“Leave me my dreams. Dreams are like paper, they tear so easily.” – Gilda Radner

I have always been a bit of a secretly creative person. (Though, I guess not so secret, because you are witnessing creative writing in this exact moment.) Academically, I went above and beyond. As a kid, I did extra math because I thought it was fun. In high school, I willingly took French over one summer to ensure I could take AP French my senior year. In college, I minored in English so I could read more. But I was insecure about everything creative I tried. At six, despite being in make-believe classes (they were acting classes for hippies), I never got a callback for the hot dog commercial I auditioned for. In my 6th grade, my art teacher humiliated me by using my work as an example by the teacher as what not to do. In the 7th grade, I switched from clarinet to oboe in band because the thought of having to be competitive was too much for me to handle.

The only time in childhood I ever felt creatively free was in my 8th grade drama club. My school’s drama club hosted the talent show. I came up with the theme that year: Saturday Night Live, well Thursday Night Live. I remember doing the Weekend Update-esque sketch and having waves of laughter wash over me, punchline after punchline. All of those years of letdowns, embarrassments, and fear were all but forgotten. I could feel the exhilaration that comes from making art and receiving that live audience feedback. But the bravery of that moment was ephemeral. By high school, I quickly retreated in the safety of the sidelines. I loved films. I loved writing. But only my 11th grade English teacher would get to read my work. When I took a screenwriting class, I told myself not to write anything meaningful to me since my professor proclaimed he “didn’t give As.” As I trudged along into my 30s, I became resigned to the fact that the weird, creative parts of myself are better left for half-finished projects. That was until I saw Theatre Camp.

When I was fortunate enough to see Theater Camp at Sundance this winter, I had a bit of a “ah-ha!” moment. For context, the film centers on the campers and counselors of a theater camp as the camp is thrown into turmoil when their beloved director is unable to guide the group over the season. Sure, it is a film filled to the brim with jokes both about the absurdity of things creative people will do and inside jokes for theater-lovers. However, this mockumentary is not just a parody. It is a true recognition of what it means to be an empathetic, vulnerable person. To bravely wear your heart on your sleeve when you know you will hear more “no’s” than ever receive recognition of your humanness. Watching a film where both children and adults are being their bold, brave selves made that six year old entrenched in make-believe, that 13 year old Gilda Radner Wannabe, that 31 year old closeted creative all jump up in acknowledgement of the same spunkiness we thought was dormant.

I never attended theater camp, but the cast of kids in Theater Camp truly transport you back to your own childhood. To moments where the magic of make believe gave you a sense of wonder, made you inquisitive. These child actors are comedic geniuses. They are, after all, children, so they are zany, and cooky, and wildly inventive. And it is those sweet moments when you get to see kids being kids that your own inner child feels less weird. You reconnect to your silliness, to your curiosity, to your joy. You reconnect with limitlessness in creativity. Childhood can be freeing because the seed of doubt hasn’t been planted yet; and if it has been, you certainly don’t water it as much. The child actors of Theater Camp felt so uninhibited in their craft, you cannot help but feel that unfetteredness radiate from the screen.

While this film gives voice and recognition to your younger self, it also sees you as an adult too. Whether you are more of a free-spirited Rebecca-Diane (Molly Gordon) or a perfectionist Amos (Ben Platt) or a fake-it-’til-you-make-it Janet (Ayo Edebiri) or a wallflower Glenn (Noah Galvin), there are pieces to who you are now that are woven into the fabric of this film. All of these adults are creative in some fashion. I mean, Janet doesn’t know much about masks, but she still knows how to dive straight into make-believe. And most importantly, despite their training, despite their summers spent at theater camp, they are just as insecure as anyone else. They hold the fears their dreams may be unachievable. The fear their creative wonder is too much, too odd for others. The fear that what makes them human and vulnerable won’t be cared for or accepted.

Theater Camp doesn’t shy away from the reality that many creatives don’t make a living doing their craft. For most people, their creativity is relegated elsewhere whether it be after their day jobs, craved out time in their summers, or wherever they can find the time and space for it. Theater Camp highlights the desire and need to keep up with your craft in spite of all of the obstacles. It is a means to find purpose, to find community, to explore parts of yourself. It can be scary, but that mixture of trepidation and excitement can be fuel for you.

It is difficult to be a creative person. To bear your soul for others to judge and to quantify. To show your truth, knowing it will be continually wounded, and being brave enough to do it over and over again. To give it your all every time, whether it is packed theater, or five bored humans seeking air conditioning in the summer. Theater Camp understands this, and celebrates that courage. When a parody is done right, it not only playfully pokes fun at the eccentricities of the people in a community, but it also highlights what makes those same people so magical. Theater Camp sees the people who are fearless enough to feel and exist so deeply in order to make art. Art that makes others feels seen and understood, maybe feel less alone if even for a moment. 

This is also why I love talking to directors and writers and actors and creative people in general. I am drawn to their pluckiness as they share the deepest wells of themselves. Sharing their sense of wonder in their own humanness and the humanness of those around them.  I have such admiration for their honesty, their authenticity, and their love. Theater Camp continually reminded me of creative people I admire. The filmmakers who turn their teenage years and their complicated relationship with religion into a feature film that makes a part of you feel so validated and less shameful about your adolescence. The filmmakers who take their childhood wonder and the tenacity of their youth, and make short films that inspire you to take a moment to ensure your younger self knows her wild ideas are still special. The filmmakers who share the devolution of their relationship, the loss of a loved one, their struggles with mental health, their experiences with the human condition, and make you feel a little less alone carrying your own humanness. The filmmakers who so profoundly love the complexity and messiness of people, that you cannot help but lean into that love too. 

A long time ago, I packed away what felt like far-fetched dreams. I settled for pragmatism rather than journeying into fortitude. I may have stored away that well of weirdness, those bold ideas, that fearlessness, that undying belief in myself, but even as life changed, I still brought it with me. I snuck it into the car before my mom drove me to college. I dragged those hopes and dreams with me as I moved across the country for grad school. And every time I moved into a new apartment, I always managed to make space for it. Even when it was collecting dust, I’d still check to make sure if it was there. Then I watched a film that reminded me not just that this trunk of creative chutzpah still exists, but that the contents inside are magical. My wonder and spirit are there. It is both exhilarating and utterly terrifying. 

Yet, if Theater Camp has taught me anything, it’s that not everyone will get it. For example, Practical Magic only has a 23% on Rotten Tomato, and despite being a cinematic masterpiece, many people didn’t understand it. But there will be people who understand what you’re doing. They will say, “I see this, and I see you there too.” Those are the people you did it for to begin with. The ones who saw your work and had a lightbulb moment of their own. 

Theater Camp is a love letter to the people who are courageous enough to share themselves. The people whose life was great impacted by the car scene in Titanic and thought, “I bet someone else experienced this too.”  The people who know their film will get a one star review on Letterboxd and be called “exhaustingly unfunny,” but make their film anyway because there will be someone out there who exclaims, “I feel so seen right now!” by their work. The people who are brave enough to be vulnerable and honest in order to make one other person feel a little less alone. Because those are the people to do it for. 

I love films so much. Part of the reason I love cinema is for the lightning-in-a-bottle moment you get with a film like Theater Camp. A film that makes you examine your own creativity, your own vulnerability, and gives you the courage to unpack, ever so slowly, the hopes and dreams you once had. To dust off what you thought was lost to your youth and the mid-aughts, and be proud you still have it. Be in awe it’s still there. And start to dig for the fearlessness you had at six so you can now share your audacious ideas and your authentic self.

You can read Morgan’s Theater Camp review here.
Theater Camp is in theaters July 14, 2023.