On a recent Antiques Roadshow, a guy brought in a still-functional laughtrack machine, which he’d found in someone’s garage. When the host pressed various buttons, there’d be anything from a warm group chortle to an avalanche of hilarity. It was eerie. I immediately imagined buying the machine and using it innappropriately in daily life: “I’m going to pick up my prescription for Zoloft” – “HAHAHAHA!!!” “Aunt Debbie just died of congestive heart failure” – “HAHAHAHAHA!!!!”
A friend once appeared on a very popular sitcom, where one of the show’s regulars, an actress, instructed him to pause after almost every line and hold for audience laughter. He asked, “But what if it’s not funny, and they don’t laugh?” The actress replied, cheerfully, “Oh, it’s never funny. But they’ll put in the laugh.”
I would sometimes stand in the back of the theater watching one of my plays, and I’d make deals with God: “If you let the audience laugh at the next line, you can take my right arm.” I would eventually negotiate for my fingers, toes and shins, until, if the audience was especially appreciative, I’d become a limbless, headless torso. This was not healthy behavior.
As a rule, I hate interactive theater. If I’ve paid good money for my ticket, I don’t want to be expected to sing along, follow actors as they move through various rooms of a building, or stare silently into a performance artist’s heavily funded eyes. If I’m paying, I expect the show to do the work.
I was once told that the best audiences are gay men and black women, because these groups tend to be more appreciative and more vocal. This notion is of course a dreadful stereotype, and it’s usually true. I love audiences who don’t sit there with their arms crossed, planning the terrible things they’ll say about the show later, online. It’s so much nicer when an audience is eager to have a good time.
I used to have a personal rule, about never leaving a show at intermission, no matter how awful it was. And then I attended something so terrible that I felt I was choking, and that I was going to die in that tiny off-off-broadway basement. There were only eight people in the audience, so I knew that if I left, the actors would notice another empty seat. I left. I’m a terrible person, but it was a medical issue.
December 3, 2013
