I’m going in the wayback machine for today’s post. As many of you know, I’m a fan of live
theatre. Huge fan, in fact. And willing participant.
I’m proud to be able to share that joy with Little Danger,
who, at the age of 3, has managed to watch Hamlet in its entirety. He was well behaved and quiet, asking in a
whisper occasionally “Why he sad?” or things like that. He’s also enjoyed 4 viewings of Jesus Christ
Superstar, because Wifefish is AWESOME and kicked ass as Mary Magdelene. He was similarly spectacular at each show,
saving his singing for the car ride home.
(He does a fairly good rendition of “What’s the Buzz.”)
Today, I read an interesting and somewhat frightful article
regarding the decline of the American Audience in theatre. Between Shia Lebouf getting booted for being
a butthead and various cellphone infractions galore on Broadway, it appears
that audiences just can’t be bothered to politely pay attention. It’s like theatre has caught a bad case of
the assholes, which is a rash that can inhabit the house.
I was part of such an audience once, and it was not
fun. But oh, was it memorable.
In 1990, (I know, way back machine) I was a junior in high
school. Our English class would occasionally
take trips to the Repertory Theatre of St Louis, aka “The Rep”, to take in a
play. Thus it was that we went to see Fences, a fairly impressive production.
As luck would have it, this production had a guest
star. I (and my classmates, of course)
had a front row seat for a hell of a performance by none other than Avery
Brooks, who had been playing Hawk on television, and would of course go on to
play Captain Sisko on Deep Space Nine.
If you’ve seen the interview he did with Shatner, and you’ve
wondered what made Avery Brooks go insane, wonder no more. It was the audience that day that cracked his
sanity; I’m sure of it. The experience
lay in his mind like ticking time bomb, triggering an aneurism in later years
as I imagine he recalled the scene over and over until only the piano could
save him.
The play itself was good, the actors quite talented. The set was AMAZEBALLS, including a kitchen
just inside the door of the house façade that had running water. Talk about your practicals! A working kitchen faucet!
I’ll assume you’re not familiar with the play itself, so
here’s your synopsis. I’ll wait for you to come back.
Back? Awesome. As you can see, that was some heavy subject
matter for a high school class, but really, just a great show. Unfortunately, the day we attended was also a
day in which the hosting college had sent many of their own students for extra
credit. To say they misbehaved would be
an understatement of epic proportions.
It’s like saying Hulk has anger issues.
I was largely focused on the stage, and missed a great deal
of the inappropriate stuff. In
discussions on the bus ride home, others recalled a plethora of audience
problems. Candy wrapper opening,
mumbling, discussing, snoring. (Granted,
that last one I’d nearly been guilty of my own self in a production of Henry IV
in that very house. My teacher forgave
me for it, saying it bored her, too.)
But I remember clearly the fight between father and son,
Avery’s character Troy going after Cory with a baseball bat in some very
convincing combat choreagraphy, and how the audience wasn’t, as I was,
horrified at the prospect. Instead they
howled with glee. Someone in the back
yelled “get that motherfucker.” Candy
was thrown on the stage. Reflect on that
for a moment. Someone attending an
institute of higher learning decided that part of their extra credit included
throwing candy at a live cast in one of the premier theatres of the city. Acute case of the assholes.
At show’s end, it was obvious that the cast was as happy as
a seal at a polar bear reunion. The curtain call was terse, short, and
perfunctory. Each actor wore a frown,
scowl, or other dour demeanor, clearly pissed off at having wasted a damn good
performance on such an unappreciative bunch.
(It bears mentioning that not one single member of our class had participated
in any of these shenanigans.)
"Who raised these kids?"
Most of the cast left the stage, whilst most of the audience
started to get up and go their merry way. Avery stood center stage and just
watched. After what could only be called
a dramatic pause, he spoke. He used what
was then the “Hawk voice” and would become the “Sisko’s pissed basso profundi.” Two words, bouncing off the sound clouds as
if spoken through a loudspeaker.
“BE. SEATED.”
It garnered an amazing response. Everyone sat their ass down, responding to
the commanding tone as if he’d been holding the nickel-plated .357 he held
every week on our TVs. Playing a hitman
can command a bit of respect.
After a scant few moments to let everyone sit, he began his
lecture. Worthy of a professor of
theatre, he launched on a diatribe that had even those of us who’d done nothing
wrong slinking down in our seats. He
wielded shame like a bludgeon, at one point walking stage right, plucking a
twizzler off the floor, and bellowing “THIS has no PLACE in the THEATRE.” It sounded something like this:
The audience that left was a vastly different audience than had
arrived. The lecture seemed to penetrate
most, and there was precious little shit talking as the students filed
out. There was a great deal of silence.
It was a performance every bit as memorable as the
production he’d just participated in, if not more so. It
was a message most in the room absolutely needed to hear. And maybe, just maybe, it’s one I’d like to
see him deliver anytime an audience gets a case of the assholes.
