Monday, May 11, 2009

"Please turn off your f-king cellphones" - Broadway openings adjusting to modern times

No matter what you thought of American Buffalo on Broadway last fall, there is one way in which it may have changed the theater going experience as we know it: It turned the pre-show announcement into a stylistic decision in its own right. The announcement was not written by David Mamet, either before or after American Buffalo, but it did invoke Mamet's most famous choice of word, one that can still shock a Broadway crowd, especially when they least expect it. Not a single cell phone went off the night I saw the show; not only was it clever, it was effective.

Contrast that with the worst-behaved Broadway crowd I saw all year at West Side Story in March. Granted, it was a preview audience, but the crowd would not shut up, the family in front of me kept texting, and my whole evening turned into completely unpleasant ordeal, mostly for reasons that had nothing to do with the show itself.

At that show, no announcement was made; it was a cold opening, in traditional West Side Story style. There's shushing on stage as the Jets see the Sharks; in this case, I wasn't sure if the shushing was coming from on stage or from various members of the audience. The cold opening was brilliant in the 1950s; in 2009, it completely offset when I should start paying attention to the show and not the audience.

I may have been with a better crowd in American Buffalo, but I certainly was not in Exit the King, where even on a Saturday night, I was surrounded by old people in the rear mezzanine screaming at each other, "I don't get it." Nonetheless, cell phones were never a problem. That show had a character come out in full theater of the absurd mannerisms, holding up signs saying turn off your cell phone—and no texting either.

You may think I'm in full support of the first and third examples, but not the second. That's not the case; I want Broadway to be able to do a show however they damn well please, but the limitations of the modern audience have to be reckoned with. Even I have lowered my standards in the audience, I talk with whoever I am seeing a show with before the show starts much more than I use to; if an actor makes a casual entrance that would have once immediately indicated for me to shut up (Eddie Izzard in A Day in the Death of Joe Egg first springs to mind), I am less likely to notice it. While most shows can make the traditional announcement, a cold opening is sometimes necessary—I have a hard time justifying a West Side Story production that doesn't use a cold opening, even if it hurts the initial reaction (I'm hoping that other audiences are better behaved than the one I saw.)

It's no secret that audience behavior has taken a downturn on Broadway. That may be a bad thing for an individual show, but it's worse for Broadway overall; it means that the people with no experience seeing a Broadway show don't understand why they can't keep there phones on or text during a production, and when someone calls them out on it, they're less likely to see a show again, thinking it rude or snooty of a person to tell them how to behave after spending hundreds of dollars on tickets.

While they're being rude, they're also being fair; it's not the job of some jerk like me to tell someone how to behave on Broadway. It's the job of the people who work at the theater and make the show announcement. The American Buffalo announcement worked because the crowd was expecting a Mamet play; it would have been just as jarring, but less effective, at, say, The Little Mermaid.

There's one area where improvement can be made: informing an audience that turning a cell phone off means powering it off; not putting it on vibrate, not texting. Texting is rude to the audience members behind you who see your screen glare and hear you manipulate the keypad. It probably affects the actors somewhat as well, especially the closer you are to them. As a regular Broadway attendee, I can't understand why anyone would distract themselves by texting after spending hundreds to see a show they rarely see, even if you're in the corner in the last row, surrounded by your friends. The biggest reason I've seen people text is that they decide early on that the show is boring and that they have wasted your time. God help you if you are an overzealous new media advocate who thinks live tweeting theater is a good idea. "OMG Geoffrey Rush just said something crazy!!!" can wait until intermission.

I joke about live-tweeting theater, but in all seriousness it may be a growing trend; if Congressmen can live tweet during an Obama "state of the union speech," why can't an audience member tweet a Broadway show? There's an obvious rebuttal: Obama's speech was an important American event that millions of people were watching. Congressmen were tweeting because they knew this was a unique performance, and that millions of people would be following it on Twitter. The Obama speech tweets were more something of akin to Mass Observation, such as the one I helped work on for Inauguration Day.

Unless you're attending a Broadway premiere, and the show is completely revolutionizing American theater as you speak, I cannot imagine a tweet about a Broadway show that couldn't wait until after the curtain or act break; even then, I would at least let catharsis sink in before sending a Tweet. And even if the show is so boring you can't think of anything else to do (that's probably the case with more Broadway attendees than we like to think). Napping, so long as it doesn't turn into snoring, is less upsetting for fellow audience members.

I would love to see Broadway require you to check your phone before entering the theater; I understand why they might not want to do that. Of course, they already have it in movie previews, but for different reasons; they don't want people taking unlicensed screenshots from their cell phone cameras. If AMC is beating Broadway to improving etiquette, that's not good. But until changes get made, expect more of these creative approaches to pre-show announcements to continue. And expect them to get more creative; that candy wrapper announcement hasn't been funny since 2000, dudes.

Text Me Later (Or: How Theater Isn't Baseball) [Critical Difference]
Get A Room [The Playgoer]
Theaters' worst acts take place in the seats [Denver Post]

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Monday, November 17, 2008

HOW TO SAVE THEATER CRITICISM - Part One

The Critic (1925)Image via WikipediaHOW TO SAVE THEATER CRITICISM

Lately there’s been a lot of rambling about the death of theater criticism. Michael Riedel has felt demeaned as an old stodgy covering theater, a far cry from the classic depiction of the theater critic. The Playgoer has wondered whether mainstream theater is now immune to critics in the same way that movies have gotten. On a guest post on The Critical Condition, Variety’s Sam Thielman saw the role of theater criticism deteriorating and scattering across the medium’s spectrum.

Over the next few days, I will give my take on the role of theater criticism and the critic in contemporary and future American theater. In Part One, I will explore differences in the theatergoing experience between the critic and uncommitted audience member. In Part Two, I will explore the relevance of theater in a digital age. In Part Three, I will conclude my discussion by outlining the role of a theater critic in the current economic and cultural climate.
PART ONE
No Sex for the Critic: Why theater critics are not normal people
How do normal people see theater? Normal people go to a show with their significant other, usually with dinner beforehand. After they see the show, they go home, have sex, and go to sleep.

When a theater critic sees a play, he needs to find time in this cycle to write a review. When exactly can the critic fit that in? Do critics write reviews before sex? After sex? During? (At least in their heads). Do they wait until their significant other goes to sleep, then get out of bed at 3 a.m. and write the review? That doesn’t sound all that healthy.

The point of this admittedly silly thought experiment is to show that there is no real way to reconcile what a theater critic does with what a regular audience member experiences seeing theater. If you have a deadline, you can’t act like a normal individual when you see theater. If you’re a good critic, you also need to think intensely about the show, and do research before and after seeing it. But the very nature of the theatrical experience as it relates to one’s mundane life is fundamentally different between the critic and the normal audience member.

That difference does not mean that the critic is out of touch with the audience, nor does it mean that the critic is the only one expert enough to opine on a show. But this problem does offer an explanation for why the opinions of the critic and audience member clash so frequently. If the fundamental experience of a show is different, of course opinions will vary. The important thing is to remember that the critic’s primary responsibility is to the reader, and to know what kind of audience is reading the publication you’re writing for. No publication represents a perfect cross section of a play’s audience, even for small, far off-off-Broadway shows.

Here's where I go out on a limb: what I’m arguing is that it is not the critic’s responsibility to tell the reader whether or not to see a show. The fact that the audience member has to pay money to see theater, while the critic does not, creates an irrevocable disparity between the critic and reader in the decision to see a show in the first place. Instead, the critic should focus on what his audience should keep in mind about a show when (not if) they do see it. The essential role of the critic is to give voice to an opinion that represents a segment of the theatergoing audience about what was good about a show, what wasn’t, and what was significant regardless of quality. If a theater critic doesn’t do this—whether it be in the New York Times or in a blog no one reads—who does?



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