Teaching Choreography to Non-Dancers Is a Different Skill
I’ve been a choreographer for over twenty years. If you paid me and the check cleared, I showed up.
Early in my career I thought the job was mostly about technique. Knowing the counts. Building phrases. Getting people to execute movement correctly.
Over time I realized technical ability is maybe thirty percent of the job.
The rest of it is people.
You have to be likable. You have to understand group dynamics. You have to read a room. Dancing can make people feel incredibly vulnerable, especially if movement is not something they do naturally. The last person a vulnerable dancer wants to work with is someone they don’t like or don’t trust.
That realization didn’t happen overnight. It came from years of working, burning out, and figuring out what actually matters. I wrote more about that in my post on creative burnout, but it completely changed how I approach teaching.
Over the years I’ve worked with professionals and with people who had never danced a day in their lives. And strangely enough, some of the most rewarding work I’ve done has been with the non-dancers.
Why Community Theatre Works So Well
Through all my experiences, I’ve found the most joy working with community theatres on musical productions.
Everyone who shows up to audition is actively choosing to be there. No one is forcing them. They want to sing. They want to act. They want to create art on a larger scale. Working on a team and with a team creates a dynamic that’s unusual and really fun.
That intention changes the energy of the room immediately.
It makes my job easier because people are already open to trying. Even if they are nervous about the choreography, they showed up knowing movement would be part of the process. I’m here to help, not hinder.
Of course, that doesn’t mean the experience is always smooth.
Some moments stick with you.
“I Hate Doing Choreography”
This is something I hear more often than you would think. At least a dozen times a year someone will walk into a musical audition, look me in the eye, and say something like, “Just so you know, I hate choreography.”
It’s usually followed by an uncomfortable laugh.
Every time I hear it I have the same thoughts.
This is a musical audition. Also, why are you telling me this? I’m helping cast this show. You knew there was going to be some sort of movement tonight.
Usually the comment is coming from a place of nerves. People feel the need to warn me in advance that dancing is not their strength. What they don’t realize is that I already know that.
If you’re auditioning for community theatre, I’m not expecting Broadway-level technique. I’m here to gather information. It’s my job to see what’s there and build movement that works for the cast in front of me.
What I’m looking for is willingness and openness. I want to help you!
The Performer Who Thinks They Know the Counts
Every now and then I encounter the opposite situation.
The performer who believes they know more than the choreographer.
Of course art is subjective, and I learn something from every experience. But there is a time and place for everything, and how you deliver feedback matters.
It usually starts small. A correction about counts. A suggestion about how the movement “should” be executed.
I’m usually equipped with a one-liner to shut it down. Nothing mean, but enough to drive the point home. I’m the choreographer and you’re here to learn.
Most of the time I let it roll off my back. But people don’t always realize how much preparation happens before rehearsal even begins. The choreography I bring into the room is usually the result of multiple conversations with directors to figure out their vision.
I’m not just making things up in the key of me.
When someone starts trying to overwrite what I’ve prepared, it can throw off the room. And when you’re working with non-dancers, rehearsal time is precious. I’m essentially trying to compress twenty years of knowledge into a crash course so the final product looks good enough for the stage.
Moments like that remind me choreography is as much about leadership as it is about movement.
The Apologetic Dancer
Another moment I see over and over again is the dancer who apologizes before we even begin.
“I’m sorry, I’m not a dancer.”
“This is the part I’m terrible at.”
“Please don’t judge me.”
They walk into the room already convinced they’re going to be bad at it. What they don’t realize is that half the room feels exactly the same way. Once people realize they’re not the only one struggling, something shifts. The tension drops and people start trying instead of apologizing.
These dancers tend to become the hardest workers in the room. And when they finally have a breakthrough, you can see the moment it clicks.
That shift is one of my favorite things to watch. I’m always grateful I get to be part of it.
What Teaching Non-Dancers Is Really About
Teaching non-dancers isn’t really about perfect perfection. It’s about creating a space where people feel safe enough to try.
As someone who never fully fit the mold of what a dancer is supposed to look like, having someone in the room who genuinely wants to see you succeed can make a huge difference. It’s something I would have loved to experience when I was starting out.
At the end of the day we’re all at the theatre for the same reason. We love the performing arts, and we want to share that passion with an audience. Helping people find the confidence to move on stage is just one way I get to contribute to that.
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