most of the community theatres in my, er, for lack of a better word-- community--have in recent years tumbled down the slippery slope into embracing what is the most ill-advised of traditions in my opinion: allowing the audience to meet the actors in the lobby after the show.
Or maybe, I should say, subjecting the actors to having to submit to the glad-handing and mostly inane, tedious BS of the post-performance meet-and-greet.
One of the local theatres started this a few years ago when they did a show that drew a lot of families with kids, who, of course, clamored to meet the characters after the performance. Then it spread like a loathsome sickness through the other theatres in this area. Now regular local theatre-goers expect it and some even get snippy if actors fail to appear in the lobby after a show.
I do not go to the lobby after a show. I beat a fast retreat to the dressing room as soon as the curtain call ends and begin the process of becoming me again. I like drifting out of the stage door and walking to my car unnoticed, blending in with the folks in the parking lot. I have been directed by directors to troop to the lobby with the rest of the dutiful cast and be a good girl. It is the one direction I ignore. And that's okay, because in my book it is not a stage direction. If a friend or family member is in the house, they know where to find me. I don't believe I owe the audience anything beyond the performance they paid for.
My thespian friend, Bob, also hates what he calls the "'Joyed-It Line," this awkward reception line that forms with the actors lined up firing-squad style, smiling stiffly as the patrons shuffle by on their way to the parking lot, restroom or to the box office to turn in their hearing assistance head-sets. Some herd past the actors, ignoring them in their rush to get to their cars and out of the parking lot ahead of the crowd. Some do move down the line, shaking hands with the cast, mumbling, "'joyed it, 'joyed it, 'joyed it." It is as if we are there, hats in hand, asking for kudos and pats on the head and it is so pathetic. And it is agony. And sometimes downright humiliating.
Last night I filled in as lobby manager for a theatre that is producing a large musical. One of the women in the show is a relatively new performer, but quite talented and eager to please. And a damn good tap dancer, I hasten to add. But last night, some idiot, thinking herself, I suppose, to be witty in some ignorant, clueless way, commented to the performer in the 'joyed-it line, "my, you move well for a fat girl!" Well that was nice, wasn't it? I ended up rushing through the lobby to the back of the theatre to comfort this sweet young woman, who sang and danced her heart out for two hours on center stage but was now huddled in the darkness of the backstage bathroom, sobbing. What the hell is wrong with people? And why do we put ourselves through this? I know it will take some doing to get this wounded spirit back onstage tonight. I know she will be ready when the curtain goes up. But still.
Beyond applause, I don't care for audience feedback. I give a shit not what they think of my costume, hairstyle or performance. I don't give a shit if I remind them of their daughter, cousin, ex-wife or sister. I don't care to hear that they saw the same show on Broadway, but this production was just as good. If they had a good time, great, I am glad. But there should not be contact between cast and audience. That line should not be crossed. It ends the magic that is theatre. It makes the imaginary and fanciful suddenly real. That is not what we pay our money and eagerly sit in the darkness for. I have never attended a professional theatrical performance anywhere that allowed me to greet the performers in the lobby after the show. There is a reason for that.
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