You can develop a script for years. But at some point, you’ve got to get it on its feet.
There’s a funny thing that happens when you take a new play out of the development room and put it into rehearsal.
All those things you thought you had figured out?
Well, now you’re going to find out how good they were.
For months, we’ve been developing The Blue Violinist Over West End Avenue, a new play I’m producing by Debbie Goodstein opening Off-Broadway this October at Theatre Row.
We’ve worked through character relationships, dramatic structure, scenes that needed tightening, and moments that weren’t quite landing the way we wanted.
We’ve read the script aloud. Talked it through. Rewritten. Read it again. For over a year.
You know the drill.
And then we started rehearsals.
Suddenly, the script wasn’t the only storytelling tool in the room anymore.
We had actors making choices. A director shaping the action. Designers creating the world of the play. And an actual theater waiting for us to load in on October 19.
Welcome to production. It’s a whole different ballgame.
The Table Can Only Tell You So Much
I love a good table reading.
There’s nothing quite like hearing actors bring a script to life for the first time. You discover where the dialogue sings, where the pacing drags, where characters aren’t behaving quite the way you thought they were.
And sometimes you discover that the brilliant joke you’ve been protecting for six drafts?
Yeah. Nobody laughs.
But readings have their limits.
You can discuss a character’s motivation for hours around a table. Then an actor gets up, crosses the room, and suddenly the relationship becomes crystal clear.
You can spend three rewrites trying to make a transition work. Then the director discovers that a lighting shift and a single physical action can accomplish what three pages of dialogue couldn’t.
Or you discover the opposite.
The scene that seemed perfectly clear on the page becomes confusing once actors actually have to move through it.
That’s not necessarily a writing failure. It’s theater revealing itself.
And it’s why some questions can’t be answered until you get the work on its feet.
The Questions Change Once You’re in Production
One of the questions I ask when evaluating a new play or musical for production is:
Are the remaining questions development questions—or production questions?
It’s a distinction that matters enormously.
If we’re still struggling to understand what the protagonist wants, why a character makes a major decision, or whether the story has a satisfying dramatic progression, we’ve probably got more development work to do.
But if we’re asking how to stage a complicated sequence, how design can support the storytelling, or how the actors can make a relationship visible to the audience, those are production questions.
And you don’t solve them by scheduling another table reading.
You solve them by making theater.
Right now, we’re staging Act Two of The Blue Violinist, and let me tell you, this is one incredibly theatrical act!
We’re moving from a wedding sequence into a Sukkot celebration and then into October 7—all through choreography, movement, and, after the wedding, silhouettes.
There’s a LOT of theater magic involved.
And theater magic requires an enormous amount of planning!
Our props people are working overtime. Every transition requires coordination between actors, the director, designers, and the production team.
How do we move from one celebration to another without stopping the dramatic action? How do we communicate the passage of time? How can movement, light, and silhouette tell us something that dialogue alone couldn’t?
These aren’t details we’re adding after the artistic work is finished.
They’re part of the storytelling itself.
And this is exactly the kind of work you simply cannot accomplish sitting around a table.
And Then There’s the Ending. Oh, the Ending.
Here’s where things have gotten REALLY interesting.
We’ve been wrestling with the ending of The Blue Violinist for quite a while.
We’ve tried so many different versions, only to throw them out one by one because something just wasn’t quite right.
We knew what we wanted the audience to experience.
We wanted the play to land emotionally as a story about family—not simply as a political argument. We wanted audiences to leave thinking about their own families, their own disagreements, and perhaps the conversations they haven’t yet had.
But figuring out exactly how to land this puppy?
That’s been another matter entirely.
And here’s the thing about endings: you can discuss them, rewrite them, and read them aloud until you’re blue in the face.
But until you see how the actors inhabit those final moments, how the staging supports the emotional journey, and how the whole experience builds toward that last image, you’re still making an educated guess.
So we’ve kept working.
And working.
And throwing out endings.
After a LOT of work this weekend, I think—by George!—we’ve finally got it.
(Fingers crossed. We are still in theater, after all.)
But here’s what I find fascinating about this process.
We didn’t suddenly discover an entirely different play.
We’re still telling the story we’ve spent the past year developing.
What we’re discovering is how to deliver the emotional experience we’ve been working toward all along.
And that’s an important distinction.
Sometimes the solution isn’t another speech or a new scene.
Sometimes it’s a moment of silence. A physical choice. A transition. Or simply knowing when to let the audience complete the moment for themselves.
Of course, the ultimate test is still ahead of us.
The audience.
Will this ending land the way we hope? Will people leave thinking about their families rather than their political positions?
We won’t really know until we put it in front of them.
And that’s one more thing production can teach us that development can’t fully predict.
Here’s Where It Gets Interesting
Once a production begins, the clock starts ticking in a very different way.
In development, you might have another month to explore an idea. Another reading to test a rewrite. Another workshop to consider a different structure.
In production?
The set is being built.
The costumes are being finalized.
The lighting designer is making decisions based on the world you’re creating.
The actors are learning their blocking.
And the theater has a date on the calendar when we’re expected to walk through the door.
For The Blue Violinist, that’s October 19.
Which means that at some point, you have to stop exploring every possible choice and start committing to the ones that will make this production work.
That’s not always comfortable, especially for a writer who has spent a year living with a script. Or for me, the dramaturg who has been at the side for the entire journey.
But it’s essential.
A professional production requires decisions, not endless possibilities.
And that doesn’t mean the work stops evolving. Of course it doesn’t. Theater is a living art form.
It means that the process shifts from discovering what the play might be to delivering the theatrical experience you’ve committed to create.
And Then There’s the Audience
Here’s the part I think we sometimes forget in all our conversations about developing new work.
The audience.
Because while we’re busy making the script stronger, creating the production, and solving technical problems, someone also has to make sure there are people in the seats.
That’s where my attention as a creative producer is increasingly focused this week.
While our director and actors are completing the staging, I’m also working with our team on marketing, advertising, industry outreach, ticket sales, and the final preparations for Theatre Row.
And those responsibilities aren’t separate from the artistic work.
They’re how the artistic work reaches the people it was created for.
You can have a terrific script.
You can have a beautiful production.
But if nobody knows it’s happening?
Well, Houston, we have a problem.
I’ve said this before, and I’ll keep saying it:
Build your audience while you’re still building your show.
Don’t wait until the week before previews to begin introducing people to the world of your play.
Audience development belongs in the producing process from the beginning.
So, How Do You Know When You’re Ready?
Here’s what I’d suggest if you’re developing a new play or musical and wondering whether it’s time to move forward.
Ask yourself three questions:
1. Does the story work?
Not perfectly. No script is perfect.
But do you know whose story you’re telling? Do the characters have clear objectives? Does the dramatic action carry us somewhere meaningful?
If you’re still wrestling with fundamental story questions, another development room may be exactly what you need.
2. Are the remaining questions theatrical?
Do you need to see actors move through the space? Explore design possibilities? Discover the rhythm of scenes through staging?
If so, it may be time to stop talking about the play and start putting it on its feet.
3. Are you actually prepared to produce it?
And this is the question that often gets overlooked.
Do you have a realistic budget? The right creative team? A venue? A production schedule? Agreements in place? A marketing strategy? A plan for reaching audiences?
Because a script that’s ready for production and a production that’s ready to happen are two different things.
You need both.
Development Should Lead Somewhere
At CreateTheater, I believe in taking the time to develop new work properly.
But I also believe that development should lead somewhere.
Not every reading needs to lead immediately to a showcase. Not every workshop needs to become an Off-Broadway production.
Sometimes the right next step is another rewrite.
Sometimes it’s a different development room.
And sometimes?
It’s time to open the rehearsal room door and let the rest of the theater-making process do its work.
Next week, The Blue Violinist Over West End Avenue moves into Theatre Row. Previews begin October 27.
And I can’t wait to see how all those months of development translate into the living, breathing experience of a production.
Because ultimately, that’s why we do this.
A script tells the story. A production lets us experience it.
And there’s nothing quite like being in the room when that happens.
I hope you can come see this beautiful production. If you do, make sure you send me your thoughts afterward!
Cate Cammarata is the Creative Producer and Artistic Director of CreateTheater, a New York City-based theater company developing and producing new plays and musicals.