The JOY & WORK of PLAY READINGS
BEST PRACTICES TO MAKE YOUR PLAY READINGS THE BEST POSSIBLE EXPERIENCE
You’re a playwright with brand new play or a ten-minute scene. You’re eager to hear it out loud. So you organize a reading. You draw form your network of friends and friend of friends to cast the reading. Everyone is exciting.
You’re an actor cast in a reading of a brand new play or scene. Maybe you know the playwright, maybe your friend knows the playwright, maybe you’re part of a weekly play reading group, or maybe your auditioned. Why did you agree to be part of it? Because readings are fun, you get early access to a project that may have a future, and, let’s be honest, readings are often networking gold.
But let’s take a step back. Readings are also a little bit of a necessary evil. A reading is never the fully realized version of the script. You may have spent a year writing something, but the actors are almost always underrehearsed. Frequently you must engage available actors rather than ideal actors due to financial restraints…if you’re paying them at all. Cold readings are, essentially, exercises in sight-reading. You’re not seeing fully formed performances; you’re seeing how well the actors can interpret you play or scene immediately. Sometimes, a gifted actor will surprise you. They’ll land a line in a way that suddenly makes you rethink an entire scene. But most of the time? You’ll get exactly what you expect: a surface-level sketch rather than a detailed portrait. And that’s okay, as long as you know it. Readings are about testing the raw electricity in the room. Does the audience lean forward, laugh where they should, or feel tension where you hoped they would? That’s what you’re measuring.
Once a playwright has written CURTAIN at the end of their play, there must always be a testing phase before a serious production strategy goes into place. That’s the function of readings. So, knowing what to expect can save playwrights and actors headaches, embarrassment, and time.
3 Types of Readings
There are three types of readings. Each type asks for different skills from its actors and gives the playwright different information. Actors, you need to adjust and strategize accordingly. Playwrights, you need to adjust your expectations accordingly.
Cold Reading: Actors see the script for the first time when they walk in. Pure instinct. Pure spontaneity. They may have only minutes to read the script, perhaps once, before performing. This is could be a table read, a living room read, or sitting in chairs on stage.
Prepared Reading: Actors have received the script in advance. There will most likely be two rehearsals (that’s the maximum if it’s an Equity 23-Hour Reading). Actors are expected to do their homework and come to the first rehearsal prepared. The reading will in all likelihood contain music stands center stage, while actors wait for their entrance in chairs offstage. Your audience will be largely friends and friends of friends, or members of a play reading group.
Staged Reading – Not a fully staged production, but this is a polished presentation. Entrances, exits, props, costumes, and minimal stage business are integrated. Actors will have 1-3 weeks of rehearsals, helmed by a director. Scripts are in hand during the performance, but actors are familiar enough with the material that they are mostly off-book. The playwright will have agents, producers, creative directors, and other industry professionals in attendance. For all intents and purposes, a staged readings is just shy of a fully committed workshop or real production. Therefore, this article will focus mainly on Cold and Prepared Readings.
Actors: Tips for Cold and Prepared Readings
Yes, you can and should prepare for a cold reading as well as prepared reading. Here’s how:
Remember who you’re serving. Your job is not to show off. It’s to help the playwright hear their play. You’re a vessel for their words. As tempting as it is to break character and win audience’s laughs that you interpret as approval, don’t. Stay in the imaginary circumstances.
Identify the playground. Is it comedy or drama? If so, which kind? If you don’t know, ask. If you guess wrong, the scene will fall short of the playwright’s vision. If you’re not familiar with a rainbow of genres, start getting familiar ASAP. Knowing the genre is critical to a successful. I’ve made a cheat sheet for the general kinds of comedy and drama you will encounter at most if not all readings. (below)
Make choices…fast. In acting class, you might spend weeks letting your character “reveal themselves.” In a prepared reading, you need to show up to the first read-through prepared. In a cold reading, you may have minutes if not seconds. Bold, quick choices are your friend.
Mark up your script. Use a pen. Mark the major stops on the train for this script or scene. Note entrances, exits, tonal shifts, important beats, beats you feel are missing…sometimes between lines…sometimes in the middle of lines. Cold readings are not sacred. Be the one to give it shape. Underline important words to emphasize. Yes, you read that correctly. In acting classes, you learned not to anticipate the way you’re supposed to say a line. But in a reading scenario you don’t have time to become intimately familiar with the script. Believe me, in the heat of the moment, your brain needs visual cues to know which word or phrase is important to serve the play. Like it or not, this reading is about serving the playwright’s vision, not exercising your Meisner acting technique. For staged readings, don’t rely on memory; write in entrances, exits, which stand you’re supposed to go to (they’re usually numbered for clarity.)
Assess the playwright’s experience. Sounds judgmental? It’s not. Your goal is to HELP them, regardless of their experience. But…new playwrights tend to be super fuzzy about the conflict of the scene or play, so you may need to start clarifying to yourself what the playwright hasn’t. On the other hand, experienced playwrights will put everything you need to know in the text…and assume you’re bright enough to infer it all…which means you’d better slow down and pay even closer attention to the script. Inexperienced playwrights usually include clunky exposition dumps...and you’ve got to start strategizing now how you’re going to get through all that and still sound like a human. Experienced playwrights elegantly and naturally conceal references to the past in the dialogue. Inexperienced playwrights do not understand how MUCH actors can infer just by acting, and trend to over-write vocal reactions…like a stream of consciousness...and thus you may need to figure out some unwritten approach to keep your character less cartoonish. Experienced playwrights trust actors’ instincts and understand the power of not reacting...so you may need to start marking your script with those beats of silent reactions, of transitions between your character’s tactics, of silent implication between or within lines. Assess the playwrights’ experience, and adapt accordingly.
Identify the conflict. Get good at identifying conflict and all the elements that a) set the conflict up, b) increase the conflict, c) is part of the resolution. See the the section one Conflict vs. Situation below.
Volume. If only the people in the first row can hear you, you’ve failed. Keep the script below your chin. Lift your eyes off the page as much as you can. Resonate in both your chest and head cavities. Project. Always.
Anxiety. Breath. Give the dialogue space. Make the imaginary circumstances too real for you to care about the audience.
Ask questions in advance. In prepared and stage readings, you will get the script in advance, and inevitably the playwright or the director will close their introductory email with “Don’t hesitate to contact me with any questions.” Don’t waste valuable rehearsal time with a question that could easily have been resolved in an email in advance. (i.e. plot confusion, name pronunciation, costume options, unclear motivation, accent specification, etc.) Do your homework and contact them if you need clarity. You will not be judged negatively for this. In fact, playwrights always feel flattered when an actor has questions, because it evidences the actor is actively processing and digesting the script prior to the rehearsal. Playwrights LOVE that.
Default tics. Stammering and over-gesturing signal lack of preparation. This is not the way flesh & blood people behave in real life. This is insecure, untrained actors straining to be interesting when they don’t feel they are enough. Once you know your role in the conflict, your instincts will serve the scene rather than distract. If an inexperienced writer failed to focus the script around a conflict, invent a conflict as the moment before and ground your performance in that. See more about conflicts below.
Accents. Ask the playwright about an accent included in the script. Don’t guess. Nothing pulls focus from a reading faster than a badly executed accent…or a lack of accent where one should be.
Pronunciation. Take a moment to look up the pronunciation of names and words that confuse you. If you don’t, especially in prepared readings, you signal to the playwright, director, and other actors that you’re unprepared. Or even worse, that you didn’t even bother reading the script in advance. If the roles were reversed, would you ever want to work with an actor who doesn’t even do the very basic and easiest homework prior to a reading?
Unfinished lines. Playwrights often use dashes or slashes to indicate that a line should be interrupted by another character. Don’t rely on your memory or eyes to guarantee you interrupt your fellow actor. It’s inconsiderate and negligent to the leave another actor hanging, so use a pen to boldly mark that interruption. If you are being interrupted, write the rest of your sentence beyond the dash or slash, and commit to saying it. It’s your fellow actor’s job to prevent you from getting to the end of your line. Also, there’s a reason the playwright wants you to interrupt or be interrupted. More likely than not, this is important information you can use to inform your performance.
A word about the actor’s process. Any actor who says they don’t want to prepare for a reading because it “interferes with their process” is confusing apples and oranges. They’re mistaking the rapid preparation required for a reading with the luxurious six-week rehearsal process of a full production. Readings are completely different beasts. In readings, you do not have time to organically discover character, backstory, motivation, subtext, and personal identification. In a cold reading, you might have all of ten minutes to prepare. For a prepared reading, maybe two rehearsals…three hours each, tops. So, contrary to what your acting courses may have drilled into you, you must make specific choices in advance. Showing up unprepared is like getting into a car, putting on a blindfold, and insisting you can drive 90 MPH without seeing the road. You WILL frustrate the playwright, the director, and your fellow actors. Every reading…cold, prepared, or staged…starts at 90 MPH. There is no leisurely acceleration. You must underline key words in the script that you need to stress during performance. You must clearly note shifts in tone. You must visually map the journey of your character in relationship with the conflict. During the performance, it’s unwise to rely on your brain to recall all this key information. Readings require a specific type of readiness…like it or not.
STAGE DIRECTION READERS:
You are a much a cast member as the actors. You set the pace of the reading, set the energy of the show and BE the action that readings do not allow.
Your first one job is to be understood by everyone in the room.
Be energized
Project
Enunciate
Your second job is to transition audience members into the world of the play, and keep people in the world of the play. Therefore…know the show.
If it’s a comedy, keep that buoyancy in your tone and pick up the pace of your delivery. If it’s a drama, do not distract from the tension with inappropriate lightheartedness. if it’s a thriller, heighten the urgency of your tone.
Don’t pull focus focus from the actors with your own personality, but help the people identify with the characters’ conflict even more. What’s the conflict? See below.
Conflict vs. Situation
Playwrights, let me be blunt: understanding the difference between a conflict and a mere situation will change everything. Every actor’s choice, every audience reaction, even your ability to assess the effectiveness of your own writing hinges on this. An experienced playwright doesn’t just identify the conflict…they build the entire scene around it. In a reading, clear conflict is the difference between a scene that lies flat and one that leaps off the page. Here’s an example:
Situation: “Two sisters talk about their recently deceased father.” Sure, could be touching. Could be funny. But it’s static. Nothing moves towards any goal.
Situation moving in the right direction: “Two sisters jockey to establish who was Dad’s favorite daughter, and therefore who should inherit Dad’s house.” Okay, now we have motivation. But what’s at stake?
Conflict: “One sister needs to inherit Dad’s house in order to sell it to bail her meek son out of prison before he gets killed by other inmates. Her sister, Dad’s obvious favorite, firmly believes she is the rightful heir.” Boom. Clear conflict:
Someone clearly wants something.
Something important is clearly at risk if the person doesn’t get it.
Someone is clearly standing in the way.
That’s conflict. That’s the spine. That’s your engine. Your scene and the actors have specific direction for forward momentum. Conflict gives the playwright and the performers clear structure that can be leaned into: setup, raising the stakes, incremental development, climax, resolution. That resolution could be tearful understanding, comic kidnapping, or existential stalemate…depends entirely on the script’s tone.
Actors, listen up: the moment the script is in your hand, your first job in any scene is to identify the conflict. Then identify your role in it. Are you the one who wants something? Are you the one blocking what the other wants? Are you an instrument that sets up the conflict? Are you one of the bricks in the wall between a character and what they want? Or are you the sledgehammer used to break this wall down? Once you’ve identified your role, you will have a clearer understanding of how your every line, action, and beat either illuminates, escalates, or resolves the conflict.
What happens in a reading when there’s no conflict?
If you hand actors a scene that’s merely a situation with no conflict, here’s what happens: actors will float like boats without anchors. Instead of your words coming to life, you will get a parade of personalities jockeying for attention. Why? Because unanchored actors in front of an audience get anxious. And when anxiety hits, out comes their bags of tricks: grandstanding, bombast, hyperbole, stuttering as an approximation of spontaneity, playing to the audience instead of living in the imaginary circumstances of your world and connecting to one another. In other words, without conflict they can truly commit to, the actors will entertain the audience and themselves, but they won’t illuminate your text. The actors will hijack the emptiness with tricks like clowns at a children’s party. Fun to watch? Sure. Useful for your writing? Not so much. Conflict, by contrast, gives actors and playwrights boundaries, purpose, stakes, and focus. Conflict is gasoline for everyone’s creative engine. With conflict, every line, every glance, and every pause start to matter. The energy becomes directed rather than chaotic. Which do you want to see? A limousine swerving dangerously down a clearly defined road? Or a herd of cats on roller skates scattering in every direction? Write conflicts, not situations.
STAGE DIRECTIONS FOR READINGS: LESS Is MORE
Playwrights, the only stage directions that should be read aloud that are critical to understanding the action of the play. The less the stage direction readers say, the more flow your reading will have.
Do not to interrupt the performers whenever the script says “beat.” Actors can and should act these moments. If your script formatted correctly, the actors will not miss these moments.
You do not need nor should you want the reader to interrupt the performance with stage direction that describes how an actor should perform lines, like “sadly,” “thoughtfully,” “obnoxiously,” “quickly.” Let the actors act.
The director, playwrights, and actors should decide in advance if hugging, kissing, hand-shaking, dry-heaving, snickering, screams, shoulder taps, head scratching, finger-pointing, raised fists, etc. will be performed by the actors in readings. If they are, obviously reading such stage directions aloud becomes redundant. The more action you give your actors to perform within the confines of a reading, the smoother and more natural your reading will be.
To avoid any confusion, before you print the scripts, make VERY clear only the stage directions will be read aloud during a performance: bold them, capitalize them, highlight them, or use arrows.
PRINT VS. DIGITAL SCRIPTS
I’ll be direct: print your scripts. Why? The font and page sizes of digital devices are too small for readings, even iPads...and especially phones. Electronic devices keep your actors’ heads down the entire time, squinting. Inevitably an actor will accidentally scroll or flip to the wrong page and interrupt the flow of the reading to find where they’re supposed to be. You want actors to glance down quickly to grab the next line, flipping pages quickly and discreetly, while keeping their heads lifted most of the time and oriented toward other actors…not buried in the tiny print of electronic devices.
Reading Screenplays: Keep It THEATRICAL
Screenplay writers, remember: you’re not filming this. You’re performing it aloud in a theatrical setting. Long narrative paragraphs? Skip or condense them. Focus on dialogue…that’s what the audience will actually engage with. If it’s a smolderingly romantic scene, is it really important to interrupt the dialogue to read that “the actors gaze into each other’s eyes with erotic tension hot enough to steam the windows.” That’s the kind of detail the actors with posture and tone; you don’t need to narrate it.
Screenplays also tend to have more characters than stage plays. If you pick a scene with twelve people on stage, you’ve instantly diffused the audience’s focus across a dozen faces all facing forward. Audience WILL lose track of who’s who, and they’ll be in their heads trying to figure that out. Also, inevitably, you’ll be hopping from location to location, with the narrator reading “INT. Coffee Shop. Day” followed by a long descriptive paragraph before a single line of dialogue. Whatever emotional momentum you might have built will drop. You will risk audiences checking out, and how helpful will such a reading really be for you?
So here’s the takeaway: if you absolutely must read a screenplay in an audience-attended reading, be ruthless about which section you choose to present. Prioritize scenes heavy in dialogue, and strip down the narrative action that the actors will physically suggest anyway. Keep it focused, keep it human, keep it alive, keep it impactful.
Genres: Know Your Playground
Playwrights: the best material for readings can be clearly categorized. There’s a stage of writing when your brain is just throwing up raw material...beautiful, necessary chaos. That’s followed by a stage of shaping and honing…taking all that raw material and forming something recognizable and palatable. Eventually, your script will fall into one of the categories below.
Some artists hate labels. Some playwrights have a dream of bursting onto the scene as a fully formed auteur…flying in the face of the establishment, pioneering the next Virginia Woolf, Waiting for Lefty, or Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. I get it. However, more often than not, inexperienced playwrights who do not research their art write fuzzy, messy scripts that actors struggle to sink their teeth into and audiences resent being asked to sit through.
In readings, labels are absolutely helpful. They allow actors to commit to your work with more authority. They help you as a playwright avoid the well-known pitfalls that come with each category, because every genre has its traps. If your script feels uncategorizable, ask yourself:
Are you avoiding a category because your ego wants to be seen as a “unique voice”...and is that avoidance truly serving your story?
Is a reading the best way to experience your work...or are you asking people to sit through something that would live better as a YouTube short, a novel, or an essay?
Actors: understanding the playground you’re playing in is essential. Each genre has its own rhythm, its own stakes, its own pulse. Knowing what kind of script you’re performing in shapes your timing, emphasis, energy, and tone. You wouldn’t play the same way in a farce as you would in a satire. Do you know the difference between the two? You need to. The playground tells you the rules of the game...and when you know the rules, you can get closer to victory or break the rules with intention. :-)
Below are the playgrounds almost every script plays in:
DRAMAS
Tragedy: Serious, weighty, often ending in downfall or loss. Stakes are inevitable; subtlety hits harder than grand gestures. Actor tip: Commit fully; every pause matters. Playwright tip: Cause-and-effect drives the story. Pitfall: Over-dramatizing dilutes authenticity.
Melodrama: High emotion, clear heroes and villains, moral stakes spelled out. Actor tip: Embrace heightened stakes but stay honest. Playwright tip: Avoid pantomime; clarity drives impact. Pitfall: Overacting turns tension into caricature.
Political/Social Drama: Societal issues, politics, injustice, or ethical dilemmas. Actor tip: Know your character’s stake in society; clarify motivation. Playwright tip: Anchor abstract issues in relatable human conflict. Pitfall: Pedantic lectures make an audience impatient.
Domestic/Realistic Drama: Focus on family, relationships, social dynamics. Stakes feel personal. Actor tip: Subtext is gold; naturalism matters. Playwright tip: Anchor dialogue in real-life stakes. Pitfall: Over-explaining kills nuance.
Psychological Drama: Explores inner lives and mental states. Conflict often internal. Actor tip: Nuance is key; every hesitation communicates. Playwright tip: Write internal stakes clearly. Pitfall: Overacting internal conflict can read melodramatic.
Historical Drama: Depicts real events or figures. Actor tip: Research accents, context; avoid caricature. Playwright tip: Balance fact with interpretation. Pitfall: Overloading historical detail can stall pace.
Absurdist/Existential Drama: Life as illogical, cyclical, or meaningless. Dialogue may be repetitive. Actor tip: Treat absurd situations seriously; commitment sells the world. Playwright tip: Set clear rules for audience comprehension. Pitfall: lack of humor or tension and you’ll the audience.
Historical Fantasy/Speculative Drama: Alternate realities, supernatural, or “what-if” scenarios. Actor tip: Treat fantastical elements as real. Playwright tip: Establish rules of your world early and clearly. Pitfall: Inconsistent rules confuse actors and frustrate audience.
Crime/Thriller Drama: Tension-driven, suspenseful, fast-paced. Actor tip: Timing and stakes are everything; deliver suspense in beats. Playwright tip: Map out the reveals carefully. Pitfall: Poor pacing kills tension.
COMEDIES
Farce: Fast-paced, exaggerated, over-the-top. Actor tip: Commit fully: hesitate and the joke collapses. Timing is everything. Playwright tip: Heighten ridiculousness without losing the story. Pitfall: Weak timing flattens the comedy.
Parody: Imitates a work, style, or genre, exaggerating for effect. Actor tip: Know the reference; deliver recognition. Playwright tip: Don’t assume audience knows the target. Pitfall: Without the context, the joke misses.
Satire: Uses humor to critique behavior, institutions, society. Actor tip: Timing and subtlety are everything. Playwright tip: Pinpoint the target; don’t preach. Pitfall: Too broad and a satire becomes farce; too subtle and the satire falls flat.
Spoof: Lampoons multiple genres. Silly and self-aware. Actor tip: Heighten absurdity but stay in the world. Playwright tip: Keep the logic of the spoof consistent. Pitfall: Too chaotic and audience loses track and disengages.
Comedy of Manners: Humor from social conventions, etiquette, class, hypocrisy. Actor tip: Precision, timing, and subtext matter. Playwright tip: Witty, elegant exposure of absurdity. Pitfall: Ham it up and you’ll lose the critical sophistication.
Romantic Comedy: Centers on love, relationships, and the obstacles to romance. Actor tip: Chemistry and stakes matter more than the dialogue. Playwright tip: Humor should emerge organically. Pitfall: Over-the-top antics overshadow the story.
Situational Comedy: Humor arises from circumstances or slightly exaggerated everyday life. Actor tip: Play stakes seriously; trust that the situation is funny on its own. Playwright tip: Identify comedic setup and payoff clearly. Pitfall: Overplaying destroys naturalism.
Dark Comedy: Humor emerges from taboo, tragic, or serious situations. Actor tip: Balance empathy and irony; tone is everything. Playwright tip: Highlight humor without undermining stakes. Pitfall: Too broad and it becomes farce; too subtle and the audience will mss what supposed to be funny.
Absurdist Comedy: Focuses on irrationality, repetition, circular dialogue. Actor tip: Commit fully; timing and repetition are your friends. Playwright tip:World must feel real to characters. Pitfall: Half-hearted delivery kills absurd humor.
Play Length
Playwrights: A play is economical storytelling. If you’re a box-office bonanza like Neil Simon or Tracy Letts, you may be able to get away with a 120 page script. But whenever I see a script that exceeds 100 pages, I know immediately the playwright has failed to identify the conflict and failed to structure the play around it…pruning away the unessential bits. I’ll know immediately the playwright is still in their “raw material throwing up” stage, and hasn’t yet honed all that stuff to something polished and presentable. Do not plague your actors and your audience with a script that exceeds 100 pages. You will lose the goodwill of your actors, your audience will resent you personally, and potential producers will stop responding to your emails. You may feel you wrote the next Angels in America, but your audience still needs to go pee and they still have dinner plans. You will be disheartened by the number of people that leave at intermission. Aim for 90 pages, which generally will translate to a two-hour reading.
And in a ten-minute scene? You’ve got ten pages to take us through the full arc: establish conflict, raise the stakes, climax, and resolve. That leaves almost no room for extraneous dialogue and characters…no matter how brilliantly written. Every millisecond - from dialogue to stage direction - supports the conflict. So think prudently and judiciously: does that character need to utter “um…”? Is that tiny bit of exposition truly essential to the conflict? Once I’ve determined that bit of exposition is superfluous, maybe I can entirely delete the character of Harry the Doorman?
Feedback
After a reading, feedback is where the real insight comes, but it needs to be handled carefully.
Ask specific questions. Direct the audience’s attention to specific questions. “Is the conflict clear?” “Do these characters feel real?” “Were you confused by any event?” Start the ball rolling in the direction you want it to go. Otherwise, you’re opening the floor to a mass of information that may not remotely be helpful…not to mention could take up a lot of time.
Discern useful feedback. Not every suggestion helps the play. Smile. Thank them. Don’t become defensive. Process the critique later. Some people acknowledge your destination and choose their critiques to help you get there. Some want to derail your train and put it on another track heading to to some other destination. While a few are simply unable to shed their artistic competitiveness. Ugh…there’s ALWAYS one in every crowd. Some actors have very helpful insights as to their experience reading your scene or play. Some are able to articulate their feelings. Some aren’t. Learn to separate signal from noise.
Observe audience engagement during the reading. Are they fidgeting? Checking phones? Leaning in? Crying? Coughing? Laughing? Stone cold silent? Disengaged, but politely paying attention? Fanning themselves restlessly? Use all this as data, and don’t take any of it personally.
Start recognizing “performative” reactions. Start becoming aware if audiences are composed largely of friends and groupies who are there to support you regardless of the quality of your work. The positive, warm support can feel wonderful, but how much will you grow as a playwright and as a performer if something mediocre is applauded, whooped, and cheered with as much enthusiasm as something great?
Wait until after the “Honeymoon Stage.” Playwrights, after finishing a scene or play, there’s a natural honeymoon stage...pride, excitement, and a deep attachment to the perfection of your work. You’ll be tempted to send your play out right away…to friends, colleagues, anyone who’ll read it. The problem is, during the honeymoon stage, what you’re really seeking isn’t feedback...it’s affirmation. You want to hear how talented you are, how moving the play is, how bright its future looks. But no matter how much you tell yourself otherwise, you’re not yet open to objective critique. My advice...wait. Schedule readings only after the honeymoon stage passes...when you can actually hear feedback rather than defend against it. Recognize your script’s weak spots in advance so you can use the reading to improve the play, not to collect compliments. Remember...readings aren’t for affirmation...they’re for discovery. To reveal what works, what doesn’t, and where your writing truly comes alive.
The joy of readings
Yes, readings are messy...yes, they rarely reveal the full potential of a play...but they’re always electric. Actors discover new characters. Playwrights watch their beloved words leap off the page for the very first time. Audiences catch the spark of something brand new. And sometimes, in the middle of all that chaos, the play suddenly clicks. That one instant is worth every moment that doesn’t land…every stumble...every mangled line. That glimpse of brilliance...that’s the magic. That’s why we do it.
The bottom line for actors and playwrights is this:
Show up prepared, curious, and generous.
Identify the conflict and commit to it.
Mark up your scripts.
Make choices quickly.
Serve the play, not your ego.
Expect an imperfect reading and be open to discoveries in these imperfections.
Understand a reading is part of the process, not the end goal.
Cold readings, prepared readings, staged readings...they’re all part of the same ecosystem. Get good at them...understand them...and leave the room not just a better actor or playwright, but part of a community that’s keeping theater alive...one imperfect, electric, heart-thumping reading at a time.
Yours,
Daniel Tobias