The basic ingredients of making good theatre are not difficult to define. All the elements for success are in place when a good artistic director or producer chooses a good script and hires a good director who in turn builds a good design team and casts good actors. Being collaborative by nature, good theatre is truly a sum of all of its parts.

Sounds easy, right?

Of course there is the tricky task of defining the nature of “good”—a highly subjective task which teeters and wobbles around the esoteric edges of “taste” and “quality.” I will share in this article a few opinions about this nature as it applies to some of the constituents who come together to make good theatre.

(Just as a side note, the kind of theatre I hope to create seeks not just to entertain, but also to enlighten, provoke and stimulate, “to hold as ’twere, the mirror up to nature.”)

A good artistic director and managing/executive director team recognizes the importance of the community being served, has a vision, upholds a mission statement, enables, engages and empowers artists, staff and volunteers (plays well with others—avoids micromanagement). They are able to balance a sense of administration and artistry, guide the selection of a season, are not afraid to hire alternative and even superior talent, and offer to nurture and guide or even edit the artistic process without attempting to subvert its perspective.

 The best description of a good director that I have ever heard was given by David Cromer in an interview on WBEZ. He elegantly opined that it is the director’s job to bring the audience and the script ever closer together and, at the last second, get out of the way in order that the two might meet. “Getting out of the way” is the director’s greatest challenge. Indeed it is the theatre artist’s greatest challenge. The vulgarity of over-conceptualization, over- sentimentalization and reliance on clever trickery is so frequently rewarded by critics and award committees who assume that if you can see the work, it must be good! (Although not in Chicago, of course.)

 Good actors and acting are beautifully articulated by the moody Dane in his advice to the players. I will not attempt to recreate it here as I have a mere 1,000 words in which to define a life’s dedication. However, a few warning beacons: over-personalization has become the enemy of good performance. “I would never do that!” stated one indignant actor to me during a rehearsal process. “Quite possibly,” I said, “but your character would and does. How do you intend to negotiate the difference?” (I might add, she managed marvelously.) Additionally, contemporary actors are taught to be almost exclusively reliant on impulse and thus frequently arrive at rehearsal unprepared, hoping that divine inspiration will magically descend from the heavens and an intelligent and appropriate choice will simply reveal itself. There are admittedly a few actors who irritatingly do this very successfully, but the other 99.9 percent of us have to rely on hard work. In my book, a good actor is specific, prepared, unafraid, and willing to explore the full spectrum of character contained within the script (not just the pretty and likeable bits).

 What is a good play? I tend to look for plays which celebrate the hidden rather than the obvious. A play which suggests that terrorism is troubling, that abortion is complex, or that murder is bad tells us what we already know. Often we love this kind of play, particularly when it justifies our conceits and relieves us of responsibility. “You see? Murder IS bad! I knew it!” How much more interesting, then, to see a play which delves inside us and challenges our perspectives. Chekhov was uncompromisingly good at this.

Could it be said that a good play does not seek answers but offers questions? I am personally happiest when a play seduces me with its craft, encourages me to open my heart, gains access, and then, almost viral in its intent, begins its work…its magic, pushing buttons and encouraging flights of thought and feeling which resonate for hours, days, weeks even years after the curtain has fallen.

I’ll give a personal example of a contemporary play that seems to fulfill these functions: I directed Benefactors by Michael Frayn two seasons ago at Writers’ Theatre. On its surface, it’s a play about one suburban English couple trying to help another less successful couple. As the play unfolds and lives inside us, it becomes a subtle indictment of colonialism and the danger of one nation attempting to impose their ideals on another. The metaphor is not overt, and consequently, some perceive it consciously and some do not—but it has a sly humour and a poetic beauty and a theatrical fabric and, although it is far from perfect in construct, it was (to me at least) Good Theatre.

 I do not have enough space to articulate the infinite variety of players so far neglected—all of whom are involved in ensuring good theatre. The more sophisticated the theatre, the more plentiful the designers, carpenters, stitchers, electricians and crew—all of whom must play their part in bringing stories to life! A good theatre is also defined by its full-time staff and board. Good theatre begins from the minute the patron picks up the phone to order a ticket and ends, at least physically, when they put down the program on their bedside table before falling asleep.

 There are, of course, innumerable grievous sins committed in the name of creating Good Theatre, but with so little space, and unwilling to engage in a bitter, negative diatribe (so easily fallen into by those of us with DRAMA in our souls), I will close instead on a few ideas that I try to hold true to.

 Ego: My sense of confidence can so easily mutate into arrogance. It is necessary to have a healthy ego both to create and to sparkle at cocktail parties, but it is dangerous when ego is allowed to obliterate honest self-assessment and takes center stage in the rehearsal hall.

 Responsibility: I always try to take full responsibility for my actions. When I allow myself to become the victim of “powers beyond my control” (a paranoid fantasy surely), I absolve myself of my ability to change.

 Humanity: If I’m seeking to reflect humanity, I must at least strive for a sense of it in myself and in my own professional actions. For me, this involves (among much else) trying to ensure that I constantly self-examine, that I strive to create a humane and balanced working environment for all constituents, that I maintain awareness of political and national artistic trends, and most importantly that I get OUT of the theatre and have a life—(including visiting with friends who will not understand me when I use the word Brechtian in a sentence).

Michael Halberstam is the artistic director of Writers’ Theatre in Glencoe.

What Makes Good Theatre? Archives

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