The Art (and Agony) of Letting Someone Go: Firing an Actor in Community Theatre
by Chris Peterson
Let’s get this out of the way up front: this isn’t a universal guide. Every situation is different. Every actor is different. Every theatre has its own culture, quirks, and boundaries. Firing someone from a community theatre production isn’t something you’ll find in a directing handbook. And thank goodness for that, because it’s never clean, never easy, and rarely the same twice.
What follows is not a rulebook. It’s a reflection. I’ve been there. And if you direct long enough, odds are you’ll be there too.
We all get into community theatre for the joy. The magic. The shared love of making something beautiful with people who have day jobs and dogs and kids and still show up to rehearsal after working a double shift. It’s messy and scrappy and wildly human. And that’s what makes it so special.
But sometimes, someone just isn’t working out.
I remember one particular production. The actor in question was talented, kind, and genuinely excited to be involved. But from day one, the warning signs showed up. He was missing rehearsals. Frequently. When he did come, he struggled to connect with the material in any meaningful way. We had honest conversations. We offered support. We reworked blocking. We tried everything we could.
But while the rest of the cast was growing stronger and more unified, he remained disconnected and absent, both literally and emotionally. Eventually, the question I’d been avoiding became impossible to ignore. Is keeping him in this production helping anyone?
And that’s when I had to do the thing no one wants to do.
So how do you let someone go without letting your heart shatter into a million regret-shaped pieces? How do you protect the integrity of the show while treating the actor with compassion and respect?
Here’s what I’ve learned. Again, case by case. Always.
Take a Breath and Check Yourself
Before you even think about having the conversation, pause. Step back. Ask yourself some real questions.
Is this fixable?
Have I been clear with expectations?
Have I spoken to them directly and honestly?
Am I reacting from frustration, or making a necessary choice?
This is where your leadership gets tested. Not in the big artistic choices, but in the quiet, uncomfortable ones. If you’re angry or exhausted, give it twenty-four hours.
If the issues are consistent and well documented, you might already know what you need to do. But be sure. Because once you cross that line, you cannot uncross it. And if you do it too soon or for the wrong reasons, you risk losing more than just one cast member.
Document, Don’t Gossip
Community theatre thrives on word of mouth, which unfortunately means it also thrives on whispers. Resist the urge.
Instead, document the facts. Missed rehearsals. Specific notes that weren’t taken. Behaviors that disrupted others. Not because you’re building a legal case, but because you need clarity for yourself. If someone questions your choice, and someone always will, you’ll feel steadier standing on a timeline of facts rather than a pile of feelings.
And for what it’s worth, documentation isn’t just for your own peace of mind. It’s a roadmap for when things start to feel blurry. Because blurry is where bad decisions happen.
Be Kind, Clear, and Face to Face
Please, for the love of theatre, don’t do it over text. Don’t send an email. Don’t wait until after rehearsal in front of the snack table.
Set up a time to talk one on one. Be direct, but kind. Don’t over-apologize, and don’t sugarcoat so much that the message gets lost.
Try something like: “Thank you for the work you’ve put into this. After a lot of thought, I’ve decided to make a casting change. It’s not easy, but I believe it’s necessary for the production.”
You can offer context if they ask. But remember, you’re not opening the floor to debate. You’re closing a chapter, not writing a new one together. Stay calm. Stay present. And please, don’t vanish into the wings afterward. You still have a show to lead.
Expect Ripples. Be Ready.
Even when it’s the right call, even when everyone else secretly agrees, there will be fallout. There may be tears. There may be anger. There may be Facebook posts. People will talk, and you’ll feel every word.
Don’t let that stop you from doing what’s right for the production.
Remember, theatre is a team sport. You’re the coach. Your responsibility is to the entire ensemble, not just one player. If someone is jeopardizing the whole, it’s your job to act. And when you do it thoughtfully, consistently, and with compassion, the cast sees that. They might not say it right away, but they see it.
Have a Plan B… and C
If you’re even thinking about letting someone go, start quietly making a list. Who could step in? Who’s been paying attention at rehearsal, even from the back row? Who’s hungry for a challenge?
You’re not looking for a savior. You’re looking for readiness.
In community theatre, we don’t have the luxury of understudies most of the time. But we do have passionate ensemble members, loyal alums, and castmates who’d step up in a heartbeat. Sometimes the answer is already in the room. You just need to see them clearly.
Learn Something From It
This part’s important. Once the dust settles, reflect.
Did I ignore early red flags? Could I have communicated sooner or better? Was there something in the casting process I missed?
None of this is about blame. It’s about growth. Community theatre is trial by fire, and if you’re directing, you’re going to get burned now and then. What matters is that you learn where the matches were.
The only real mistake is pretending nothing could have been done differently.
Community theatre is full of grace. Of late bloomers, big hearted triers, and people showing up with more passion than polish. That’s the beauty of it. That’s why we love it.
But even in the most welcoming spaces, there are moments that demand hard choices. Letting someone go doesn’t mean you’ve failed them or that they’ve failed you. Sometimes, it’s simply not the right role, not the right time, not the right show.
And your job, as a director, is to protect the work. Protect the team. Protect the process.
If you’ve led with honesty, compassion, and care, you can walk away from that conversation knowing you did your best, even if it still breaks your heart a little. Because that’s directing too.