Editorial: If You’re Part of the Community, Act Like It

My brother has said to me that he cannot watch community theatre because, no matter how good it is, he feels a cringe and second-hand embarrassment for the people on stage that he cannot work through. I get that. Community theatre is rough sometimes, full of good intentions and enthusiasm, with wildly different results. I don’t begrudge my brother having this opinion because he isn’t saying it from a place of malice. He’s explaining to me why coming to see my shows isn’t an amazing idea. He doesn’t want to ruin my excitement and joy as a result of his hang-up. Community theatre is not professional theatre, and so there will always be an element of cringe baked into it.

Professional theatre makers work magic. They take the songs and the script and put on a show that transports you. They have big budgets and rehearsal periods, where these professional performers dedicate themselves to getting the role right. Even more impressive are the swings, who learn multiple parts and are ready to slip into a show at a moment's notice. It is hard work and dedication to a craft that has very limited job security. But that is the job, and I am so grateful for their work. Community theatre, too, requires hours of dedication, with one massive difference. This is no one's job.

I have worn many hats in my nearly 20 years of community theatre. I have been a director, sat on a committee, and been president of a company. I have been a stagehand, stage manager, pit singer, ensemble member, lead, front of house, and, in recent years, a reviewer. This hobby takes time, effort and money. In return, I have gained friends, confidence and, shockingly, community. Being in a show means clocking hours of rehearsal in a week, amongst your full-time job, your commitment to family, and just dealing with life. It is exhausting and draining, but we all do it because we love it. We do it because, for a lot of people, this is the first show they will see. This might be the first step in a professional career. Community theatre is often more accessible than professional theatre, both geographically and economically, and will do smaller shows that would never sell enough tickets to tread the stage at the Lyric. Community theatres all over the world are motley crews of people who try their best to put on a show for audiences.

Is it always successful? Not at all. While limitation is the spark of creativity, it is also exactly that. A limitation. I have had no formal training, so I know that not every note I sing is going to be the right one, and not every dance step will be graceful. For me specifically, none of them will be. My story is not unlike a lot of people I have done shows with. We just like to perform, and this is an outlet where we can do that and learn. This is exactly why the ethos of this site is about uplifting community theatre. To contribute to the community so that we can keep making the theatre.

Recently, Holroyd Musical and Dramatic Society’s production of The Music Man (read our review here) was savaged by an Instagram reviewer who does not put their name to the reviews. While I am not going to speak to the specifics, I am going to ask that person: What is the purpose of your reviews? You can dislike something. You can have a genuine critique of work or choices made by the creative team. Lord knows I do. The difference is I don’t publish them here. I will freely give them if asked directly, but I will not type them where the meaning is devoid of connection, humour or context. I won’t write jokes about a production, disparaging them, because I do not want to take the joy from the cast and crew who have sunk hours of work into a project. This person is not the only one going to shows they have not been invited to review, giving unsolicited opinions, and, in some cases, using their photographs without permission. And, critically, without attaching their name.

I can't imagine someone within the community willingly being cruel or unkind about the work of their peers, or, heaven forbid, friends. But then I suppose when you don’t attach your name to things, you are free from accountability. You also allow yourself to operate from a position of bad faith. I believe that if you think criticism is needed, be direct and give it. But if your purpose is simply to give your opinion, honest and unfiltered, put your bloody name to it and own it. I suspect, however, that the people who hide themselves do so because they don’t actually want to offend. They don’t want to be known in the community as cruel and nasty. And if you have the cognition to recognise that, then you have the awareness to stop and consider whether you should post it in the first place.

Community theatre isn’t perfect. It never has been, and it never will be. But that’s never been the point. It is about people coming together to create something, not for money, not for status, but for love. For joy. For the chance to tell a story. It deserves respect, not ridicule. Reviewers who walk into a show with a smirk and a sharpened pen aren’t engaging in critique; they’re performing their own kind of theatre, one where ego takes centre stage. There is room for feedback, even room for disappointment, but there is no place for cruelty. And if you're writing from within this community, you owe it to the people in it to speak with care and stand by your words. We are all learning. We are all trying. We are all, in our own ways, vulnerable. So yes, I understand what my brother means when he says he can not watch community theatre. But I’ll take the cringe, the chaos and the cracked notes, because I also get to be part of something that’s real. Something that matters.