What I Didn’t Do for Love: Disability, Musical Theatre, and Art of Walking Away

The research included in this essay was originally presented at the 46th Comparative Drama Conference. 

The world of the American musical theatre is one steeped in intrigue, lush with its own traditions, lore, and cast of characters. Yet, one industry-wide convention continues to encapsulate the expectations of what it means to be a performer on the Great White Way and beyond. To perform is to suffer. And to suffer is to be celebrated. Theatrical performers, both through their experiences in artistic communities and as members of our labor-focused greater society, are indoctrinated with this belief from the earliest beginnings of their artistic careers.

In my own early years as a performer, I vividly remember a teacher’s retelling of Kristin Chenoweth’s heroic return to the previews of Wicked in a bedazzled brace following a neck injury. In 2017, Hugh Jackman went against his doctor’s orders to not sing post-surgery during a rehearsal for The Greatest Showman; the video of him doing so went viral, accompanied by overwhelmingly positive comments praising the actor for his dedication. In the same year, Andy Karl tore his ACL in previews for Groundhog Day on Broadway, prompting a New York Times article documenting Karl’s choice to return to the stage only two days later in order to open the production. Karl rubbed some dirt (and a cortisone injection) in it and managed to secure a Tony nomination for his efforts. Stories such as these saturate the history of musical theatre, and, I believe, have contributed significantly to the Herculean physical expectations placed on the modern-day theatre performer. However, it is expectations like these that consistently threaten the casting prospects, artistic identities and overall health of performers living with chronic illnesses, disabilities, or recurring injuries. As American society strives for greater inclusivity, the world of theatrical performance fails to keep up through its inherent presumptions of ability.

As the most widely-accepted indicator of American excellence in theatre, Broadway’s attitude towards disability has shown incremental change. Ali Stroker is a Tony Award-winning actor for her performance in Daniel Fish’s 2019 revival of Oklahoma!; she is the first wheelchair-using actor to have ever been nominated for such an award. In more recent seasons, productions like Cost of Living and Kimberly Akimbo have pushed the experiences of people living with disabilities to the forefront of the artistic conversation.

Most theatre-centered media outlets have shifted their vernacular towards acknowledging the courage of performers who advocate for proper accommodations rather than celebrating those who perform at risk of endangering themselves. Take Playbill’s 2023 article recounting Maria-Christina Oliveras’ struggle with major injury for example; the courage she employed when asking for proper accommodations to join the cast of Between Riverside and Crazy is well-saluted in contrast to the aforementioned articles memorializing Broadway stars and their possibly dangerous personal medical decisions. However, while the highest-paying levels of the theatre community begin to change the way in which they engage with disability, accessibility and acceptance throughout all professional platforms for performers are not the norm. 

In the case of disability on stage, musical theatre historian Ryan Donovan writes that “Broadway prefers disability when it stays metaphorical, difference when it's assimilated into the mainstream by the finale, and both absent by the curtain call.”  While Donovan writes of this categorization in regards to the imaginary worlds created by performers onstage, his proclamation extends to those gracing the boards. In mimicry of the greater American workforce, Donovan writes that the Broadway machine has continued to marginalize disabled performers in favor of “intact, interchangeable bodies”; these workers must be able to conduct labor at a level which will secure the highest possible revenue within the commercial circuit. Typically, this means artists must be able to repeat the same performance six to eight times over the course of a Broadway work week.

These working conditions are physically demanding and exhausting even for the healthiest able-bodied performers, let alone those who are chronically ill, disabled, or experience recurring injuries. In order to fit the fiscal model that Broadway requires, performers are often forced to push beyond their physical limits. Failing to do so is stigmatized within the theatre community as a sign of laziness, or as an unwillingness to work hard at positions that are seen by most as a calling or a privilege, rather than a job. In an industry that celebrates hyper-ability, those who are physically incapable of matching this standard are often forced to compromise their health at the behest of their work.

However, while these standards are enforced at the top, they are instilled at the entry point. Theatre education in America continues to promote “the show must go on” principles, requiring young performers to shape themselves to the needs of a production or role, sometimes at their own physical or emotional risk. Described as “yes, and” culture by Sara Božin in her work with HowlRound Theatre Commons, the malleability required of performers in educational environments further instills the negative stigmas against those who cannot be so changeable. Unfortunately, I have experienced the pressures of these expectations first hand.

As a student at a residential arts high school, I said nothing as a teacher threw me to the ground over and over again for the sake of perfecting a stage combat sequence. Even after winding up in an emergency clinic a few weeks later with a femoral neck fracture (i.e. a broken hip), I continued to uphold the doctrines described by Božin. Yes, and…can I perform on crutches? For years, I pushed through chronic pain, exacerbating major injuries to maintain the façade of my hyper-ability as a performer. And when this pattern did catch up to me, I was terrified that my need to take off show days for injuries would reach the ears of industry professionals who held my bookability in their hands. 

However, as the publicized attitude towards accessibility and inclusion began to change in recent years, I, too began to question the negative biases I had imposed on myself. After years of minimizing my conditions in order to get cast, the need to preserve certain aspects of my physical health simply no longer allowed me to do so. After instilling this refreshing personal outlook in my auditions, an offer finally came my way for a career-changing off-Broadway gig in 2023.

Assured by the changes made at the top-paying levels, I asked for clearer language regarding the physical demands of the contract beyond performing. Maybe a weight limit addendum to the carte blanche requirement of lifting heavy set pieces, for which I was more than happy to provide a doctor’s note. In response, the company expressed reservations about hiring me at all. Despite my assurances that these accommodations would not hinder my ability to perform, they questioned me yet again with a discriminating comment about both my age and injuries. Seeing the forest for the trees, I decided to walk away. It has taken me many years to understand that a place of work that fails to accommodate differently abled performers at the starting gate will surely uphold this sentiment as a part of its greater culture. Therefore, it is not the place for me. 

Unfortunately, this outcome is not typical. Choosing to walk away from a production contract is the scariest of decisions for performers when employment opportunities are already so few and far between. Furthermore, choosing to do so in favor of one’s health can label the performer as “difficult” in theatre circles, an additional ink blot on someone’s employability. Even performers protected by labor unions and agent representation experience pushback on accessibility; yet, the stigmas surrounding performers with chronic illnesses, disabilities, and recurring injuries disproportionately affect nonunion workers who may be forced to put their health at risk for the sake of consistent work.

Like me, many will feel pressured to hide or minimize their conditions in order to pass as able-bodied, therefore further instilling the presumption of hyper-ability and the ideology of the body as a machine in service to the higher craft. Fear breeds this cycle, and, unfortunately, will continue to force many into impossible decisions. To perform or not to perform? Being healthy is the question.

However, if disabled performers on Broadway can attain accessibility and visibility, surely this means the same is possible for those still working their way towards such high heights. I believe the first line of responsibility in protecting these performers lies with those who choose to educate them. As Dr. Mark Seton writes in a 2009 report discussing the healthcare of actors in training, “Both teacher and students shape, as they are shaped by, each other.”

In a world where most theatre educators have gained their expertise through practical work as performers in their own right, the harmful biases of the theatrical community at large can and will continue to negatively permeate the educational experience. As a solution, Seton demands: “There is the need for a greater accountability in the skill of teaching by actors who, without any specialist educational qualifications, work in drama schools.”  In addition to the need for better teacher training in the understanding and preservation of students’ mental and physical well-being, I believe new curriculums and training processes should come to include the instruction of bodily autonomy as a construct of personal health for students.

Those with the grasp of their ability to say “no” without repercussion will be less likely to push beyond their physical limits, therefore better preserving their health over time. In his writing on “Young People, Musical Theatre and Identity,” Danny Braverman writes how learning processes such as these can allow disabled students to feel and be seen as “co-creators that bring [divergent contributions]” to the classroom rather than as disruptions to the status quo.

 However, while these shifted attitudes and new skills will enter the workforce with the upcoming generation of performers, true equity is only achievable if their counterparts at the top continue to aim for change. According to a 2017 report from Actors’ Equity Association, less than one percent of Broadway production contracts go to those who self-identify as disabled. This number fails to represent the realistic number of disabled workers according to national records, and AEA Diversity and Inclusion reports continue to exhibit this phenomenon post pandemic.

According to AEA’s 2021 report, this means potentially one out of every four workers “[is not] receiving equitable employment or [doesn’t] feel that they can share that part of themselves with their union or their workplace.”  Inclusivity and accessibility cannot continue to only benefit the select few, while the majority of performers with disabilities, chronic illnesses, and recurring injuries continue to work in fear. Through the proposed changes within the theatrical educational systems, and the continued courage of performers at all levels of theatrical labor, maybe we can meet in the middle to create a theatre community that is safe for all. A theatre community where no one has to walk away from their dream. A community where all bodies are celebrated, and not forced to change for the “good of the art.”