Stop Just Copying the Proshots (and the Movie Versions Too)

Into the Woods

by Chris Peterson, OnStage Blog Founder

I’m begging you. Truly. From one theatre lover to another — please don’t just copy the proshots.

Now, before anyone gets defensive — I know the vast, vast majority of directors don’t do this. Most of you are out there doing the hard, beautiful work of crafting something original, breathing new life into familiar stories, and making magic happen on stages big and small. This isn’t for you.

This is just a gentle nudge for the few who might be tempted.

I’m not saying don’t watch proshots. Watch them! Be inspired! Learn from the greats! But then, when it’s time to get in the room with your actors, set the video aside and make something that’s yours.

I say this with love — and from experience.

Back in college, we did Pippin.

At the time, we thought we were part of something fresh and bold. Our director had all these specific ideas — little gestures, bits of staging that felt so detailed and purposeful. We dove in headfirst.

And then, about a year later, a group of us gathered around a tiny dorm TV to finally watch the 1981 proshot version. William Katt, Chita Rivera — the whole crew. We hit play, excited to see a whole new world open up in front of us.

And slowly, horror set in.

It was our show.

Every move. Every costume. Every set piece. Every supposedly "original" choice. Turns out, our director hadn’t created something new — he had, more or less, hit "copy and paste" on someone else’s vision.

And unfortunately, Pippin isn’t the only time I’ve seen this happen.

I’ve seen productions from community to college to high school simply copy proshots and movie adaptations of the show. I’ve seen Chicago where the director copied the movie’s famous "Cell Block Tango" chair choreography move for move. I’ve seen Into the Woods productions that practically re-staged the iconic proshot. The Josh Groban Chess concert was fantastic. So why did I see a community theatre try to recreate the entire experience?

And it’s not that those original productions weren’t brilliant (they absolutely were). But when we only imitate, we miss out on the whole point: to create.

And that’s the thing I want to say loud and clear:

Your version deserves to exist. Your cast's version deserves to exist.

Theatre isn’t about doing it "right." It’s about doing it real. It's about meeting the material where you are, in your community, with your actors, in this moment. It's about finding new colors in familiar songs, unexpected emotions in familiar scenes.

No one is asking you to reinvent the wheel or set Into the Woods in outer space (unless you want to — in which case, go for it). But you have something to say with this story, and your production deserves to reflect that.

And honestly? That’s the real joy of directing. Not replicating someone else’s lightning in a bottle — but creating your own. Watching your cast make discoveries. Watching new ideas unfold that you never could have planned. Watching a story that's been told a thousand times somehow feel new because it’s yours.

You don’t have to be Bob Fosse or Hal Prince or Marianne Elliott. You just have to be brave enough to say,
"This is the story I want to tell. This is what it means to us."

And trust me — your audience will feel that difference. Your actors will feel that difference. And years from now, when they look back on your production, they won’t remember it as a Xerox of a proshot. They’ll remember it as yours — and theirs — and alive.

And that’s what theatre’s supposed to be.