WHO ARE YOU TALKING TO?
Stop forcing a scene partner into songs that don’t actually have one. Not every moment is built for direct address, and when you invent a target that isn’t supported by the text, you flatten the storytelling. Some of the most compelling work in musical theatre comes from letting a character be truly alone. And playing what that solitude actually does to them.
STOP FORCING A SCENE PARTNER
A lot of actors get stuck in the belief that you must be singing to someone at all times, as if naming a partner automatically unlocks the acting.
I’m a Broadway acting coach, and that’s not always true.
If the character’s scene partner is present, absolutely. Aim your ideas at the person who’s there. Place them. Refer to them. Make it about them. That’s foundational.
But not every song gives you a partner. And pretending otherwise denies the given circumstances.
WHEN THE CHARACTER IS ACTUALLY ALONE
Some songs are built on solitude. The character is alone onstage, and the moment depends on that fact.
Think about “The Wizard and I.” Once Madame Morrible leaves, Elphaba is alone with a dream. In “Astonishing,” Jo is alone with the weight of who she wants to become. In “Empty Chairs at Empty Tables,” the room is empty.
The absence is the point.
WHAT CHANGES WHEN YOU PLAY SOLITUDE
When you stop inventing a fake partner and actually explore being alone, your behavior shifts.
Your eyes respond to thought instead of locking onto a single target. Your focus moves. A memory hits. A new idea pulls you somewhere else.
Solitude has movement. It’s active.
You don’t stare at one imaginary person and hold. You follow a thread, and that thread evolves.
LET THE MIND TRAVEL
When someone is alone, their attention isn’t fixed. It drifts, sharpens, redirects.
Where do you look when you’re figuring something out? What happens in your body when a new idea clicks? How do you gesture when no one is watching?
Those are the behaviors that create authenticity. Not stapling a pretend partner in front of you.
WHEN THE CHARACTER IS ALONE BUT NOT EMPTY
Some songs exist in a different kind of space. The character may be physically alone, but their imagination is populated.
“She Used to Be Mine” is a clear example. Jenna can be in conversation with multiple parts of her world at once — her past self, her future, her child, her fear, her hope.
You don’t need to reduce that to one literal partner. You can place those emotional anchors around the room and let your attention shift between them.
That creates nuance without breaking the given circumstances.
FROM SOLITUDE TO SOLIDARITY
There are also moments where a character begins alone and then expands beyond that.
In “Back to Before,” Mother starts in a private space. In the bridge, she shifts into something larger — speaking on behalf of other women, recognizing she is not alone.
That’s not the same as inventing a partner. That’s a shift in scale. From solitude to solidarity.
IF YOU NEED A DIRECTION
If you need a directional choice for the voice, there are still honest options.
You can sing to God. To the universe. To someone far away who can’t hear you. You can even let the audience function as a confidant.
Those choices give the sound direction without denying the reality of being alone.
ASK A BETTER QUESTION
Instead of asking, “Who am I singing to?” try asking something more useful:
What does this character’s aloneness actually look like? How does their attention move? What are they figuring out in real time?
Those questions lead to behavior, not just placement.
🥜 IN A NUTSHELL
Not every song needs a target. When the character is alone, play the solitude. Let the mind move, let the thoughts land, and let us watch you think instead of pretending someone is there.
