Alternatively titled: THE AMOUNT OF SHIT THAT HAPPENS BEFORE ANYONE EVEN GETS ON STAGE.
When you go to the theatre, you see all the flashy bits. The actors, the set, the lights, the costumes, the front of house managers, the props, the posters, the bar staff, the volunteers. What you don't see is the producer who's spent the last six months trying to make the whole bloody thing happen.
But I suppose that's kind of the point, isn't it?
If we've done our jobs properly, you shouldn't notice us. The show goes up, the lights come on, everyone gets paid (hopefully on time) and the audience has a lovely time. But behind all of that is a frankly ridiculous amount of work that doesn't always fit neatly into a job description.
I've been thinking a lot lately about the invisible work of producing. Not the budgets, contracts and schedules (although God knows there's enough of those). I'm talking about the stuff that happens between the lines. The conversations, the compromises, the emotional gymnastics and the constant, always, ever-present, never-ending bloody problem-solving. The stuff nobody really teaches you.
Producing is mostly just solving problems you didn't know existed
I was speaking to a production manager friend of mine recently and we were both complaining about the amount of problems that needed solving. Then, we both had a sudden epiphany.
It’s literally our fucking job to problem-solve.
I now think the best way to describe being a producer is that you're paid to worry about things before anyone else knows they need worrying about.
You spend an enormous amount of time asking yourself questions like: What happens if that person drops out? What if we don't sell enough tickets? What if the funding doesn't come through? What if the seating bank that we’ve just built collapses? What if someone gets ill? What if we've forgotten something really important?
And then, when something inevitably goes tits up, you're expected to have a solution. And sometimes, don’t get me wrong, you do. But sometimes, you're Googling something frantically at 3am, wondering how on earth this became your responsibility.
There is a proper satisfaction in solving a problem nobody else even knew existed though. It's one of my favourite things about producing, actually. Finding a way through something that initially seemed impossible, but there's also something quite exhausting about being the person who is always expected to know what to do.
Because sometimes I haven't got a bloody clue. And I think we should probably talk about that more.
You're managing people, not just projects
Something I don't think we talk about enough is just how much of producing is about people. Not in the lovely networking-and-building-relationships sense that gets written into funding applications.
I mean actual people. With feelings, insecurities, different ways of communicating, things going on at home and occasionally wildly different ideas about how something should be done.
You're trying to keep a creative team happy, support artists to do their best work, manage expectations, protect a budget, meet deadlines and make sure everyone feels heard and sometimes those things are in proper conflict with each other.
You might have to tell an artist that their brilliant idea isn't financially possible. You might have to have an uncomfortable conversation about someone's behaviour. You might find yourself supporting someone through a difficult personal situation while trying to work out how to keep a rehearsal room running.
None of that is particularly glamorous. And it's not always easy to know where your responsibility starts and ends.
I care deeply about the people I work with. I want them to feel supported, respected and safe. I want to create environments where people can take risks and make brilliant work. But I'm also learning that caring about people doesn't mean you can fix everything for them. Sometimes the most useful thing you can do is listen. Sometimes it's finding a practical solution. And sometimes it's having a conversation you'd really rather avoid.
I'm still learning how to get that balance right.
The emotional labour is real
There's a particular kind of emotional labour involved in being the person who has to keep things moving. You might be stressed about money, worried about ticket sales, dealing with a difficult situation or wondering whether you've taken on too much, but you still need to walk into a room and help everyone else feel confident that things are going to be okay.
And to be clear, I'm not saying producers should be emotionless robots who never admit that they're struggling! I think there's something quite damaging about the idea that good leadership means always being calm, collected and completely in control. I'm certainly not.
I'm messy. I overthink things. I’m a chronic oversharer. I tell jokes literally all the time. I have the mouth of a sailor. I’m a bit chaotic. I’m a constant chatterbox and I occasionally send an email and immediately wish I'd worded it differently. Sometimes I get frustrated. Sometimes I take things personally when I probably shouldn't. I'm a human being doing a job that involves other human beings.
And I think that's okay.
What matters is being able to recognise when you've got something wrong, take responsibility and try to do better next time. We talk a lot about creating safe spaces for artists to fail, experiment and learn. I'd quite like us to extend some of that generosity to the people producing the work, too.
Nobody sees the conversations that didn't happen
One of the strangest things about producing is that some of your most important work is completely invisible. The crisis you prevented, or the difficult conversation you handled before it became a bigger problem. The funding application that didn't get approved. The idea you spent weeks developing before deciding it wasn't quite right. The artist you advocated for behind closed doors. The compromise that meant everyone could move forward. None of those things end up in the programme. And they probably shouldn't, but they are still work and still a fundamental part of making arts happen.
Sometimes a successful day of producing doesn't look like achieving ten things on your to-do list. Sometimes it looks like having one really difficult conversation, making a decision you've been putting off, or giving someone the time and space they need and it’s really not easy to measure that. You can't put "stopped everything from going to shit" into a spreadsheet. Although, believe me, I've been dangerously tempted.
Being good at your job shouldn't mean being available for everything
This is something I'm trying to get better at. There's a real temptation in producing to become the person who sorts everything out.
Someone needs an answer? Ask the producer.
Something's gone wrong? Ask the producer.
Nobody knows whose responsibility it is? Probably the producer.
And because we tend to be quite resourceful people, we find a way, but there's a danger in that. The more you solve, the more people assume you can solve. The more you take on, the more it becomes normal for you to take on. Before you know it, you're doing your actual job alongside a collection of other jobs that have somehow become yours by default.
I'm still figuring out how to set those boundaries without feeling like I'm letting people down, and how to stop being a whiny little people pleaser. It's a work in progress.
But I bloody love it
For all of this, I really do love producing. I love being part of making something that didn't exist before. I love watching an idea turn into a conversation, then a plan, then a rehearsal room, then something that an audience gets to experience. I love finding opportunities for artists, bringing people together, working out how to make something happen when the odds are stacked against it and I love that no two days are ever the same, even if some days I'd really, really quite like them to be.
There's something really special about sitting in a theatre, watching an audience respond to something you've helped bring into the world. Not because you need the credit, but because you know what it took to get there. You know the conversations, the spreadsheets, the setbacks, the compromises, the late nights and the little victories that nobody else will ever see.
And somehow, against all the odds, it's happening and that's a pretty fucking brilliant feeling.
P.S. You can use the word ‘production manager’ and ‘producer’ pretty interchangeably in this blog. I see you babe.
