The 5 Worst Types of People You'll Meet in Rehearsal
by Chris Peterson
Let’s not pretend every rehearsal process is a wonderful experience. Sure, sometimes there’s magic in the room. But more often than not, there’s also someone eating chips during your monologue, someone trying to rewrite act two, and someone who thinks whispering “I’m just so connected to this material” absolves them from showing up on time. So here it is: a lovingly passive-aggressive list of the five most annoying types of people in rehearsal. If you see yourself here… apologies. But also, do better.
We wrote a similar version of this list ten years ago. Back then, it felt like pure comic catharsis— A decade later? Things have changed. Some for the better. We’re more compassionate, more collaborative, and—thankfully—way more aware of boundaries and burnout. But some habits? Some chaos? They still live on. Maybe louder than ever. So consider this an updated field guide to rehearsal room survival: part tribute, part warning, part group therapy.
Let’s begin.
1. The Constant Commentator
This person cannot experience a rehearsal silently. Every moment requires their running commentary—usually whispered but always audible. They’ll react to every note, every moment, every choice, with a well-timed “hmm,” “interesting,” or “I wouldn’t have done that.” They are not the director. They are not the dramaturg. They are just… loud.
I once sat next to someone during a run-through who murmured, “That would never happen in real life.” These folks need the last word in every scene they’re not in—and half the ones they are. Rehearsal isn’t a DVD commentary track. No one asked for your director’s cut.
Listen more than you speak. If it’s not your scene or your note, stay focused and stay quiet. Observe respectfully—save opinions for after rehearsal.
2. The Schedule Negotiator
This person needs to tell everyone about their “conflicts.” Not just the stage manager. Everyone. Every day. They’ll wander into rehearsal like, “Just so you know, I might need to leave early next Thursday unless my cousin moves her dentist appointment—but it’s just a cleaning, so maybe not.” I once heard someone list their “potential outs” during warm-ups.
And it’s not even that they have conflicts. We all do. It’s the performative scheduling. They treat the conflict sheet like a mood board, constantly updating it, reshuffling, making announcements like we’re all their personal Google Calendar.
Treat your conflict sheet like a commitment. Be honest, be early, and don’t treat rehearsal like a flexible brunch plan. You’re part of a team.
3. The Over-Processor
This person needs to talk through everything. Every line, every beat, every gesture—analyzed, dissected, and then over-explained to the cast like they’re leading a grad seminar.
They’ll stop mid-rehearsal to ask, “But what’s my character really feeling here?” and spend 10 minutes parsing the emotional weight of handing over a coffee cup. I once rehearsed a scene partner who couldn’t enter until she understood her “motivational relationship to the doorway.” Not the room. The doorway. At some point, we’re not discovering—we’re just delaying. And the rest of us? We’d really like to move on to scene two.
Not every moment needs a manifesto. Trust your instincts. Rehearsal is for doing, not overthinking. Make bold choices, fail fast, and let the work speak.
4. The Blocker Blocker
This is the person who will absolutely not stand where you ask them to stand. Ever. Doesn’t matter if the director says “cross to the table”—they want to linger by the chair. If the choreographer says “travel four counts downstage”—they’ll travel three and a half counts upstage and claim it’s a “character choice.”
I’ve worked with folks who treat every blocking note like a suggestion from a well-meaning friend. They’ll say, “I just don’t feel like my character would do that,” and suddenly, we’re reblocking the entire scene to accommodate one person’s spatial insecurities. It’s not about your feelings —it’s about sightlines. You’re not breaking theatrical boundaries. You’re breaking the light cue. Get. In. Your. Spike.
Trust your director. Blocking isn't oppression—it's choreography with purpose. Hit your marks. Consistency is kindness, especially to your castmates, crew, and the exhausted lighting designer.
5. The Energy Vampire
These are the folks who start every rehearsal with a sigh so deep it echoes. “I’m just… so tired today.” “This day has been so long.” “I don’t know how I’m even standing.” You know how? Because you’re standing. In a room full of people doing the same work.
And the worst part? Their energy is contagious. One deep groan from them, and suddenly the entire cast is slumping through their blocking like we’re staging a live-action NyQuil commercial. Rehearsal is already long. Already demanding. Already enough. We do not need to stop every 45 minutes so you can refill your water bottle and talk about your therapist’s latest revelation. Recharge in your own time, not during my light cue.
Bring the energy you want to receive. Leave the sighs at the door. Everyone’s tired—be the reason rehearsal gets better, not heavier.
Rehearsal is a sacred space. It deserves our effort, our respect, and our collective ability to act like functional adults in a room full of fake walls and taped-out staircases. Let’s all do our part to not be the problem. Or at least… not be this kind of problem.
See you at places.