Exploring Theatre Hot Takes: Give Us an Intermission, Please
by Chris Peterson
Theatre people always have opinions and sometimes those opinions come in hot. Recently, I put out a call on social media asking for your boldest, spiciest theatre takes, and the responses did not disappoint. From thought-provoking critiques to eyebrow-raising declarations, you gave me plenty to chew on.
So here’s what we’re going to do: I’ll be exploring as many of these submissions as I can in this column series. Some I may agree with, others I may not, but that’s the fun of it. Theatre thrives on conversation, and even the most out-there hot take can lead to surprising insights and fascinating discussions.
Think of this as an open forum, where no opinion is too bold to examine. Ready to dive in? Click on the “Exploring Theatre Hot Takes” tag at the bottom to keep up with every installment.
Kate Peckham put it plainly: if a show runs longer than an hour and a half, it needs an intermission.
“If the show is longer than an hour and a half, it needs an intermission, said Kate. “A two hour one-act play is exhausting and some of the story gets lost because you’re thinking about having to pee or you’re just sick of sitting still.”
I could not agree more. Intermissions are not just a kindness to the body; they are essential for the mind, the story, and the experience of theatre itself. A two-hour one-act play or musical can feel like a marathon without a water break. Instead of living inside the story, the audience begins to think about their bladder, their stiff legs, or how they might slip out quietly without disrupting the people around them.
Theatre asks us to suspend reality, to sit together in the dark and let a story take us somewhere new. But people are still people. Even the most disciplined theatregoer eventually hits a wall when sitting still that long. You start to fidget, your attention drifts, and no matter how good the material is, you cannot absorb it fully. The physical body interrupts. You need to move, to stretch, to reset. Intermissions give you that chance.
Think about concerts or sports games. Nobody expects fans to sit through four quarters of football or two sets of music without a pause. Why is theatre different? Why do we think audiences should simply endure discomfort in the name of continuity? The truth is, they are not really enduring; they are quietly checking out.
And when that happens, the story suffers. Theatre is storytelling, and storytelling requires attention. If a show pushes past the ninety-minute mark with no break, what often gets lost is not the story’s power but the audience’s focus. Jokes do not land with the same spark, emotional beats blur together, and even the most carefully built climaxes feel muted because people are tired. An intermission gives everyone a moment to process what has already happened, to carry the stakes into the second half, and to return with clear minds and ready hearts. Without that pause, the best material risks become background noise.
There is also something beautiful about the pause itself. Intermission is a ritual. The lights rise, the audience spills into the lobby, and conversations start immediately. What just happened. Can you believe that twist? Did you notice the way the set shifted? Those fifteen minutes are not wasted time; they are part of the collective experience of theatre. People exchange ideas, they laugh together, they share their first impressions. Then, when the bell rings and the curtain rises again, there is a shared anticipation in the room. The story continues, and it feels alive.
Some directors argue that a break destroys the spell, that their work must be seen in one uninterrupted sweep. But the spell is not sustained if the audience is silently begging for it to be over. Others say that an intermission ruins the pacing. The truth is pacing is not only about what happens on stage, it is about how well the audience can keep pace with it. A fifteen minute pause does not kill momentum, it strengthens it.
At the heart of this conversation is respect. Audiences are giving you their time, their money, their full attention. Respecting that gift means meeting them halfway. Build in the break. Trust your story to survive fifteen minutes of lobby chatter. Give your audience the dignity of being comfortable enough to stay engaged.
Of course, I will always respect the author’s intent and direction. If a playwright has carefully crafted a ninety-minute work that needs to remain uninterrupted, I will honor that choice. But once a piece stretches past that ninety-minute threshold, I believe intermission should not be treated as a compromise but as a gift to both the audience and the story itself.
The reality is that very few stories demand to be told in an uninterrupted two-hour block. If your piece does, maybe that is not a badge of honor. Maybe it is a sign that editing could serve you better than endurance.
Kate Peckham is right. A show longer than an hour and a half needs an intermission. It is not a weakness. It is not pandering. It is good theatre practice. Audiences will thank you. Stories will be clearer and more powerful. The art form will be stronger because it will honor the rhythm of pause and play.
Theatre is a dialogue between the stage and the audience. To make that dialogue meaningful, we need breaks to breathe, to think, and yes sometimes just to use the restroom. Because when the curtain rises again we are present and awake. And that is what live theatre is about.