Is Broadway Finally Embracing the “Bro”?

by Chris Peterson

For decades, Broadway has thrived on a dependable and passionate core audience. Mostly older women, often suburban, always devoted. They are the heartbeat of this industry, the ones who line up for rush tickets, organize group trips, and know every lyric to Wicked by heart. And thank goodness for them. But in 2025, something unexpected is unfolding. Straight men, long on the outskirts of theatre demographics, are showing up. And not reluctantly. Not as a plus-one. They are coming because they want to be there.

And Broadway is paying attention.

Enter the “bro show.” A term brought into the spotlight by a recent Washington Post article, it describes a growing trend of productions created with a very specific audience in mind. These are shows built around male-centric stories, often historical or psychological, often dark, and often led by marquee Hollywood names. The tone is serious. The stakes are high. There are no glitter cannons or tap breaks. This is not Broadway trying to sparkle. This is Broadway trying to smolder.

The article points to productions like Glengarry Glen Ross, starring Bob Odenkirk, Kieran Culkin, and Bill Burr, which feels more like an HBO miniseries than a stage play. Good Night, and Good Luck, backed by George Clooney, leans into political drama and moral ambiguity. Othello, led by Denzel Washington and Jake Gyllenhaal, takes a Shakespearean tragedy and presents it with a modern rawness that speaks directly to a contemporary male psyche.

And it is working.

For the first time in years, male audiences are rising. Some of these shows are seeing almost a 50-50 gender split in the audience. That is a major change in an industry where men typically made up only about a third of ticket buyers. The marketing has evolved as well. These shows are promoted like Oscar contenders. Trailer-style ads. Brooding character portraits. Social campaigns targeted specifically to men in their thirties and forties, particularly those in finance or tech. Think of the guy in a tailored suit checking his phone for showtimes instead of sports scores.

This is not random. It is a calculated move, one that producers like John Johnson fully acknowledge. He told the Post point-blank, “We call them bro shows.” Marketing leader Miky Wolf said he wanted his show to feel like a political thriller, something you would binge on a streaming service. The goal is clear. Sell theatre like film. Present Broadway not as a niche hobby, but as a legitimate form of adult entertainment.

And while some may raise an eyebrow at this rebrand, there is something kind of thrilling about it. There is something hopeful in seeing a group of guys in their 30s crowd around a Playbill, debating the motivations of Iago, or dissecting the final scene of Good Night, and Good Luck. That is not just good marketing. That is genuine engagement.

Even more importantly, this shift has the potential to dismantle the tired stigma that men who love theatre are somehow soft, unserious, or “less masculine.” For too long, theatre has been boxed in as feminine or flamboyant in the eyes of the mainstream male audience. That perception has done damage. It has discouraged boys from joining drama club. It has made grown men feel like they had to apologize for being excited about a new revival. But if the “bro show” trend helps challenge that falsehood, if it shows that loving theatre is not a weakness but a form of intelligence and emotional maturity, then that alone is reason to celebrate.

Of course, this does not mean Broadway is turning its back on its most loyal audience. Far from it. The women who have supported this art form through thick and thin are still central to its survival. But what if the future of Broadway lies not in choosing between audiences, but in expanding them? What if we stop asking who theatre is for, and start making room for more answers?

Not every “bro show” will work. Some will flop. Some will be forgettable. But the idea that theatre can evolve, that it can adapt without losing its soul, is a powerful one. Broadway has always followed the money, but that does not mean it has to compromise its integrity. Done right, these shows can bring in new patrons while still holding onto everything that makes theatre essential.

Let’s also not pretend this is entirely new. Plays like Death of a Salesman, A Few Good Men, and American Buffalo have been speaking to male audiences for years. What is new is the packaging. What is new is the awareness that men might not be avoiding theatre out of disinterest, but because no one ever thought to invite them properly.

So if we are seeing more men in seats, more suits at intermission, more conversations about plot instead of play-calling, then yes, this is something worth celebrating. And yes, this might be progress.

Thanks to The Washington Post for giving this movement a name and the attention it deserves. Whether or not “bro shows” stick as a label, the results are already on the board. Broadway is changing, and maybe this is the kind of change we can all get behind.