Five “Foolproof” Ways to Become Your High School Theatre Director’s Favorite

by Chris Peterson

Before we begin, a quick note. What follows is sarcastic. Exaggerated. And rooted in a belief many students hold, not necessarily how things should work.

At some point in every high school theatre program, a quiet belief takes hold. It gets passed down from upperclassmen to freshmen in half jokes and knowing looks. It shows up in group chats. It lives in the shrug people give when the cast list goes up.

It’s not about talent. It’s not about growth. It’s about being the favorite.

Once you accept that this is the mythology many students are working under, a lot starts to make sense. The auditions that feel pre decided. The same names cycling through lead roles. The way certain students seem permanently attached to center stage, regardless of age, vocal range, or whether the role makes sense for them at all.

So instead of pretending this belief doesn’t exist, let’s be helpful. Let’s lean all the way in. If the goal is to become your high school theatre director’s favorite, here are five foolproof strategies.

Be available. Always. Not “usually.” Always.

You no longer have homework, family obligations, sports, or a life outside the theatre. You are free after school. You are free on weekends. You are free whenever someone vaguely says, “I could really use help with this.” You don’t wait to be asked. You appear. Availability is an underrated currency in high school theatre, and it spends extremely well.

Laugh at everything. Every joke. Every story.

Especially the ones you’ve heard since freshman year. The pun that barely qualifies as humor. The anecdote about college theatre that grows longer every time it’s told. Laugh like it just closed on Broadway. Directors are people, and people enjoy feeling funny. This is basic human nature.

Be helpful in deeply unnecessary ways.

Straighten chairs no one asked you to straighten. Organize props no one asked you to organize. Stay late just to stay late. Learn everyone else’s blocking so you can gently remind them where they’re supposed to stand. Not in a bossy way. In a caring way. Being talented is nice. Being indispensable is better.

Master the art of emotional validation.

When your director vents about parents, administrators, budgets, or “kids these days,” your role is not to fix anything. You nod. You listen. You say things like, “I don’t know how you do this every year,” and “We’re so lucky to have you.” Theatre runs on affirmation, and this is advanced level theatre.

Never question a casting decision. Ever.

Even when you are deeply confused. Especially when you are deeply confused. You trust the vision. You see the bigger picture. You are thrilled for everyone cast, particularly the person who has played the lead since middle school. Questioning choices is for people who are not favorites. Favorites believe.

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Now, before anyone forwards this to their theatre director with a dramatic “see,” let’s be very clear. Everything above is sarcasm.

Students believe favoritism drives casting because sometimes it does. Not always out of malice, but out of comfort. Directors are human. They gravitate toward students who feel familiar, reliable, and easy to work with. That doesn’t make them villains, but it does shape opportunity, especially in spaces that are supposed to be classrooms first.

The problem comes when students start learning the wrong lesson. When they believe approval matters more than growth. That being agreeable is more valuable than being curious. That the goal is not to get better, but to stay liked.

In a healthy, ethical theatre program, “being the favorite” shouldn’t exist. Trust should. And trust is earned in far less theatrical ways.

You show up prepared. You know your material. You learn your lines. You understand the story you’re telling and the character you’re responsible for.

You’re coachable. You take notes without defensiveness. You try the adjustment even when it’s uncomfortable or doesn’t immediately make sense. You let yourself be bad long enough to get better.

You respect the ensemble. You support other students. You celebrate their wins. You do the work even when you’re not the lead. Theatre is collaborative, and good directors notice who contributes to the whole.

You’re reliable. You communicate. You’re on time. You do what you say you’re going to do. Reliability builds trust faster than charm ever will.

And you stay curious. You ask thoughtful questions. You take risks. You remember that this is a learning space, not a reward system.

The best high school theatre directors I’ve known are painfully aware of the pull toward comfort and actively fight it. They rotate opportunity. They cast against type. They create rooms where students aren’t competing for approval, but learning a craft.

Until then, students will keep trading hallway theories about who always gets cast and why. Humor helps us survive that reality. Naming it helps us change it.

And if you recognized yourself anywhere in this piece, either as the favorite or the director, that’s okay. Most of us have been there at some point.

Just don’t confuse winning the game with actually learning something. Because only one of those lasts longer than a lead role in high school theatre.