessible approaches around.
Why community theatre actors should care: When an actor says, “I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel here,” this technique offers a wonderfully practical answer, “Don’t worry about the feeling. What are you trying to accomplish?”
Key concepts: Objective • Obstacle • Action • As-If
 
So… Which One Is Right?
They all are.  And they aren’t. The truth is that most actors mix techniques constantly. You might use Adler’s imagination to build a character, Meisner’s listening during rehearsal, and Practical Aesthetics to figure out what you’re doing in a difficult scene. Nobody is coming around checking your acting-technique membership card. The goal isn’t loyalty to a system. The goal is a believable performance.
 
What Works Especially Well in Community Theatre?
If I could hand every community theatre actor just three tools, they’d probably be these:
1.) Listen. Really listen. Not “wait for your turn to talk” listen. Not “remember your next
      line” listen. Listen to what your scene partner is actually doing right now.
2.) Figure out what your character wants. Every scene gets easier when you know your
       objective.
3.) Use your imagination. You don’t need to have lived every experience your character
      has lived. That’s what acting is for.
 
The Bottom Line
Every acting technique on this list is trying to solve the same problem: How do we stop pretending to act and start behaving truthfully? The methods disagree. Sometimes passionately. But they’re all chasing the same thing: presence, connection, and authenticity. And when an audience forgets they’re watching a performance and simply believes? That’s the magic every one of these techniques is after.
 
Before I leave you today, here are a few more styles to look into (and this list is by no means complete!):
Brecht / Epic Theatre: Wanted audiences to think as much as feel. Actors intentionally remind viewers they’re watching a play.
Michael Chekhov: Uses imagination, physicality, and “psychological gestures” to unlock character.
Viewpoints: A movement-based approach focused on space, tempo, shape, and ensemble awareness.
Lecoq: Physical theatre, masks, play, and movement. Hugely influential in devised work and clowning.
Grotowski: Minimal sets. Minimal props. Maximum actor commitment.
Viola Spolin: The grandmother of modern improv. Her theatre games became the foundation for much of today’s improvisation training.
 

The Casting Question EVERYONE Overthinks

Since we've spent some time talking about auditions and casting, I think it's worth discussing one question that creates an enormous amount of anxiety for actors, "Will you accept any role?" Most community theater audition forms ask two related questions. First, they ask which role or roles you are interested in. Then they ask whether you would be willing to accept any role offered. That simple question often sends actors into a spiral of second-guessing.

If I only list one or two roles, will that hurt my chances of being cast?

If I say I'm willing to accept any role, will the director assume I'm happy in the ensemble and overlook me for a lead?

They're both fair questions. Unfortunately, there isn't a universal answer. As a director, what I value most is honesty.

At Hamilton Players, our audition forms ask actors to list their preferred roles in order of interest and then separately ask whether they would accept other roles if their first choices aren't available. That gives directors valuable information. We know what an actor hopes for, but we also know whether they would still like to participate if they aren't cast in their preferred role. The reason this matters is that casting is far more complicated than many actors realize. Directors aren't simply assigning individual roles. They're building an entire cast. Every casting decision affects several others. We consider vocal compatibility, acting chemistry, physical characteristics, scheduling conflicts, experience levels, and the overall balance of the production.

Sometimes changing a single actor changes everything. A performer who looks perfect for one role may only work if a particular actor is cast opposite them. A vocal pairing that sounds wonderful in one configuration may fall apart in another. Losing one cast member can trigger a chain reaction of changes throughout the entire show. That's why directors appreciate knowing up front what actors are truly willing to accept. Of course, actors have good reasons for being selective. Some are interested in a specific challenge. Some only have time for a larger role if they're going to make the commitment. Others may simply not enjoy ensemble work. Those are all legitimate considerations.

Let's look at a simplified example.

Imagine three actors audition for a show with three available roles. Actor A is the strongest singer. Actor B will only accept the lead role. Actor C would prefer the lead but is willing to accept a supporting role. If all three actors are needed, Actor B's willingness to accept only the lead may actually work in their favor. The director may decide to cast Actor B as the lead and place Actors A and C in supporting roles. But what if there are only two roles available? Now the calculation changes. Actor A might receive the lead, Actor C might receive the supporting role, and Actor B may not be cast at all. The same answer on the audition form can help in one situation and hurt in another. That’s why I always hesitate when actors ask for a formula that will maximize their chances of being cast. There isn't one.

Some people worry that only being willing to accept a lead role makes them look like a diva. To be fair, I've heard directors express exactly that opinion. I've also worked with directors who believe everyone in community theater should be willing to accept any role because participation is fundamentally about being part of a team. Personally, I fall somewhere in the middle. I'd rather know what an actor genuinely wants than have them accept a role they don't really want and spend the entire rehearsal process wishing they were somewhere else. Strong productions are built by enthusiastic casts, not reluctant ones.

So, what is the best answer to the "Will you accept any role?" question? The truthful one. If you're only interested in certain roles, say so. If you're happy to participate in any capacity, say that. What matters most isn't which box you check. What matters is that directors can trust your answer. If you say you'll accept any role, then be prepared to do exactly that. If you know you would decline certain roles, it's better to be honest from the beginning. In the long run, directors can work with almost any preference. What they struggle with is uncertainty. An actor who is honest about their limitations may occasionally be perceived as a diva. An actor who says one thing and does another is often perceived as unreliable. And when difficult casting decisions have to be made, reliability usually wins.