When the Lie Is the Character: Writing Protagonists Built on Deception
Written by TMS Director of Creative Development & Mentor, Eric Webb
I’m sure you have zero idea why this would come to mind, but today I want to talk about liars.
And I swear, we’re talking about theater…
Some characters lie to get what they want. Sometimes it’s a white lie, sometimes it’s a BIG lie. Others lie because the truth would cost them everything. The most compelling theatrical protagonists, however, often fall into a third category: characters whose entire identity is built on deception. Remove the lie, and there’s nothing left standing.
Hmmmm… I wonder why that’s on my brain…? Anyway…
These are not characters who occasionally shade the truth. They are characters whose relationships, status, or self-worth depend on a falsehood holding. And because theater thrives on pressure, contradiction, and exposure, this kind of character is a natural engine for drama.
When the lie is the character, every scene becomes dangerous.
Take Willy Loman in Death of a Salesman. Willy doesn’t just exaggerate his success—he lives inside a fantasy of it. His belief that being “well liked” guarantees achievement isn’t a tactic, it’s the foundation of his identity. To admit the truth would mean admitting that his life has failed. The lie keeps him moving. It also destroys him.
Or consider Nora from A Doll’s House. At first glance, her deception seems simple: she hides a loan. But the deeper lie is her belief that her role is to be protected, managed, and loved only in her obedience. The secret sustains her marriage until it exposes the emptiness beneath it. When the truth comes out, it doesn’t just end a relationship—it ends a worldview and cues the “doorslam heard round the world.”
What makes these characters so compelling is that the stakes are baked in. Exposure doesn’t merely cause trouble; it threatens annihilation. Love, safety, reputation, even self-recognition hang in the balance. The audience senses this immediately, often before they understand the specifics. Something feels unstable, and we lean forward waiting for the collapse.
There are several recurring types of protagonists built on deception. The Survivor lies to maintain safety or status—Blanche DuBois in A Streetcar Named Desire constructs a romanticized past because the present is unbearable. The Self-Deceiver genuinely believes the lie, like Willy Loman or even Oedipus, whose life is structured around a truth he cannot yet see. The Architect knowingly manipulates others—Tartuffe’s power comes from his control of narrative. And then there’s the Performer, the character who treats identity as a role, such as Algernon in The Importance of Being Earnest, where deception fuels comedy rather than tragedy.
For playwrights, the key is to write the lie into the DNA of the play. Establish it early, but don’t explain it too clearly. Let the audience sense contradiction through behavior, language, and avoidance. Salieri’s version of events in Amadeus feels persuasive until we notice how much it protects his wounded pride. In The Crucible, false accusations don’t emerge from nowhere—they grow out of a society that rewards them.
Once a play is in motion, lies demand escalation. One falsehood requires another, then another. New characters apply pressure. Someone else becomes complicit. The snowball quickly becomes an avalanche, leading to comedy in a farce, or devastation in a tragedy.
Eventually, truth collides with the lie—but rarely through a neat confession. More often, the lie simply stops working. When Nora leaves, it’s not because she’s caught, but because the deception no longer sustains her. When Stanley exposes Blanche, truth functions as brutality rather than justice, shattering all her peaceful illusions.
For actors and directors, these roles demand restraint. The lie should never be “played.” What’s played is the need for it—the fear, the hunger, the desperation beneath the words. Subtext carries the truth.
Audiences are fascinated by these liars because, all too often, we can see ourselves in them. We recognize the small lies we tell ourselves, amplified to theatrical scale.
We see the desperation, fear, and weakness in those around us who seek power through lies.
And it can give us the power to recognize the value of TRUTH.
So if you want to tackle one of these natural born liars in your work, ask a simple question: what truth would destroy your character if spoken aloud? Start there. The rest of the play will follow.
