Why Community Theatre Directors Should Personally Call the Actors They Don’t Cast

by Chris Peterson

One of the hardest parts of directing isn’t staging a complicated scene or balancing the budget. It isn’t the late nights or the endless emails either. The toughest part often comes before rehearsals even begin: telling someone they weren’t cast.

It’s a moment many directors dread. No one enjoys breaking disappointing news. It feels easier to post a cast list online, send a group email, or quietly move forward without saying anything at all. But when we do that, we miss something essential—not just for the actor, but for the community we’re building.

In community theatre, relationships are everything. People don’t audition because they’re chasing Broadway credits. They audition because they love performing, because theatre feeds their soul, because they want to connect with people. When someone takes the risk of showing up and sharing themselves in an audition, that deserves more than silence.

This is why I believe directors should personally call every actor who auditioned but wasn’t cast. Yes, it takes more time. Yes, it’s uncomfortable. But it’s one of the most meaningful things we can do to honor our actors, strengthen our theatres, and lead with integrity. A phone call communicates something very simple but very powerful: I saw you, and I value you. Even if this wasn’t your role, even if the puzzle pieces fit together differently, you mattered enough to warrant a conversation.

I’ll admit I haven’t always lived up to this myself. There have been times when I settled for an email instead, telling myself it was efficient or that it spared me the awkwardness. In the moment, it felt easier, but I regret it.

Looking back, I know those were missed opportunities to connect, to lead, to show someone that their audition mattered. Emails are quick and safe. Calls are personal and human. The difference is enormous.

Imagine the difference between refreshing a website to see your name missing and receiving a call where the director thanks you, acknowledges your audition, and encourages you to come back. One stings with finality. The other still stings, but it carries dignity. Actors who feel respected are far more likely to return. They’ll audition again, they’ll volunteer, they’ll usher or help paint sets. They’ll keep feeding the theatre with their energy. Silence, on the other hand, can push people away.

And make no mistake—word spreads fast. Community theatre is a small world. People talk about which directors are kind and which ones treat auditions like transactions. The directors who pick up the phone are the ones people want to audition for again. Wouldn’t you rather have a long line of actors excited to work with you next season than burn bridges before rehearsals even start?

I’ll be honest: making these calls is uncomfortable. I don’t know a single director who enjoys telling someone they didn’t get the part. But leadership isn’t about avoiding discomfort. It’s about choosing what’s right even when it feels awkward. Those phone calls stretch us. They teach us to be honest without being cruel, empathetic without overpromising. They remind us that directing isn’t just about staging plays. It’s about stewarding people.

So how do you make the calls work? The answer is surprisingly simple. Be timely. Don’t leave actors waiting in limbo. Be concise. You don’t need to offer a long explanation, because often there isn’t one beyond chemistry and casting balance. Sometimes the truest thing you can say is, “The pieces just fell together in a different way.” And be encouraging. Always end with gratitude and hope. Thank them for auditioning. Tell them you want to see them next time. If there’s another way they might get involved—on crew, front of house, or in a future show—mention it. You’ll be surprised how many actors, even in disappointment, respond warmly simply because you took the time.

I’ll never forget the first time I got one of those calls myself. I’d auditioned for a show I really wanted, and I didn’t land the role. When the director called, my stomach dropped. But within moments, I felt seen. He thanked me for showing up. He told me what he appreciated in my audition. And even though the part went another direction, he wanted me to know I was valued. I hung up disappointed, yes, but also motivated. I auditioned for him again the next season, and eventually I was cast. If he’d left me hanging with a silent rejection, I doubt I’d have returned. That call made all the difference.

At the end of the day, directing isn’t only about shows. It’s about people. It’s about building a community that can sustain itself season after season. Picking up the phone may not change the fact that someone didn’t get the part, but it changes the experience of rejection. It turns a cold moment into a human one.

As directors, we get to decide what kind of culture we want for our theatres. Do we want to treat actors as disposable, or as people worth caring for? Do we want to avoid discomfort, or lean into it in order to grow? The best directors aren’t remembered only for the productions they stage, but for the communities they cultivate. And often, that begins with one of the smallest but bravest acts a director can do: picking up the phone.