Harry Speirs is a freelance journalist, poet, theatre-maker and visual artist from Hertfordshire

“In the theatre, the director is God – unfortunately, the actors are atheists” is a phrase that bumped (not always comically) around rehearsal rooms back when I trained to be an actor. There is undeniably a link between putting faith in something you cannot hear, see or properly sense and the trust an actor must put in the director’s final ‘vision’. A director, after all, is the final hand that holds a script together whilst deciding how what is written comes to pass on stage. Attributed to different individuals, ranging from comedians to performers and, finally, correctly to Slovenian writer and director Žarko Petan, my opening phrase has made an unlikely comeback whenever anyone questions whether theatre needs its leader – the director.

As church congregations across the UK have declined, so too have these heroes. Fewer and fewer companies employ any kind of director to orchestrate how their narratives will unfold or what they will ‘mean’. You can pin it down to any number of avant-garde eruptions in popular theatre or to the personal foibles that we reviewers are so often privy to spotting: the trendy solo writer/performer classic hitting the stage; shorter tenures across the theatre industry; even that age-old favourite, ‘cost cutting’, which squeezes the director’s role with particular force. All too often, we see shows that are desperately in need of such a managing force.

At their best, directors are more than tyrannical micromanagers. Whilst reviewing a show at Brixton House this September, I watched one shape-shift into a character in less than 24 hours due to cast illness. Not to mention that this absent actor was famous and well regarded, and had appeared in both Doctor Who and the original History Boys, which merely added to the strength of the spell cast on the audience by this jack of all trades. A director should know the script, movement and performances, and, if the ship is going down due to ticket sales or otherwise, they must be the first to furl the sail against defeat.

A rehearsal snaps with electricity like a light switched on when the director decides to turn the play’s elements on and off at the right time. Such was the ability of William Maynard, an incredible man who first showed me this maddening but all-encompassing industry we belong to. I still use his voice warm-ups to this day – whilst prepping for interviews or pitching to the media – and it was he who first taught me how to properly read a script. Through the guiding presence of other male and female directors, I have learnt Shakespeare, Beckett, Kane and many, many more. Good directors are good for theatre’s ecosystem, from raising young performers starting out at the bottom to managing the cream that rises to the very top.

This is not to say that there aren’t bad directors. Believe me, I’ve known my fair share, having admittedly been one on occasion myself. It’s no mean feat for any ‘young buck’ in their twenties to believe they can run a show at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe without professional, let alone psychiatric, help. It requires a bending but resolute, empathetic yet forthright, organised but, in fact, malleable temperament – one that I so often failed to muster, let alone master. Take director Richard Eyre as another example of brilliance. When Daniel Day-Lewis was replaced by Ian Charleson, who was dying of AIDS-related complications, mid-way through the 1989 production of Hamlet, it created one of the production’s most memorable stories – recently brought to the screen by Stephen Beresford in Elsinore coming out later this year. Writers can hide behind their scripts and actors within their characters or performances. But when a show goes sour, a bad director is always, always blamed.

Directors may not get their full share of the laurels. They are often overlooked in favour of the star performer, the writer’s dialogue, which they have fashioned into something audible, and even the costume and set designers’ tricky ploys with the set. Directors too often slip into the backstage shadows. Unlike their friends over in film, they cannot rely on a large credit reel to proclaim them the big cheese once the curtain has descended. I’ve watched countless shows where that hidden guiding force and final picture remain disguised within a script that is attempting to be far too many different types of story.

It’s no walk in the park, for sure. But to those who are considering waving the paper script around, researching history, literature, geography, fashion and much more without fatigue, in preparation for those who are only ever ordered to forget they were there whilst on stage, I implore you to carry on. There is a much-needed place for you directors. We reviewers want you now more than ever. Our brave, brave soldiers of order, meaning, empathy and control. I take my cap off to you.

Harry Speirs is a freelance journalist, poet, theatre-maker and visual artist from Hertfordshire.  He specialises in data driven research alongside Arts and Culture journalism.  His poetry has been published in Dusk Magazine, Twisted Ink, Era Journal and UCL's Writer's Block.