I’m often asked what a dramaturg does – in fact, this piece grew out of a Q&A I gave at ArtsEd Sixth Form a couple of weeks ago (Hello Year Twelve, and I hope your New British Musicals Project is going well!)
It’s a fair question. Dramaturgy is one of those theatre jobs that sounds intellectual and slightly mysterious. People also argue about whether to pronounce the G, which tells you something about how fond theatre people are of debating details.
So here’s my plain answer:
A dramaturg helps a piece of theatre become itself: Clearer. Braver. More honest. More playable. More legible to an audience.
More than that, a dramaturg helps decide which version of itself the piece is becoming, and then helps the team actually make that version happen.
We work with writers, directors, composers and performers, always in service of the story and the audience, and this is how I approach it.
What a Dramaturg Actually Does
In a normal week, I might:
- read a draft and write notes
- talk with a writer about a character who isn’t landing yet
- sit in rehearsal and notice what actors keep asking about
- research a world, time period, or theme
- help a team work out what the show is really about
- think carefully about how an audience will experience a moment
- work with producers to construct a timeline for development
- write or contribute to a pitch pack
- cast a workshop or script reading of a work in progress
Across all of this, my job is to help a team focus, to work out what matters most, what can wait, and what needs attention now. It’s practical, collaborative, and constantly shifting.
Start by Listening
Before I offer ideas, I listen: to the writer – to the director – to the room. And to what’s being said underneath what’s being said.
Early drafts often contain a lot of material, some of which is useful, some of which is noise, and some of which is the real reason the piece exists at all. The quicker you can identify that last bit, the more useful you become.
I’m often asking:
- What does this piece think it is?
- What does it want to be?
- Why is this writer making this piece now?
- Where is it already working?
- Where might something exciting be hiding?
Listening doesn’t mean saying nothing and staying neutral forever – it’s more about paying enough attention to eventually take a clear view that you can communicate back to the writer, director or producer.
I find that good dramaturgy usually starts with curiosity rather than certainty.
Be Honest – and Be On the Side of the Work
A dramaturg has to tell the truth, but how you tell it matters. I tend to start with questions rather than pronouncements, because good notes open doors and they don’t shut people down. It should always be clear that I respect the writer and the work, especially when it’s still messy and growing. I also assume that the writer usually knows more than they think they do, and my superpower is clearing the noise so they can hear themselves again.
A dramaturg doesn’t sit above the work. We sit next to it. No red pens, unless someone specifically asks!
Always Think About the Audience
Not “the audience” in the abstract. This audience:
- Who are they?
- Where are they seeing this?
- How are they arriving?
- What do they already know?
- What do they need help with?
Every show makes an invitation. From an audience point of view, the invitation of pantomime and the invitation of a Sondheim musical are wildly different. A dramaturg helps shape the invitation so the audience knows how to say yes.
Zoom In. Zoom Out. Repeat.
Some days I’m thinking about the big picture: Structure. Character journeys. Where the story turns and why.
Other days I’m right in the detail: Why a moment feels flat. What’s sitting in the subtext of a line. Whether a song needs a little more space before the singing begins.
Knowing when to switch scale is a key part of the job.
Often, I’m the person quietly holding the full shape of the piece in my head, remembering what connects to what, while everyone else is focused on one moment.
Read the Room
Dramaturgy doesn’t only happen at a desk. It happens in rehearsal, in conversations, in the bar during the interval of previews, in noticing what actors lean into or resist. In clocking the questions everyone is politely skating around.
When something keeps showing up in the room, whether it’s excitement, confusion, resistance or tedium, I pay attention and help the team decide what to do about it. Sometimes that means naming an issue no one has said out loud yet, because often, the room knows something before the script does.
Use Structure. Don’t Worship It.
There are patterns in storytelling, especially in musicals, and they’re genuinely useful.
For example:
- opening numbers introduce the world
- “I want” songs reveal desire
- act endings raise stakes
- finales resolve something emotional
These patterns help audiences follow the story, but if a structural idea doesn’t help the piece become clearer or more alive, you’re allowed to question it. Some of the frameworks I return to again and again include Three Act Structure, Five Act Structure, The Hero’s Journey, Pixar Story thinking and Emotional Arcs.
There’s No Single Route In
People arrive at dramaturgy via acting, directing, writing, music, dance, teaching, literature, history, psychology – and curiosity.
Most will start off informally, helping friends/ reading drafts. Asking good questions that open doors, and paying attention.
You’re allowed not to have it figured out yet – it’s a way of paying attention, and then acting on what you notice.
You Might Be a Good Dramaturg If…
- you care why something works, not just if it does
- you notice patterns and connections instinctively
- you listen carefully before speaking
- you enjoy helping other people’s ideas get clearer
- you think about audiences without being prompted
- you like structure, but you’re not rigid
- you don’t need to be centre stage to feel useful
Dramaturgs are collaborators, question askers, and story protectors. It is a leadership role. It shapes the work, the process, and the audience experience, often quietly, but very deliberately.
Try This
Take a scene or song you know well.
Ask:
- What is this moment doing in the story?
- What would we lose if it disappeared?
- What might the audience feel or understand for the first time here?
If those questions make you feel interested, you might enjoy reading Jack Viertel’s brilliant book ‘The Secret Life of the American Musical’, which breaks down how musicals work – and you might already be doing the work of a dramaturg.