We’ve all been there before.

It may be for different reasons for different people. For some, finding the right role or gig might just be too hard, leaving us with a large gap of time in-between our creative projects. For others, work or family life may be taking up too much time. If you’re like me, it might be because you’re still in the middle of a major transition phase in your life that’s left you too busy to take up any huge new projects, at this point in time.

But at one point or another, I’m sure we’ve all known – to varying lengths or degrees – the unpleasant experience that is theatre withdrawal.

Most people consider the journey of a show to be from the page to the stage.  But for me, it is so much more than that. Bringing a show to life is not just about the show. The theatrical journey is more about the people you meet along the way and how they help with the production. More than the story itself, the people along the way are part of the story behind the story. In a series of pieces, I am going to introduce you to those people. Some you end up seeing in the playbill for the show and others come in where you see their contribution but you (as the audience member) might not even end up knowing who they are.

In Cincinnati, we are fortunate to have an abundance of community theater groups.  The groups are diverse in scope and experience (as is often the case), so The Association of Community Theater decided on a judging process for the productions (for those belonging to ACT) with the original intention of offering suggestions for improvement through constructive criticism and praise when noted.  So how far should a critique go to accomplish this goal?

Three decades after it first opened in London, I think it is fair to say that the legacy of Phantom as one of the most popular and commercially successful shows in the history of musical theatre is secure. We can debate for as long as we want over whether or not it is overrated. For me, personally, it is one of my favorite musicals of all time, and it deserves much of its popularity, even though I know some may disagree. However, there is no denying that it is one of the most popular and commercially successful Broadway shows of all time, and that it may be a long time before we see a show top its 30 year run on Broadway.

That’s why I’m ready for the show to close.

It was the end of my freshman year at college and, as a Stephen King fan, I was prepared for a bit of a drought in his schedule. He had just published five novels in a row over the course of just over a year (well, six or seven if you count It twice, since the book is the size of a grand piano). Luckily, I had the musical version of Carrie to look forward to upon returning home from school for the summer. The show opened on Thursday, May 12, 1988 during my last week of classes and I had tickets to see the show with some friends for Saturday, May 21. Unfortunately, the show closed on Sunday, May 15 after five performances (there were sixteen previews before that and a four week run in Stratford-upon-Avon, England before that).

The question on everyone’s mind tends to be: “Why would anyone make THAT into a musical?”

Don't get me wrong, it's not just theatre.

In day to day life, we use words as a means to an end. We communicate functionally; we go from A to B, and we give remarkably little thought to which words we should use to get there. And then there are some people who use words as a continuous, hollow barricade against silence – but let's not go into that; we could be here for days.

Often diversity onstage doesn't mean Inclusion. Diversity usually entails having more than one "token" person of color in the ensemble. That is usually good enough for producers. This is hardly "good enough" and clearly doesn't represent what the world looks like. Where's the inclusion? I'm talking about people with disabilities. Why the hell aren't they represented in shows? Oh and here's the ridiculous part, if there is a "disabled" character, that role usually goes to an "able-bodied" actor. Seriously stupidest thing ever.

I’m tired of sitting in the dark. 

Today’s theater community faces big questions about our relationship to the general public—how to attract (and hold onto) new audiences, how to handle the omnipresence of cell phones, how to make people feel more welcome, etc. In short, how can artists best connect with their audiences? I don’t claim to have a silver bullet answer, but I find myself returning to a single, simple idea that could have a significant impact. 

Light the people in the seats. 

I get it. Theaters need to make money. And ticket sales don’t always cover the bills. So what else do you do, what else can you do, except ask your actors to pay. Some theaters charge a participation fee, others ask their actors to sell a minimum number of tickets, sell ads or collect items to be raffled off to raise money. Each way has pluses and minuses. Let’s discuss.

Bandstand, a new musical directed and choreographed by Andy Blankenbeuhler (of Hamilton fame) plays at the Bernard Jacobs Theatre.   It holds the distinction of winning this year’s Tony for “Best Choreography” despite a curious inability to receive Tony nods in any other categories, including Best Actor/Actress for its talented leading duo of Corey Cott and Laura Osnes.