From Collaboration to Exploitation: Lessons from My First Theatre Production

Theatre is a collaborative art form, where every role contributes to the final piece. But clear boundaries must exist—especially between the playwright and director. The playwright creates the script, the foundation of the production. Directors interpret and stage it, often suggesting edits, but the ultimate authority over the script remains with the playwright.

Or at least, that’s how it’s supposed to work.

As both the playwright and producer of my first play, Sanctuary, I discovered how devastating it can be when those boundaries are ignored. My director made unauthorised changes to the script, froze me out of the process, and created confusion among the cast. These actions not only undermined the production but also diminished the impact of my play.

“You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better.” ~Anne Lamott

The Timeline of Disregard

The trouble began weeks before rehearsals started. Without authorization, the director retyped my story with cuts and new lines inserted, delivering it to me while I was on holiday.

Just sit with that for a moment.

She spent time retyping my entire script in a different format using different software so that she could make extensive changes on her own—without my knowledge or approval. (By the time this process was completely over, she will have done this at least three times.)

When she sent her retyped script, I was aghast but remained professional and respectful. For the third time in the previous ten days, I reiterated my preference to do the revisions myself based on feedback and asserted that it was too close to production (mere weeks before opening night) to be doing extensive rewrites. Still, I took time away from relaxing with my partner (on our vacation) to annotate her “suggestions,” explaining why most of them didn’t align with the story or fit with the characters, but she ignored my notes completely.

At this point, I consulted with a trusted dramaturg and thoroughly researched the process, which all resulted in the same conclusion: fire the director. Foolishly, I couldn’t bring myself to do this without risking the entire production, so I made it clear—once again—that only I would make changes to the script. She apologized (again) and agreed (again), so I took a few of her “suggestions” and delivered the final version to the actors on November 1st, two weeks before rehearsals were set to begin.

Unfortunately, the director disregarded this agreement.

First Week of Rehearsals: I was excluded from the first two rehearsals. Leading up to and during this time, the director apparently distributed several unauthorised versions of the script with substantial cuts and new lines added.Third Rehearsal: Upon seeing the extent of the changes, I confronted the director for the fifth time about the importance of following the final script and running any changes by me, the playwright. At this point, I insisted on attending all remaining rehearsals to ensure no further unauthorized edits were made.Final Scene Butchered: The director had cut 95% of the final scene. Although I managed to reinstate parts of it, the constant changes left the actors confused and anxious about learning their lines on time. More cuts than I was comfortable with (and that diminished the impact of the last scene) remained in order to assuage their fears that they wouldn’t be prepared for opening night.

At this final point, I was literally willing to pull the plug on the entire production. It was only out of consideration for the actors, those who backed my Crowdfunder campaign to help fund it, and the audience who had already bought tickets (some coming from other countries) that I continued with it. I radically accepted the situation and that it was too late to change anything.

The show must go on, regardless of how it affected me… and affect me it did. Between this saga, the devastating outcome of the election, and a change in my employment status, I spent the past two weeks vacillating between intense, tearful breakdowns and floating through in a dissociative daze, numb—in survival mode, as my therapist put it. I was staving off complete burnout. Sleeping for 12-15 hours a night—or not being able to sleep more than 2-3 hours—and taking extra (emergency) anti-anxiety meds just to get through the days.

The director had turned this dream of debuting as a playwright on a London stage into a nightmare.

A Chaotic Process

The confusion caused by these constant changes derailed the entire production process. The actors were shuffling through pages, unsure which version to follow. They should have had two full weeks to learn their lines from the final script before rehearsals even started, but instead, they were scrambling to adapt to a moving target.

The resulting final scene—a crucial emotional payoff—was incoherent and unsatisfying. This wasn’t just a creative setback; it affected the audience’s experience and the overall reception of the play.

The Cost of Exploitation

The consequences of these unauthorized changes extended far beyond the rehearsal room. The director’s decisions to make unauthorized cuts to the script had far-reaching consequences for the production. What was originally written as a 70-minute play—a duration carefully crafted to allow the story’s tension, character arcs, and emotional beats to land—was reduced to just 45 minutes. This drastic reduction not only disrupted the pacing but also stripped away critical moments of character development and thematic resonance.

The truncated runtime was noticed by both reviewers and audience members, some of whom commented on the lack of depth and unresolved narrative threads. The emotional payoff, particularly in the final scene, was compromised, leaving the audience disconnected from what should have been a powerful conclusion. These issues would likely have been avoided had the actors been given time to learn the original, unaltered script and fully explore their characters’ journeys.

Instead, the constant changes and cuts created confusion and uncertainty in rehearsals, forcing the actors to adapt to a moving target. The result was a production that, while still recognised for its potential, failed to fully achieve the impact envisioned.

The reviews pointed out issues that stemmed directly from the director’s decisions:

Undermined Emotional Impact: The cuts to the final scene left the audience without a satisfying resolution after a pivotal event.Confused Characterisation: Dialogue changes disrupted the flow and development of relationships, making character dynamics feel inconsistent.Under-Rehearsed Performances: The actors, burdened by constant script revisions, struggled to deliver fully polished performances.Caused Inconsistencies in World-Building: Several of her changes didn’t make sense—from the way it now began to what was happening outside to come non-sequitur’s in conversation.

As the producer funding the entire production out of pocket, it was disheartening to see how these actions sabotaged the play I had poured my heart into.

What’s more, every compliment on how well-written the play was became diluted. Doubts flooded in—were they talking about my words or hers? Granted, most of (what was left of) the play were my words, but it caused me to second guess myself and my talent.

Lessons Learned

This experience was a harsh but valuable lesson in the importance of protecting one’s creative work. Here are some key takeaways for fellow playwright producers:

Stay Involved: Attend rehearsals to ensure your script’s integrity is respected. Absence creates opportunities for misinterpretation or overreach.Set Clear Boundaries: Establish from the outset that all script changes must go through you and ensure everyone understands this is non-negotiable. Interview your director and set this boundary from the start—if they balk, find someone else. If they agree but then do it anyway, fire them without hesitation. Be Prepared to Advocate: Speaking out against unprofessional behaviour is difficult but necessary to protect your work and maintain the integrity of the production.Trust Your Gut: If something feels off, address it immediately. Don’t assume previous conversations will prevent further issues.

If someone else is producing it, the director might choose to keep you out of rehearsals, but all script changes should still go through the playwright. While the director might have a different vision for the script—interpret it in a way that doesn’t align with the playwright’s intention—that’s their prerogative. Under no circumstances should the director (or anyone) be retyping and changing your script without your knowledge or express approval.

A Broader Issue in Creative Industries

This experience reminded me of my early days in publishing, where I encountered predatory publishers who exploited writers’ dreams. One author I knew lost the rights to his characters. Another was $10,000 out-of-pocket due to hidden “fees.” Just as these publishers took advantage of inexperienced authors, directors who overstep their bounds can exploit playwrights new to the industry. Both scenarios highlight the need for creators to assert control over their work.

Moving Forward

In the end, I’m proud of the accomplishment to have had my play come to life in a London Off-West End Fringe theatre. I’m also deeply proud of and grateful for the hard work of both the cast and crew throughout this process. It was an expensive lesson—both financially and emotionally—but I certainly know what to do next time—if there is a next time.

Although this experience was deeply frustrating, it also reinforced my commitment to protect my creative work and advocate for others facing similar challenges. Creators deserve respect for their labor and their vision, whether in theatre, publishing, or any other industry.

Despite the challenges, I remain committed to advocating for creators and fostering an industry that respects artistic boundaries. If nothing else, I hope my story can serve as a warning and a guide for other playwrights navigating their first productions. Collaboration should uplift, not exploit, the voices at the heart of a project.