Dare to Be Spectacular

Written by TMS Director of Creative Development & Mentor, Eric Webb

I am writing to you from the hazy afterglow of the 2026 New York Comic Con!

Any of you who know me in real life know that I’m a huge nerd (like… 10,000 issues of comic books nerd), so it’s likely not any real surprise that going to New York Comic Con is essentially a must-do for me every year.

Now, I’ve been going every year for the last 15 years. It’s essentially my second Christmas and I actively look forward to it absolutely every year. 

But this year was different: I brought my wife and daughter to the last day of the Con.

I’m not going to lie, I was nervous bringing them… my love for all things comic, gaming, fantasy etc have all DEFINITELY rubbed off on my kid, but there’s always that fear of rejection when you let someone into something you care deeply about. What if they think it’s dumb? What if they hate it? Or, perhaps worse… what if the response is the dull silence of apathy? “This is it? THIS is what you get all giddy about every October?”

But fear not, loyal readers… that fear was entirely unfounded. In fact, it led to a bit of an epiphany.

The journey to the Javits Center where the Con is held is one of ever-increasing sensory overload. When we first got on the train in Queens, my daughter was disappointed that she didn’t see anybody else in costume (she dressed up as Kirby. And was freaking adorable). But then as the ride went on it was two costumes… five costumes… seven. And then you land at Hudson Yards and an explosion of literary, cinematic, and artistic culture spews forth onto the platform, up to the streets, and into a glass crucible of character, narrative, identity, and community.

My daughter’s eyes went wide taking it all in. Joy radiating from her.

And I realized… I’ve seen that look on her face before.

It was four years ago when we took her to her first Broadway show. The Lion King. Rafiki comes on stage and calls out to the animal kingdom, and suddenly the theater is alive with all the flora and fauna of the African plains… and there was that look. The wide-eyed “I can’t believe I’m seeing this” joy of utter theatrical spectacle.

Seeing it again on her face the other day reminded me of just how important that “wow” factor is in ANY kind of storytelling.

And this idea isn’t new or a Disney breakthrough… it’s ancient. We remember that Aristotle outlines for us that silly little things like plot and character are essentials for any kind of good storytelling. But people often forget that he also called out the need for spectacle (and yes, for any of you purists, I know he listed it last, calling it the “least important” element (he clearly didn’t have many scenic designers for friends…), but he included it!).

Now, I know this desire for spectacle in entertainment might fall under the category of “duh” for most people, but in our contemporary age of theater that feels built around compression, simplification, and budget… it often feels like we no longer have permission to write spectacle. We can’t write that chandelier falling onto the stage any longer for fear that a producer will read that and dismiss it as “unproduceable.”

But not all spectacle has to be Hal Prince-sized.

Like I always say… for every theatrical conundrum there’s a ten dollar solution and a ten thousand dollar solution.  And the beauty of it is… they are both capable of inspiring awe and evoking spectacle.

We see the same in all of the wonderful costumes worn at Comic Con… We most definitely saw the ten thousand dollar version of Doctor Octopus, Jurassic Park velociraptors, and anime goddesses - shocking in their verisimilitude and detail, but we also saw the ten dollar versions… passion projects of innovation and budget-friendly creativity that told not only the stories of the characters they were embodying but of the creator themself. 

Each was beautiful in their own right, told their own stories, and widened every eye that took them in.

And it all just reminded me that every story should have some spectacle, even in this age of 90 minute, single set, five actor productions. It doesn’t need to be huge. It can be subtle. It can be small. It can be gentle. But it needs to give us that same moment of… “wow.”

So what’s your piece’s spectacle? What’s the moment that you know is just going to take your audience’s breath away?

And if you don’t have one. Find one.

Because at the end of the day, we all go to the theater longing to feel like that nine year old kid… eyes wide, bewildered and amazed at the beauty of art.