Ego is Destroying the Local Theater Scene, and I’ve Seen It Firsthand

Ego and art have always been uneasy bedfellows, but recently, as the cost of producing theater has skyrocketed, ego has taken center stage in a dangerous way. I’ve seen it happen in our local theater scene, where companies and artists alike have allowed their egos to overshadow the collaboration and community that theater should embody. And frankly, it's tearing us apart.

Let me start with a personal story. Just before the pandemic, I was thrilled at the chance to audition for a local production of a traditionally Black musical. I had performed the show before but never at the level I had dreamed of. This time, it would be an Equity contract, and I thought it was my moment to finally do the show justice. I revamped my resume and sent in my materials, hopeful and excited.

What happened next was disheartening. The company didn’t even have the decency to send a basic acknowledgment of my submission—a simple “thank you” for my time and effort. I know, the pandemic hit, and everything shut down. California was one of the first to close and the last to reopen, but the way the theater industry handled artists during this time laid bare the problem: ego.

Fast forward to after the pandemic, and I’m working with a different theater company. As it happens, I ended up working with many people who were involved with the theater that never responded to me, as well as another popular South Bay company that had unexpectedly closed its doors—because of ego. These individuals witnessed firsthand how ego can kill a theater, yet they continued to walk the same destructive path.

Then, one day, I got an email from that same company asking me to audition for the same musical I had submitted to before the pandemic. But this time, it was a form letter. A generic email sent to dozens, if not hundreds, of actors. Here’s where my own ego flared up. I had just watched the casting director from this company direct a show at my current theater. We had spent hours chatting about upcoming projects, casting challenges, and personal interests in theater, and yet—this person sent me a form letter like I was a complete stranger.

I was stunned. I thought, “You need a Black actor of a certain age, who can sing, dance, and act, and you can’t even personalize an email?” This was a show I wanted to be in, and still, I didn’t bother to reply. It wasn’t about the show anymore; it was about the ego that had corrupted the process. The show went on without me and received lackluster reviews. The company is now struggling, and I can’t help but think it’s because they refuse to recognize the value of local talent. They think they don’t need us, but clearly, they do. Their unsustainable ego-driven choices are catching up with them.

This is the same company that doesn’t see anyone local as talented enough to run their now-struggling organization. Why? Because of ego. They feel they need to bring in people from outside the Bay Area—sometimes even from out of state—to fix their problems, when the very talent they need is right here.

It’s not just this company. Ego has infiltrated many of our local theaters, particularly on the boards that oversee them. Theater boards, often unpaid positions, are now made up of people whose primary qualification is their wealth, usually tied to the tech industry. Is the ego from Silicon Valley bleeding into our theater scene? Absolutely.

Just because you love theater and have the means to fly to New York every holiday season doesn’t make you an expert on running a local theater company. Yet, some board members act as if seeing every version of Dreamgirls qualifies them to dictate how local theater should be done. Their egos override the input of seasoned professionals who have trained and worked in the industry their entire lives.

Here’s another example of ego at work: I once submitted my resume for a leadership position at a Bay Area theater. The company managing the search was from Canada, and they had the nerve to ask me to rewrite my application and explain where cities like Los Altos, Hayward, and Burlingame were located. Really? If you’re hiring for a Bay Area theater and you don’t know basic geography, maybe you’re not the right fit. I didn’t follow up. Why? Because of ego.

Every month, I see posts about another local theater closing its doors, and I ask myself why. The answer, more often than not, is ego. One theater I looked into was calling for funding, yet when I examined their financials, I discovered the artistic director had received a $100,000 salary increase in a single year. Meanwhile, the company now has a $460,000 deficit. Ego, once again, at the root of the problem.

Even when I’ve proposed ideas to help local theater, like creating a resource-sharing network to avoid the overlap of every company doing Mamma Mia, I’ve been met with resistance. “No company will share that information,” they said. Why? Ego.

I see it in so many places. An artistic director travels to New York to “immerse” themselves in the theater scene, only to return with nothing but negative reviews about every Broadway show they saw. Really? No one on Broadway knows how to put on a good show except for you, in your 150-seat black box? The hubris is staggering.

As a youth educator, I want my students to fall in love with theater—the good and the bad—because taste is subjective. But when the people leading our local theaters think their egos matter more than the art itself, what do we do? Do we root for these companies to survive? Or do we wish for their downfall so that something more humble, more collaborative, can take their place?

I’m conflicted. I want theater to flourish in every town in the Bay Area. I want more theater, not less. But I also miss the days when theaters needed their artists, when they didn’t think they were the sole reason for their own success. I miss the days when local artists mattered.

Now, these companies want me to donate to save them. All I ever wanted was a simple acknowledgment: “Thank you for your submission.”

Is that too much to ask? Or has ego made even that impossible?