Storytelling has always been fundamental to who we are, but I truly came to understand its power through community theater. I’ve spent countless evenings in rehearsals where the lights hum, the floors creak, and the same scene is run again and again until it finally clicks. In
those rooms, storytelling isn’t abstract—it’s physical, emotional, and shared. When the house lights dim on opening night and the audience grows quiet, I’m reminded that live theater exists only in that moment. There is no escape for the actors or the audience—only presence.
Community theater has taught me what collaboration really means. I’ve watched complete strangers arrive at the first rehearsal uncertain of one another, then slowly become a team built on trust. Actors support each other through difficult scenes, designers solve problems with creativity and limited resources, and stage managers hold everything together with calm precision. Long nights of running lines, adjusting blocking, and fixing a broken prop minutes before curtain can be exhausting—but they’re also deeply satisfying. Every person involved matters, and every contribution counts.
Opening night always brings everything into focus. After weeks of rehearsals, notes, and setbacks, there is a collective breath just before the curtain rises. In that instant, the entire company is aligned toward a single purpose. When the audience responds—when they laugh together, sit in silence, or wipe away tears—it reminds me why we do this. That honest, immediate connection between actor and audience is something that can only happen in live theater.
Community theater also has a remarkable way of connecting generations. I’ve worked on productions where teenagers share the stage with retirees, each bringing different life experiences to the same story. I’ve seen plays written hundreds—even thousands—of years ago resonate powerfully with modern audiences, sparking conversations in the lobby long after the final bow. In those moments, theater becomes a mirror, reflecting our community back to itself.
What makes community theater especially meaningful is that each performance exists only briefly, disappearing the moment the curtain falls. Yet its impact lingers. I carry the sound of final applause, the quiet congratulations backstage, and the shared exhaustion and pride that follow strike. These fleeting moments stay with us.
At MTVarts, this work only happens because of the community that surrounds it. Whether you audition, volunteer, usher, build sets, donate, or simply attend a performance, you are part of what makes this theater thrive. If you’ve ever considered getting involved, I invite you to take that step. Join us for a rehearsal, come see a show, or lend your time and talents to an upcoming production. Community theater exists because people choose to show up—and there is always room for one more voice at MTVarts.
— Bruce Jacklin
Artistic Director, MTVarts
