Every theatre begins as a box: four walls, an empty space, and a choice: will we stay inside what we know, or will we build something we’ve never seen before? 

In 1962 playwright Denis Johnston wrote an article for Theatre Arts magazine titled Needed: New Perspectives for the Theatre. He wondered whether theatre had stopped asking big questions. He praised George Bernard Shaw as one of the last great playwrights of ideas, challenging audiences to wrestle with complex questions rather than simply watch a story unfold.

But Johnston believed even bold ideas weren't enough anymore. While science, philosophy, and society were changing rapidly, he thought that much of theatre was still telling stories through a familiar structure: objective truth and linear timelines. Simply pushing boundaries with controversial subjects or stronger language wasn't innovation if audiences were still being asked to see the world in the same old way. He argued that every era develops new ways of understanding the world, and theatre has a responsibility to evolve alongside those discoveries. The artists he admired, including Shaw, Pirandello, Strindberg, and Beckett, all challenged audiences to think differently, not just watch different stories. He wanted to see the theatre turn a three-dimensional stage into a four-dimensional medium where these absolutes could all turn out to be true.

Johnston believed theatre needed new perspectives. Sixty years later, I wonder if our greatest need is something even simpler. We have ideas. We have inspiration. We have examples. What we need are more people willing to take the risk of making them real.

Recently, another theatre artist and I found ourselves asking a simple question: When was the last time you saw something on stage that genuinely excited you? Not because it was louder or bigger, but because it made you rethink what theatre could be and who it could reach. She recommended the book Sensory Theatre by Tim Webb, which teaches how to make interactive, inclusive, immersive theatre for diverse audiences. I am so ready to dive in!

Innovation has always been part of theatre's story. Shakespeare blurred comedy and tragedy. Ibsen challenged Victorian society. Brecht changed the relationship between actor and audience. Innovation doesn’t always fit the modern business model, but does that mean we stop making it? Or do we keep creating spaces where new ideas have room to grow?

Unfortunately, one of the most celebrated examples of theatrical innovation this year is preparing to close. Cats: The Jellicle Ball, a bold reimagining of Andrew Lloyd Webber's musical, won three Tony Awards, captivated critics, and built a devoted following. Many expected it to enjoy a long Broadway run. Instead, despite its artistic success, it will close months earlier than originally anticipated, reminding us that creative triumph and commercial sustainability are not always the same thing. Not every experiment becomes a blockbuster, but every artistic movement begins as one.

Shakespeare, Ibsen, Brecht, Kushner, and countless others expanded what theatre could be because someone was willing to try something audiences hadn't seen before. Commercial success matters. Audiences matter. But if every artistic decision is measured only by what is safest, theatre slowly loses one of its greatest gifts: the ability to excite us.

Johnston asked for new perspectives sixty years ago. Today, perhaps our responsibility is not only to imagine them, but to keep building places where they can exist, even if the outcome isn't guaranteed.

Most of us aren't trying to reinvent Broadway. We're trying to build something meaningful in our own communities. Johnston's challenge isn't just for famous playwrights. It's for every director choosing an unfamiliar play, every teacher trying a different rehearsal process, every actor making a bold character choice. Innovation doesn't only happen under bright lights. It begins wherever someone is willing to risk doing something differently.