Three weeks ago, I went to see SUMMER AND SMOKE at the Paper Mill Playhouse. It was quite possibly the rudest audience I've ever encountered. The median age was around 89, so there was a lot of hard candy being unwrapped, a lot of hearing aid feedback and a lot of very loud whispering. The couple sitting behind me (in the second row of the orchestra) commented loudly throughout the performance about how much they were hating it. At intermission, I told them if they were hating it so much, they should leave and save themselves (and others) any further agony. They didn't leave.
Act Two started, and an older man about ten rows back in the orchestra was still talking on his cell phone, even as the action was going on on-stage. The man sitting directly behind him finally yelled, very loudly, "Turn that damn thing off!" I happened to be sitting next to that man on the train back to NYC, and he said that he felt bad about yelling at an old man, but that he wanted to make an impression so that the man would never do it again.
Still, up by me, the old couple chorus was going on full swing, no matter how many times I told them to shut up. At the curtain call, when Amanda Plummer and Kevin Anderson came forward for their second bow, the old woman said something like, "They were awful! Why the hell do they get a second bow?" As she was in the second row, Plummer and Anderson definitely heard her.
The performance was wonderful, but the audience decorum makes me seriously not want to see another show there ever again.
"You travel alone because other people are only there to remind you how much that hook hurts that we all bit down on. Wait for that one day we can bite free and get back out there in space where we belong, sail back over water, over skies, into space, the hook finally out of our mouths and we wander back out there in space spawning to other planets never to return hurrah to earth and we'll look back and can't even see these lives here anymore. Only the taste of blood to remind us we ever existed. The earth is small. We're gone. We're dead. We're safe."
-John Guare, Landscape of the Body