Day 9: Put your damn phones away

Photo of an asshole stolen from the interwebs

Tomorrow night is opening night for All the Sex Monologues. And the next night is closing night. Just 2 performances after weeks of work.

I'm ready. I'm ready for an audience. But not just any audience. Not an audience full of people looking at cell phones instead of at me FFS.

Last night the entire cast was at rehearsal, except for the one guy who flaked out and didn't let anybody know. Yes, he was performing the most difficult piece of the show -- because of the content, not anything else. But he showed up Monday after many absences, and then needed his script. For perspective, the rest of us were off book two weeks ago. After that, he ghosted the director and just left us hanging. The author of the piece is going to have to read it now, because he didn't have time to memorize it. I don't judge the original performer for not being able to perform the piece. It's that hard. But the time to back out was two weeks ago, not during tech week.

I digress. Audiences. Last night we did an early dress rehearsal. We thought we'd have a small crowd of about 30 people. Nope. We only had one person other than the person who introduces the show. And they sat at a table and stared at the hypnotizing light of their phones during the entire show. Believe it or not, it was rough being ignored by that little audience.

I open the show, so I didn't have any warning that I'd be talking -- because my monologues are personal and I'm telling a story -- to the director, who listened OC, and two people who were supposed to be there to support us, but weren't listening. Not even laughing at jokes .... OK, maybe a couple of times after they realized the director was laughing. Sitting there, but not there, because something on Facebook was more important and apparently, more entertaining. Than me. And I put on lipstick for this?

It was kind of awful. I felt like I should be doing something to hold their attention. Talking louder. Telling a better story. Being more animated. Taking off my clothes. OK, that probably wouldn't get anybody's attention. Masturbating a cat. What the fuck does it take to make people put down their damn phones?

I screwed up a couple of times, because it broke my concentration just enough. I was able to warn most of the rest of the cast (not my friend who followed me though), so they were ready for it. My second piece went better, because I knew it would happen, so I didn't let it bother me. And I didn't take it personally, because they did it through the entire show. Either we all sucked or none of us did.

It's not just a problem during our little dress rehearsal. All of Broadway is complaining about rude audiences. It's like people think they're in their own living rooms, not in a public place where manners matter. They answer calls, text, rustle candy wrappers, talk in conversational tones, trim their toenails ... it's maddening. I won't even go to plays at one local community theater here, because they sell popcorn in paper bags and let people eat it during the show. Not even kidding. It's so hard to concentrate on the stage, between the rustling of the bags and the crunching of the popcorn. What the actual fuck, munchers?

Anyway, tonight during our final rehearsal we had a couple of unexpected guests who sat in the back on tall chairs and, as far as I know, didn't look at their cell phones during a single monologue. Oh, the self discipline that must have taken! They listened, laughed in the right places, and made eye contact, as much as can be expected in a dark bar. It was energizing. And we performed better, because we were getting something back from our tiny audience. It made it worth standing in front of a 5-million watt spotlight spilling our tender amateur guts out.

If you've never been on stage, take my word, it makes a difference -- a huge difference. So when you go to a performance, 1. don't be afraid to laugh out loud, as long as it's in a funny spot, (because next to a cell phone, nothing throws a cast off more than an audience who laughs when they should be sobbing). It lets us know you're there, and you're getting the joke. It makes us work that much harder for the next laugh, and we've already been working our asses off for weeks.

2. Pay attention. We can feel it on stage when you're with us. And we can feel it when you're not. Nothing is worse than a sleepy Sunday matinee audience. OK, an audience full of people on their cell phones is worse.

And finally, 3. don't be an asshole. Turn off your fucking phone for that unbearably long hour or two and try to stay in the moment. The one you bought a ticket for. Otherwise, why not just stay home in your pajamas and donate your ticket to someone who really wants to engage with the experience? You have the rest of your fucking life to play Candy Crush or like your friend's cute cat video or stalk your ex, who .... trust me on this .... has already moved the fuck on.

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