“I was in the ensemble cast, and we had the ugliest costumes ever. I was like, ‘This is the worst!’”
Lizzie Culp ’26 didn’t begin her theater journey with a standing ovation or her dream role. Instead, it started with a summer camp production of “Once Upon a Mattress,” where she played a knight in what she describes as “the ugliest costume ever.” Despite her initial disappointment, Lizzie found herself hooked — not by the spotlight, but by the camaraderie found in collaborating with other creatives. “I was at the camp with a bunch of my friends, and it was so fun that I had a great time,” she recalls. “Even though I hated my part, I kept coming back.”
Since those early, humble days, Lizzie has grown into a multifaceted theater artist, exploring singing, acting, directing, and even dramaturgy. However, her path wasn’t always this smooth. In high school, she struggled with self-doubt, believing that her teachers only cast her in musicals because of her singing voice. “I had no faith in my own acting abilities,” she admits. It wasn’t until her first semester at Swarthmore, when she landed a significant role in “The Wolves,” that she began to see herself as more than just a singer. “That show took over my first semester here, and it was the most incredible experience,” she beams. “I was like, ‘Okay, guess I’m minoring in theater now.’”
Lizzie’s openness to new experiences has helped shape her growth. “I act in whatever people want me to do,” she states with a laugh. “I’m very much like, ‘Oh, opportunity? Cool. I’ll go do that.’ And I think that’s how you grow — by doing a lot of different stuff.” This mindset has led her to take on a wide variety of roles, from Gertrude in “Seussical” to Louis in “Angels in America.” Lizzie sees each performance as a chance for growth, whether it’s learning how to embrace and embody a character’s emotional core, or figuring out how to navigate the challenges of a three-hour show.
But Lizzie’s journey hasn’t been a solo act. She attributes much of her growth to the supportive community within Swarthmore’s theater department. “There’s something about the theater department where it’s very insular, but every production feels like there’s new people to bring into the fold,” she says. “Everyone’s just so willing to be all in on a production.” This sense of belonging has consistently inspired Lizzie, who sees theater as a space where artists come together to create something meaningful. “I make theater for audiences, but I really make theater for the people I’m making it with,” she reflects. “That’s my favorite part.”
As someone relatively new to the theater world, I find Lizzie’s perspective enlightening. She helped me see theater as more than just a single performance, but as a collaborative art form that thrives on connection and creativity. “I feel like there’s so few things these days where you’re not staring at your phone or your laptop,” she explains. “You’re just in a room with people, and you’re like, ‘Let’s make art together.’ That doesn’t happen that much.” This concept of theater as a shared, ephemeral experience resonated with me. It’s not about creating perfection — it’s about the beauty in being present, of sharing something that exists only in that moment with those around you.
One of the most interesting parts of my conversation with Lizzie was hearing her thoughts on the relationship between actor and character. As a psychology and studio art double major, I’ve always been curious about where the line between “self” and “character” is drawn. Lizzie’s approach is both personally thoughtful and insightful, “I try to really get into their past and who they are as a person, but also think about them in relation to myself,” she explains. “There’s usually one line in a role that really speaks to me, and I build my understanding of the character around that.”
For Lizzie, acting doesn’t seem to be about losing herself in a role — it’s about finding connections between her own lived experiences and the characters. “I played Louis in ‘Angels in America’ last spring,” she reflects. “I’ve never had a partner die of AIDS, but I’ve experienced loss and have taken care of people who are ill. I think that’s how you understand a character …by narrowing in on the core emotional values.” Lizzie’s ability to draw upon her own life to step into someone else’s shoes creates her performances’ compelling charm.
When I asked Lizzie about common themes in her roles, she laughed. “Abandonment? That sounds really depressing, but that might be the most common theme. Whether I’m the abandoner or the abandoned varies.” While she doesn’t actively look for these roles, they’ve pushed her to explore a wide emotional range and have deepened her understanding of what it means to perform. “The power of theater is in its temporality,” she says. “It’s the fact that it doesn’t stick around. It’s not a movie that you can watch 500 times and it’ll be the same every time.”
What stands out most to me about Lizzie is her growth — not just as an artist, but as an individual, too. From her early days as a reluctant knight to her current dreams of becoming a director, she’s embraced every challenge as an opportunity to learn and evolve. “I’ve gained a lot of confidence in myself as an actor,” she says. “I went from thinking I was a horrible actor to thinking I was only typecast, to saying, ‘Maybe I can act.’”
As I listened to Lizzie reflect on her journey, I couldn’t help but feel inspired by her words. Her passion for theater was infectious, and her ability to find her own kind of joy in the process — whether she’s on stage, behind the scenes, or in the director’s chair — is a testament to her love for this art form. “There’s something deeply freeing about embodying someone else,” she says. “It helps you understand yourself better, but also just understand the world better.”
Lizzie Culp is a growing reminder of why we create, why we connect, and why we keep coming back to the stage, even when the costumes may be ugly and the roles may be small. Because in the end, it’s not about the spotlight. It’s about the people, the stories, and the magic of making something meaningful together.
