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.