The Final Night of Suffs the Musical
Last night I attended the closing night performance of Suffs, The Musical, a very special show that tells the story of how women earned the right to vote in the U.S. Since it debuted in March of 2024, I’ve seen it about a dozen times, often in groups of my friends, family members, and industry peers. (Notably, Hillary Clinton and Malala Yousafzai appreciated the show's themes so much that they participated as named producers.)
While I’ve spent my career working in tech, due to my husband’s role as a sound designer, I’ve gotten the privilege of getting a sidecar peek into the magical world of NYC theatre. Over the past two decades, he’s worked on dozens of on- and off-Broadway shows, along with a myriad of other live performances in and out of the city. Today, Broadway feels just as much a part of my personal brand as anything else that I do, or any other reason why I live in New York City.
I’ve written a bit about the many things I’ve learned from observing how another industry gets work done, such as how show teams socialize feedback, how creative teams balance each other out, and how understudies (or “covers”) power an uncurrent of resiliency for any long-running piece of theatre. But one of my favorite parts about live theatre is the ritualization of openings and closings.
Here are a few things I’ve written about leadership lessons from theatre over the years:
Opening Nights
Rituals and celebrations serve a highly critical role in any group dynamic. The business world where I work is not always great about taking a pause to take stock of their success. But in the business of Broadway, the opening night ritual is built into the workflow. That’s to say, there is a dedicated day that the show debuts to the public for the very first time. And on that day, no matter what happens, you celebrate with the team that helped you get there.
I’ve been to opening night parties for shows that would later go on to win Tony Awards, or run for a very long time. And I’ve been to opening night parties for shows that quietly announced their closing date the very next day. What’s nice about the ritual is–no matter how big or small the show goes on to become–the entire team still pauses and takes a moment to toast their accomplishments thus far.
Due to the transient nature of many creative team members, producers, and even the ever-changing casts of long-running shows, an opening night is often the last time when that particular group or team convenes in the same place. It is bittersweet but exciting to see a new project get birthed in such a collectively celebrated fashion. It’s for this reason that opening nights also (frequently) become goodbyes.
Closing Nights
By contrast, closing nights are commemorations of the end. For all of the hope and optimism of an opening night, closing nights offer simply last times and fond farewells. The cast on stage tends to push an extra boundary or two than usual in the performance; the interstitial applause lingers far longer than usual. At last night’s closing performance of Suffs, there were at least two mid-show standing ovations.
Similar to a company shutting its doors, a closing night very clearly denotes an end to business operations, a moment when the organization will cease to exist in its current form. But unlike a company shutdown, you tend to have a lot more people around for the final push. After all, it’s not like a Broadway show can slowly lay off people until they stabilize their run rate. The show costs what the show costs; it’s either everyone (including the cast, the crew, the creative team, etc.) or it’s no one.
What you get as a result of such a dramatic conclusion is an in-person talent exodus moment. Suddenly, everyone who was a part of one giant thing together is available for the next thing, all at once. The next partnerships and coalitions and teams form through the strong bonds from one show experience carrying on into the next. At closing night parties, amidst all of the crying, there’s also a strong bias to action among everyone in the room–to seek the next one. It’s not uncommon to overhear snippets of conversation where people signal intent to collaborate again.
“I hope we can work together on another show..”
“Let’s be sure to stay in touch…”
“Keep me posted on where you end up next…”
The subtext being of course: “Let’s do it again sometime." Or maybe even, "Take me with you."
What Tech Can Take Away from Theatre
In a way, the work of any creative or artistic leader on a Broadway show is one of constant optimization; fine-tuning the toggles of their always-transient teams until they hit just the right combination of artistic vision and technical execution. It’s a really good reminder, even for those of us who work in other industries, of the fluidity of the talent market. Even more so today than ever before.
To me, live theatre has always served as a helpful counterbalance or overcorrection for the deep digitization of every other part of my work life. In a world where anyone can create a “picture-perfect” piece of content online, live theatre is one of the most beautiful legacy representations about the extent of a single human’s effort. I have a feeling we will see a resurgence in the importance of this craft in the months and years ahead.
Happy trails, Suffs. Onto the next…
