Community Theatre: A Retrospective

Twelfth Night's closing last night marks the end of my sixth community theatre production. While that hardly makes me an expert in community theatre, it does make me somewhat unique: I have now done community theatre in three different states (NJ, PA, and MD), with six different companies, performing in shows ranging from the contemporary (a new playwright's work) to the traditional (Shakespeare). Though each of those experiences was unique in its own right, I think I've learned a few things that I'd be best to remember should I return to the world of community theatre again.

1) Much depends on the director. My poorest experiences have, unfortunately, been with inexperienced directors who believe no training is necessary to direct actors--beyond watching a lot of movies, apparently. The weakest directors I've worked with have blocked my movements on stage before ever letting me put a scene on its feet to understand it myself; the best ones have focused on the language of the script before anything else. Of course, the trouble is that it's very hard to tell much about a director while in an audition, so my new goal is, whenever possible, to see the director's work ahead of time.

2) The experience, talent, and dedication of cast members will vary widely. In every production I've participated in, I've found at least one like mind--and often three or four. Likewise, I've found several cast members in each show who perform just for fun, who always audition for the same company where they're well known. Unfortunately, these actors are often also the ones who are unfocused during rehearsals and who add costume, blocking, and even line changes mid-performance. A good director might take them to task, but, again, these are usually the people who are "friends" of the company, so everyone just seems to accept their haphazard ways. As frustrating as it is to work with these actors, they are also the reason why I audition for different companies as much as possible; I don't ever want to let myself become so complacent about my work.

3) Know your audience. No matter how much laughter we received each night of Twelfth Night, no matter how much applause I heard during my bow or how much support I received from my phenomenal husband (who attended all but one performance), I cared most about the opinions of my friends and family in the audience. Of course, I wanted them to be proud of me, but, for those who were more regular theatre goers, I also wanted to know if I'd done quality work. I value their critiques--perhaps to a fault--and, while I can see the pitfalls (and, yes, the humor) of a community theatre production, I can sometimes let the words--or lack thereof--of my family and friends change my whole perspective about the work I've put in for three months or more. So, yes, I need to know my audience. And, yes, I need to trust my own work without relying on their feedback. But that's a tough one for me.

Given all of these things, given the late nights and long drives, given the friends willing to drive from CT or NJ or VA to see the show, given the final product, did I do the right thing the night I called my director and accepted the role of Viola? I think so, if for no other reason than that I challenged myself, in one of the hardest seasons of my life, to pursue a personal passion. And I succeeded in that, for five shows, I did become Viola.

Maybe that's all I need to know for now.