Category Archives: Musical

The Theatre Ghost

Folk Belief / Supernatural Legend
Occupational Folklore — Performance / Supernatural

1. Text

According to JP, a theatre major at American University, it is widely believed among actors that every theatre is haunted. JP remarked, “There’s this idea that if a theatre doesn’t have a ghost, then it’s not a real theatre. People will talk about the ghost like it’s part of the company — like, ‘Oh, that was just Margaret, she likes to mess with the lights. Margaret is the name of the ghost at my hometown community theatre.” In the thespian experience, this belief is not treated like a horror story. Rather, it’s more matter of fact. “Even if people don’t say they believe in ghosts, they’ll still act like they do when something weird happens.” While the ghost does not inspire constant fear, its presence serves as a quiet overseer, subtly encouraging actors to stay disciplined out of concern for provoking its displeasure.

JP recounted several incidents that reinforced the belief for them and their peers. At various theatres she has performed at, she and others have reported hearing footsteps above the stage during late-night tech rehearsals, despite no one being scheduled in the catwalks. “Sometimes you’ll be alone, checking lighting cues, and you just know someone’s up there,” they said. “You feel watched. But then you look, and it’s empty. You get used to it.” Other stories involve doors closing on their own, props mysteriously going missing, and cold drafts in sealed rooms. “There’s a joke that if you forget your lines, it’s the ghost messing with you,” JP said, noting how the attribution of mistakes or malfunctions to a spectral presence creates a shared explanation — part humor, part ritual. JP emphasized that the presence of a ghost is never framed as malicious. The ghost is watching over the show. Making sure things run right and that the actors behave and respect the theatre.

2. Context

My childhood friend JP first encountered the idea that every theatre has a ghost during her early years in high school theatre. Unlike more formalized stage practices, this belief wasn’t something she read in a handbook or was taught by a director; it emerged instead from whispered stories backstage, joking warnings from older students, and the occasional unexplained flicker of a light or creak in the catwalk. The ghost lore was passed down informally, but consistently, and JP recalled being both intrigued and unsettled by how seriously some of her peers treated it.

This early exposure to theatre ghost legends served as a kind of initiation into the spiritual texture of performance space. JP explained that at first she thought it was a joke, but then
“Things in the theatre just happened. Weird things.” Her experience reflects a common pattern in folkloric transmission: belief that lives in the in-between, not quite serious, but not quite ironic either. The ghost was never officially acknowledged, but it lingered in the space as a shared understanding, subtly shaping behavior and mood. JP recalled how she and others in her community theatre would light scented candles during long rehearsals as offerings for the ghost. These actions, though never required, were widely understood as gestures of respect toward the spectral inhabitant of the space.

As JP transitioned to university theatre, she found the tradition not only persisted but deepened. “Every theatre I’ve worked in has a ghost,” she said. “And every group of actors has their own stories. Sometimes the ghost has a name, a backstory, even a favorite seat.” The ghost becomes part of the architecture — not just of the building, but of the community itself. For JP and many others, acknowledging the ghost is less about supernatural belief and more about honoring the memory and mystery that accumulate in performance spaces over time.

What makes this kind of belief so compelling is how it reflects a broader folkloric pattern: the connection between space, memory, and presence. JP noted how the ghost acts almost like a moral overseer. “You don’t want to be the one who disrespects the ghost. It’s like bad luck.” In this way, the ghost reinforces discipline and attentiveness, not through fear, but through tradition and shared reverence.

In sum, JP’s account of theatre ghosts illustrates how deeply embedded folklore is in the daily rhythms of performance life. The ghost is both metaphor and myth — a symbol of those who came before, a reminder of the theatre’s history, and a comforting, if uncanny, presence that binds the community through story and ritual.

3. Context

This belief in haunted theatres reflects a common theme in occupational and place-based folklore, where specific environments, particularly those imbued with high emotional energy, become sites of supernatural narrative. The idea that “every theatre is haunted” is both a literal superstition for some and a symbolic expression of the liminality of theatrical space. A theatre is inherently in-between: between fantasy and reality, between actor and audience, between everyday life and the world of the play. In folklore studies, such liminal spaces are often associated with the supernatural.

The ghost becomes a personification of memory and tradition within the theatre. Whether or not individuals believe in literal ghosts, the stories serve as a way of connecting the present company to past performances and performers. It offers continuity across generations and productions, creating a sense of sacredness around the theatre space. By giving the ghost a name, performers not only “own” the legend but also invite it into their communal identity — blurring the line between character, audience, and spirit.

Furthermore, attributing strange or disruptive events to the ghost provides a socially acceptable way to manage fear, stress, or uncertainty. If a light cue goes wrong or someone forgets a line, blaming “the ghost” allows the group to defuse tension and humorously redirect frustration. This aligns with the functionalist theory of folklore, where narratives and beliefs serve social and psychological purposes, even if they are not factually “true.”

Additionally, theatres make use of the “ghost light” — a single bulb left burning on stage when the theatre is dark. This is a perfect example of how ritual and practicality blend in folklore. While its technical purpose is to prevent injury in a dark space, it is widely described as a way to appease theatre ghosts and keep them from causing mischief. This convergence of utility and superstition further illustrates how deeply embedded folklore is in everyday theatrical practice.

In sum, theatre ghost stories are not just about the paranormal. They are about belonging, tradition, and emotional truth. They mark the theatre as a space set apart, one that holds memories, magic, and mystery, whether real or imagined.

No Whistling in Theatre Spaces

Folk Belief / Superstition
Occupational Folklore – Theatre / Behavioral Taboo

1. Text

JP, a theatre major at American University, described a well-established superstition within theatrical environments: the belief that whistling inside a theatre invites bad luck or misfortune. According to JP, this is not merely a stylistic or aesthetic preference, but a behavioral taboo actively enforced in rehearsal and backstage settings, especially backstage. “You might be whistling without thinking, and someone will stop you immediately,” she noted. “People treat it as disruptive, even dangerous,” JP noted that she can’t whistle either way, but believes the superstition is a little dramatic.

JP recounted watching someone in her college program reprimanded for whistling during her first year in university theatre. “I didn’t know it was a problem. This girl was humming and then started to whistle backstage during tech week, and someone cut him off — not angrily, but urgently. They told her, ‘That’s something we don’t do here.’ I laughed. I thought it was so crazy and comical, but the girl who whistled had the biggest look of shame.”

Although JP does not personally attribute supernatural consequences to the act of whistling, she adheres to the custom out of respect for the collective understanding. “I don’t believe something bad will happen, but I know it’s part of the culture. You don’t want to violate the space or distract people, especially when the stakes are high. Additionally, I don’t want conflict with other people, so even if I could whistle, I still would not.”

2. Context

JP learned this superstition informally during her early involvement in university theatre. The belief was not introduced through any institutional channel or training, but rather through peer correction, a method common in the transmission of occupational folklore. The reprimand she saw another student experience served as an entry point into the implicit behavioral norms that govern theatrical spaces — rules which are often unspoken but widely upheld. Additionally, her unfamiliarity with the superstition prior to entering this particular theatre context highlights the localized nature of folklore transmission and how such beliefs can vary significantly across different performance communities.

The belief in the danger of whistling in a theatre is historically grounded. JP informed me that in the 19th and early 20th centuries, stage riggers — many of whom had maritime backgrounds — used a system of coded whistles to signal cue changes for scenery, rigging, and fly systems. An unintentional whistle could therefore result in mistimed or hazardous movements backstage. While modern stagecraft no longer relies on such signaling systems, the associated taboo persists as a form of cultural residue, maintained more for its symbolic weight than its practical relevance.

JP explained that even though the original rationale is no longer operational, the custom remains widespread and now it has now become a very looming superstition. “People treat it as disrespectful,” she said. “It’s not just about the sound. It’s about what it implies — that you’re not actively engaged and focused in the way you should be.” As such, the act of whistling violates more than etiquette; it breaches a collectively upheld boundary of theatrical conduct.

3. Interpretation

The prohibition against whistling in a theatre functions as a behavioral taboo within the occupational folk group of stage performers and technicians. Its persistence, despite the disappearance of its original practical necessity, is a testament to the role of tradition as a mechanism of cultural continuity. In this context, the act of whistling is not inherently harmful, but it becomes symbolically charged within a space where control, precision, and attentiveness are paramount.

From a folkloristic perspective, this taboo aligns with other examples of ritual avoidance behavior — prohibitions enacted not because of empirical risk, but because of their perceived symbolic danger. The theatre, as a liminal space in which transformation and performance occur, is often surrounded by customs that reinforce spatial and emotional boundaries. Whistling, an unsolicited and uncontrolled auditory act, is viewed as an intrusion upon the ritual environment of rehearsal or performance.

Moreover, the belief plays a significant role in group boundary maintenance. Through mechanisms of correction and social enforcement, practitioners reaffirm their identity as members of a professional tradition. The act of stopping someone from whistling, particularly a novice, is both a disciplinary and didactic act: it reasserts collective values while initiating the newcomer into the shared culture of theatrical practice.

Even among those who do not interpret the act superstitiously, the continued observance of the rule suggests a broader understanding of folklore’s functional value. Customs such as this one provide structure and coherence within an otherwise unpredictable environment. The taboo against whistling operates not merely as a superstition but as a ritualized gesture of respect toward the space, the craft, and the community of practitioners who maintain it.

In sum, JP’s account illustrates how occupational folk groups preserve behavioral norms through informal transmission, even when the original rationale has been obscured or rendered obsolete. In doing so, these traditions help define the emotional architecture of performance spaces and maintain a shared sense of discipline, identity, and continuity.

Bucktoothed Buzzards – Ballad

Nationality: American
Age: 19
Occupation: Student
Residence: Los Angeles
Language: English

Text/Context: “This is a girl scout song that we would always do at sleepaway camp, around the campfire, a bunch of sugar-high girls, the whole deal. At least in my unit, it was always reserved for the oldest troop. The eldest girls on their way out of the program are the ones teaching it to the younger girls, they have that privilege. And with girl scout songs, when you’re the one leading them you have to give 300% so that anyone else only has to give 50%. We usually do this starting at 3 or 4 but I’ll start at 2 for the sake of time.

Two buck toothed buzzards, sitting in a dead tree. Ohhh no. One has flown aaa-way. What aaa shame. Darn. 

One buck toothed buzzard, sitting in a dead tree. Ohhh no. One has flown aaa-way. What aaa shame. Darn.

No buck toothed buzzards, sitting in a dead tree. Ohhh look. One has reee-turned, let us reee-joice. Hallelujah!

One buck toothed buzzard, sitting in a dead tree. Ohhh look. One has reee-turned, lett us reee-joice. Hallelujah!”

Analysis: The girl scouts are one of the largest and most well known folk groups, and the scale is reflected in the variety of folklore they have to offer. My sister was a girl scout for a few years, so I thought I was familiar with most of their folklore, but I have never heard this song before. It has a similar structure to other silly folk songs, with the counting and all, but I think it separates itself from others like it in a few unique ways. When performing this song for me, my informant also performed a dance that she said is essential to the song. It was quite the interesting dance with lots of unusual motions, and those combined with the unique delivery and enunciation made it very interesting. I already understood that being a girl scout is an experience that sticks with people forever, but seeing this performance and hearing what my informant had to say about it really reinforced that fact. It goes to show how powerful folk groups really are, and how even something like a silly song can mean so much more.

Arirang

Text:

Arirang is a traditional Korean ballad that is thought to have originated from a folktale–the true origins, however, are unknown. The name of the ballad comes from a legend of a man and a woman who fell in love while picking flowers near a lake called Auraji(아우라지). The name “auraji” comes from the Korean word “eoureojida” (어우러지다) which loosely means “be in harmony” or “to meet”. The man and the woman lived on opposite sides of the Auraji, to longed to be united. In his yearning, the man attempts to cross the Auraji, but drowns. However, while he’s drowning, he sings the song Arirang to his lover in an attempt to console her.

Context:

The informant heard this song simply as she was growing up in Korea. During her childhood, Korea was going through an economic, social, and cultural crisis, and many people were still remembering the ghosts of the Korean War a few decades prior.

Analysis

Today, Arirang typically is seen as a song that represents the people’s wishes to reunite North and South Korea. The lyrics and melody carry the Korean concept of han(although this is a post-modern interpretation of the ballad, as han originates from colonial Korea in the 20th century), which is the concept of a collective feeling of sorrow or resentment, grief, and longing in the face of hardship. This is especially symbolic, as Korea has had a long history of political turmoil, and carries most recently the scars of Japanese colonialism, but still prioritizes unity and perseverance even with these challenges.

Because Arirang is a relatively old ballad–it’s thought to be at least 600 years old–I find it interesting that it is still relevant today, despite there being over a thousand different variations of it. It’s seen as a protest song, an unofficial anthem of resistance over (dictatorial) authority), but its lyrics tell a touching, mournful story. I personally see it as the people telling others that only by uniting and remember their past can they overcome hardship(this goes hand-in-hand to the idea that folklore helps with identity on a national level).

Slender Man

Nationality: Korean- American
Age: 20
Occupation: Student
Residence: Los Angeles, California
Language: English

Text: I watched a youtube video in the fourth grade, with some of my friends, that described the lore behind Slender Man. I didn’t really believe in his existence, but I would be lying if I said I wasn’t afraid of the possibility of him being real. I used to live in a densely forested area, and walking back from my friend’s home at night, during the peak of the distribution of Slender Man information, I would always run to avoid any possible encounters with this entity. Its not even that I saw him, or a figure resembling it at all, I was just worried at the possibility. When the trend of talking about slender man died down, though, I found myself not being fearful.

Context: Informant first became exposed to the idea of Slender Man in the fourth grade. They describe that it was a sort of “trend” to be knowledgable or discuss the figure at school and amongst friends. The informant believes that The Slender Man’s ability to scare the younger populations is what lead to its prevalence in the community. Informant believes that The Slender Man legend had the ability to create unity within younger populations through a collective fear.

Analysis: I find the contemporary legend of Slender Man to be very critical to understanding the interaction between folklore and the internet. It is undeniable that the propagation of his lore was attributed to social media, and many agree that his origin point was the web. Though he originated on a digital platform, he quickly took on the qualities of traditional folklore. He began to spread by means of oral tradition, and his stable presence proves that, even with technology, folklore continues to prosper.