Lesson #1 - You Can’t Rehearse a Show You Don’t Have the Rights To

by Chris Peterson

I was told of something the other day that I found pretty interesting.

A small community theatre was proudly gearing up for its next production. Dates were announced. Auditions were held. Casting conversations were happening. Rehearsals were scheduled to begin in February. People had cleared their calendars. Excitement was building.

And then it all came crashing down. The theatre didn’t have the rights.

Not “the rights were delayed.” Not “the paperwork was taking longer than expected.” They never had them. And when they finally reached out, the rights holder denied the request because the show wasn’t available.

The reason this happened, I’m told, is painfully simple. The leadership assumed they’d get the rights and didn’t prioritize securing them first.

If you’ve been around community theatre long enough, you’ve probably heard some version of this story before. Maybe you’ve even lived it. And that’s what makes it so frustrating. This wasn’t a malicious act or an attempt to cut corners. It was an assumption. A hopeful shrug. A belief that things would work out because they usually do.

But rights don’t work that way.

In theatre, securing performance rights isn’t a formality you check off once the fun parts are done. It’s the very first thing. Before you pick dates. Before you book space. Before you announce auditions. Before a single actor starts imagining themselves in a role.

Because until you have the rights, you don’t have a show. You have a wish.

What makes situations like this sting isn’t just the administrative mistake. It’s the ripple effect. The actors who auditioned and possibly said no to other opportunities. The designers who started sketching. The volunteers who committed their evenings. The audience members who marked their calendars. All of them were operating in good faith, trusting that the foundation had been laid.

And when that foundation turns out to be imaginary, the fallout lands on everyone.

I want to be clear about something. This isn’t about shaming a small theatre or dunking on volunteers who are already stretched thin. Community theatre survives because people step up, often without training, often without support, and try to make something meaningful happen. That effort deserves respect.

But respect doesn’t mean we avoid hard truths.

One of the most important responsibilities of leadership in any theatre, especially a community one, is protecting the people who show up. Protecting their time. Protecting their trust. Protecting their emotional investment. Securing the rights is part of that protection.

And yes, sometimes rights are denied even when you do everything right. Touring productions, regional exclusivity, amateur restrictions, timing conflicts. Those things happen. But there’s a world of difference between “we tried and were told no” and “we assumed yes and moved forward anyway.”

This situation is a reminder, especially for newer groups or rotating leadership teams, that hope is not a strategy. Optimism is not a contract. And enthusiasm, no matter how genuine, does not substitute for permission.

If you’re planning a show right now, here’s the unglamorous advice: pause. Email the licensing house. Wait for the confirmation. Get it in writing. Then move forward.

Everything else can wait. The casting announcement. The Facebook graphic. The rehearsal calendar. None of it matters if the answer ultimately comes back no.

Community theatre is built on trust. Once that trust cracks, it’s hard to fully repair. People remember when their time is wasted, even when it’s unintentional. Securing the rights first isn’t just about legality. It’s about respect. And that should always be the first rehearsal you schedule.