Season Selection: A Dramedy in Three Acts
Every year, as the curtain closes on one season, a new drama begins—behind the scenes, in board rooms and coffee-fueled meetings, as we face the ultimate theatrical challenge: choosing the next season of shows.
You might think it’s a glamorous process filled with instant inspiration and creative harmony. Oh, dear reader, if only.
Act I: The Hopeful Brainstorm
It always starts with big dreams. The whole team gathers with notepads, laptops, and at least three varieties of flavored sparkling water. The air is electric. “What if we did a post-apocalyptic Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat set in space?” “Can we finally do that all-ukulele version of Fiddler on the Roof?”
Someone inevitably brings up Cats. There’s a moment of silence. We move on.
By the end of the meeting, we’ve got a running list of 42 possibilities, and the selection committee’s enthusiasm is only rivaled by our complete lack of consensus.
Act II: The Spiraling Spreadsheet
Next comes the spreadsheet—the beast, the labyrinth, the thing that haunts our dreams. It has color codes. Filters. Tabs labeled “Definitely,” “Maybe,” “Nope,” and “We’ll Regret This.” Every show is examined from every angle: casting needs, licensing costs, set feasibility, labor needs, can we sell tickets, and the ultimate question—can we even get the rights??
Passions run high. Lines are drawn. Someone makes a heartfelt case for Chess as a musically rich, politically thrilling, dramatically underappreciated gem that will sell out shows for years to come (sorry, Josh Egbert—we tried). Someone else champions a one-woman mime version of Les Misérables. (We’re still not sure if they were serious.)
This is the point where we begin to feel like we are, quite literally, in the room where it happens—except instead of rewriting the Constitution, we’re arguing over whether we can do an allegory of capitalism through the lens of prehistoric animals.
Act III: Why Do I Feel Like I’m Being Punished?
Eventually, the process enters what I lovingly call “This is why I have no hair.” There are intense debates. A whiteboard gets passive-aggressively erased. Darlings get killed. Toes get stepped on. Someone’s been talking to the licensing rep for six hours. The emergency chocolate? Long gone. Morale? Questionable.
But then, amid the chaos, something magical happens: clarity.
Out of spreadsheets and squabbles emerges a line-up that makes us all say “YES!” We laugh, cry, and cheer—sometimes all at once. It’s a season we’re proud to share with our audiences. It’s bold, diverse, moving, and entertaining. (And yes, Cats was politely voted off the island. Again.)
Curtain Call
So the next time you see our shiny season announcement, know that behind those sleek graphics and confident show titles was a months-long epic filled with drama, comedy, caffeine, and a little bit of chaos.
And honestly? We wouldn’t have it any other way.
Because as any theatre lover knows, there’s something electric—something unforgettable—about being in the room where it happens.
Stay tuned for the big reveal on June 7. To be a part of it, get your tickets to the Saturday evening, June 7th showing of Alice by Heart—and thank you for being part of this wild, wonderful, arts-loving community.
If you've ever laughed, cried, or questioned our sanity reading about the chaos of selecting a season… imagine actually living it.
From passionate show debates to spreadsheet-induced existential crises, creating a season that thrills and inspires our community is no small feat. It takes time, talent, caffeine, and—yes—snacks.
But most of all, it takes you.
Your donation helps us bring bold, meaningful, and entertaining theatre to life—not just on stage, but from the very first brainstorming session in the room where it happens. Every dollar supports local artists, ambitious productions, and the backstage magic that makes it all possible.
So if you believe in laughter, live performance, and maybe just a little bit of season-planning-induced madness… donate today. Help us turn chaos into curtain calls.