Your Lead Might Be Brilliant. If They're a Bully, They Gotta Go.

by Chris Peterson

Community theatre is not a talent competition. It is not Broadway. It is not a reality show where the loudest person gets rewarded for making everyone else miserable.

At its best, community theatre is a home. It is a place where people come after work, after school, after long days, because they want to build something with other people. It should feel like a refuge. And if someone is turning that refuge into a toxic environment, I do not care how talented they are. They do not belong there.

Too many community theatres let bad behavior slide because “we need them for this show,” or “that is just how they are,” or “we will deal with it after the season.” Come on. We all know how that usually goes. Nobody deals with it. Good people leave. New people stop auditioning. Volunteers quietly disappear. And suddenly the theatre that was supposed to bring people together becomes the place everyone warns each other about.

We have all seen some version of it. The actor who snaps at volunteers. The director who talks down to young performers until they are crying in the parking lot. The longtime favorite who spreads rumors, plays mind games, and still somehow gets handed the lead because they can sing the eleven o’clock number.

That is not leadership. That is enabling.

Talent matters, of course. Nobody is saying it does not. But talent cannot be the price of admission for bad behavior. If someone makes others feel small, unsafe, or unwelcome, they are not “irreplaceable.” They are the problem.

And this is not about cancel culture, grudges, or one bad night during tech week. Theatre people are stressed. Mistakes happen. Tempers flare. This is about patterns. Repeated disrespect. Manipulation. Behavior that has been reported, witnessed, discussed, and still does not change.

At some point, leadership has to stop asking how talented the person is and start asking how many people have been hurt trying to work around them.

That may mean not casting the best voice in the room. It may mean having a hard conversation with a director who has been around for twenty years. It may mean enforcing policies even when the person causing harm is popular, connected, or useful.

Good. Do it anyway.

Because when a theatre chooses kindness, accountability, and basic decency over one person’s ego, people notice. Teens feel safer. Volunteers feel respected. New performers come back. Crew members stop dreading rehearsal. The whole room breathes differently.

Community theatre survives because people love it enough to give their time to it. That love should not be exploited by bullies who hide behind talent.

So if you are on a board, directing a show, stage managing, producing, or simply someone people listen to, use that voice. Put real anti-bullying policies in writing. Make reporting safe. Set expectations early. And when someone crosses the line, follow through.

Not next season. Now. No one is too talented to be told they cannot treat people that way. Kindness deserves top billing.