Marketing that Whispers: What My Parents Knew About Filling a Theatre

This isn’t about ticket sales. It’s about trust, welcome, and building spaces people want to return to—whether for a show, or something much bigger. This is for the people who send the emails, paint the sets, greet patrons at the door, and ask themselves if anyone’s still listening.

Everything I know about marketing, I probably learned by accident.

Not in a class. Not from a book. But from quietly watching two very different people—my parents—build a life, a business, and a legacy together. They were married nearly 60 years before my mother passed, and even in her final moments, my father sat beside her, holding her hand, completely in sync without saying a word. They had that kind of connection. The kind we spend lifetimes trying to create.

And they couldn’t have been more different.

If you were to describe them in produce terms (and let’s be honest, why wouldn’t you?), my dad was a celery stalk: sturdy, practical, quietly observant. My mother? A rutabaga in a banana peel: vibrant, unpredictable, and utterly unforgettable.

And somehow, they worked.

My mother had a gift for people. She could sense what someone needed before they said it. She was the kind of person who spoke for others when they couldn’t find their own voice. My dad, on the other hand, was brilliant in his own quiet way. He wasn’t formally educated, but he could build anything from scratch and replicate dimensions from sight alone. They started a business together when I was young. It grew slowly, steadily, over decades—not because of flashy ads or big campaigns, but because of how they treated people. They whispered, and people listened.

They didn’t need a billboard. They built trust. And it lasted.

The Louder She Got, the Less He Heard

As he got older, my dad began to lose his hearing. My mom, ever determined, would raise her voice to ask him something. He’d miss it entirely. But say something from another room in a normal voice? He’d answer instantly.

It was hilarious. It was also profound.

I watched this dynamic over and over, and I eventually realized: volume doesn’t always equal clarity. In fact, the louder my mom got, the less effective it was.

That same pattern shows up in marketing. In theatre, we think if we just say it louder—bigger fonts, brighter graphics, more exclamation points—people will hear us. But maybe the answer isn’t more noise.

Whisper marketing is subtle storytelling, the kind that doesn’t shout for attention but gently invites people in.

What Whisper Marketing Really Mean

Zack, my co-founder and close friend, and I go out to dinner every Thursday night. It’s a ritual. Sure, we talk about the business we created together. But we also talk about gardens. Refurbished bathrooms. What we cooked. What we dream about. What made us laugh.

You want to know why Ludus feels different? It’s not just the product. It’s that foundation. It’s the quiet, weekly reminder to stay human first. To build a company the way my parents built theirs: slow, intentional, personal.

That’s what whisper marketing is. It’s not silence. It’s intimacy. It’s subtle repetition. It’s showing up as your full self so people feel like they already know you before they walk in your door.

Sell the Space Before You Sell the Show

We’ve spent decades, loudly and unknowingly, proclaiming that some people don’t belong in a theatre. Unspoken dress codes. Insider language. Confusing pricing. A velvet rope of tradition. These are barriers that say, “This isn’t for you.”

Theatres must push back on the assumption that theatre already feels like community to everyone. The fix isn’t in the programming. It’s in the welcome. We need to stop asking, “Do you belong here?” and start loudly whispering, “We saved you a seat.”

Case Study: Two River and the Power of Environment

Two River Theater in New Jersey gets it. Michael Hurst, Director of Audience Engagement, was important in the redesign of their entire audience experience. Comfortable lobby seating. Ambient music. Local art. A help desk staffed by friendly faces, not security guards. They host Play Dates with free daycare and discounted matinee tickets for parents. They hold holiday pop-up events with music, shopping, and celebration.

They don’t just market their shows. They market a sense of welcome.

It’s Not the Show. It’s the Experience.

One local community theatre even launched a “First-Timer Night” where new guests were offered a mini-tour, a warm greeting, and a complimentary drink.

What happened? Return attendance spiked. Not because of the programming, but because of the experience.

A 2023 study by TRG Arts found that people are over 60% more likely to return if their first visit simply feels welcoming, or just easy. And yet we still spend ten times more effort promoting the product than preparing the place.

And let’s not forget: the very first point of contact for most patrons isn’t the parking lot or the box office, it’s your ticketing system. If buying tickets online feels confusing, outdated, or frustrating, they won’t show up at all. People won’t go in person, and they won’t call. They’ll just walk away. Make it easy. Make it simple. Make it part of the experience, not a barrier to it.

None of these need massive budgets. They just need intention. That’s quiet momentum in action: creating the feeling that says, “You belong here.”

A Car Wash, a Sandwich, and the Real Brand

The other day, I went through a car wash, something I almost never do. The person at the window treated me like we were old friends. They laughed at my bad joke, mercifully. They mentioned a 3-wash pass and said I’d be welcome back anytime, pass or not.

I bought it. And I left smiling.

I didn’t go back for the wash. I went back for the way I felt driving away.

Marketing didn’t sell me. Belonging did.

Same thing with theatre. I’ve seen Mamma Mia! more times than I care to admit. The ones I remember? They weren’t the most polished productions. They were the ones where the staff treated me like I already belonged. Like I was part of something.

And here’s where a Facebook thread recently hit me hard: someone asked if board members should be invited to a post-show cast party. Most of the responses said no. But it left me thinking, isn’t the post-show party a celebration of the whole community? If we can’t build bridges within our own walls, how can we ask strangers to feel at home when they walk in?

Let’s not forget, we are Community Theatre. Community comes first, even in the name. We spend so much time and money advertising shows, and so little time marketing our community, our brand, and our people. If we don’t model what a true community looks like inside our doors, we can’t expect it to show up at the box office.

The Patron Experience Is Your Brand

If we want to fill theatres, we need to stop thinking about shows and start thinking about spaces. Environments. Moments. Memories.

That starts with:

• Creating spaces that feel like home
• Putting your people forward, not just your programming
• Inviting community into your theatre, not just to your show
• Hosting real-life, non-show community events
• Following up, like a good host, with warmth and care

This isn’t soft marketing. It’s the kind of stuff people remember and talk about later. And if your space isn’t accessible to all kinds of bodies, stories, and needs, it’s not a community yet. Ticket sales are not the goal. Trust is.

What’s your theatre whispering, and who needs to hear it?

We need to stop asking, “Do you belong here?” and start loudly whispering, “We saved you a seat.“

My parents built a business on being fair, honest, and treating everyone the same. It’s still going, over 50 years later. They whispered their way into people’s lives.

And it worked.

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Now your turn: Share one thing you do to make your patrons feel truly welcome