Monday 17 August 2015

A really long post where I talk about nothing really but use the word 'PLONK'

I liked the moment when the actor said 'fuck' and a woman turned to the man next to her with anticipation as she awaited his reaction to this. 
I like watching people sneak in late and and seeing a performer take a mental note of it as they clamber to the end of a row apologetically as everyone shuffles their bags under the chairs to avoid a trampling.
I like the giggle of a woman sat at the front, as someone on stage walks towards her, as she realises she is about to be spoken directly to, and might even have to do or say something to help the show progress. 

I like people watching.
A popular pass time, I think. Bunch of nosey rogues. 
In the street, in cafes, in parks, at work, in the theatre. 

That's not to say that when watching a show I'm not 'watching the show'. I am, but I find it incredibly hard not to be aware of what's going on around me (the same reason I sit at the back of buses or avoid seats near a wall in restaurants). I normally position myself at the back, in a corner, as high up as possible. (Creep). This partially must come from me, as a theatre maker (...maybe one day I'll find a label for how I see my role that fits properly, most I've tried so far feel a little bit on the tight side) wanting to get a sense for what reactions a piece might provoke, and take inspiration from them for my own work. It could also come from the part of me that has worked several roles within Front of House and Communications teams, getting a sense for what the audience response is in order to gage how to handle them when the doors are open and we're wishing them goodnight, or when reading audience survey feedback or planning action for a new season. 

But mainly I just like to catch the moments that most people miss, I am a moment-theif, indirectly third-wheeling on a moment between humans in the audience and humans onstage, between people in the audience and other people in the audience, between people and themselves. This is not in any way to undermine the work happening on stage, most of the time I am completely engaged, engrossed, other words beginning with 'en', but there's still something uber magnetic about the pull of my attention to shuffles, tuts, chunters, belly laughs, exchanged glances and tummy gurgles. 

If we have been to see a show together at some point, we might have shared a moment, I might have observed you in a moment, or we might have created a moment, you might have even caught me in a moment. At the same time I will have been gatecrashing other people's moments, a pat on the knee, a squeeze on the arm when a subject matter is close to home, a chuckle at a reference to a private joke. If you're reading this and think I'm some sort of weirdo (I am) for doing this then I encourage you to let yourself indulge in these moments next time you are in an audience or on stage too, but I'm well aware I am not the only person deliciously guilty of observational nosiness.  

I like the moment someone laughs at something no one else finds funny, and I like how other people react to this. I like when a performer makes a mistake and acknowledges it and the audience make a joint decision to support or condemn this. 

A swiftly brushed away tear, a tickly cough that interrupts a serious scene, the fizz of a can of pop, the drip of a spilled pint, a sigh of boredom, a gasp of shock, a scream of surprise, a wince at feedback from the microphone. Noticing someone else on the other side crying. You're the only 2 people crying. 

Figuring out who is what to who. Strangers. Work colleagues staying a polite distance, one looking distinctly uncomfortable in a sex scene. Old friends who both laugh at the word 'goo' whilst everyone else is silent. New friends who want to chat all the way through or are wishing it to start so they don't have to ask anymore awkward questions. 
Your Mum accidentally elbowing someone who you recognise in the head as you settle into your seat. Apologising profusely. 

A whole audience laughing, crying, staring blankly. A real crowd pleaser. An audience divider. A heckle. Heck! I'm particularly fond of the dynamics of a heckle. 

I saw a performance at a festival in Croatia once where a man kneeling on the front row (in the round) fell asleep mid-show and face-planted the stage. Plonk! Ouch. It's one of my favourite memories that makes me laugh every time I think of it (seriously, like when you start laughing in the cheese aisle of tesco because you remembered something that happened 3 years ago, and you have to disguise it by hiding behind a block of Cathedral City, pretending to care about the nutritional info, that sort of thing). The company performing took it extremely well and with true professionalism, it was a Romanian company and the guy on stage dressed as a rainbow unicorn stepped around him politely as he continued a jousting scene. The man didn't seem to bothered, and leaned on the shoulder of the person next to him (I presume a friend) to continue his snooze. 

Anyway, the reason I decided to write this post is because I've been in Edinburgh and feel as though I have spent as much time observing audiences as I have watching shows/drinking overpriced cider and it is only when seeing lots of theatre in a short space of time that I am faced with thinking about audience reactions so intensely. 

Also, I went to go and see The Letter Room performing their new show 'Five Feet In Front' (Northern Stage at Summerhall - highly recommend) and towards the end of the performance, the vibration from the speakers under the seats was so consuming that I genuinely thought we were having an earth quake. I glanced at my best friend sat next to me who could clearly sense my anxiety as I tried to figure out the logistics/likelihood of there being an earthquake at the exact moment the company launched into their final foot-stomping musical number and thought 'HA! I wish I could have seen my own face in that moment', and wondering how I would have reacted to someone else experiencing that too (probably with lots of concern and a little bit of wonder.) 

The embarrassment of a ringing mobile phone, a sniff, arms fighting for space on the arm rest, tall legs cramped into narrow rows meaning knees digging into the back of your chair, the restlessness of someone who cant decide whether their hair should be up or down, the hesitation when asked 'how are you all?' by the performer, someone 'whispering', an awkward smile at someone opposite, a dying flurry of mumbles as the lights dim, a concerned glance at the man next to you who is frowning because the actor just said 'fuck'. 


I realise that this has been a very long post about not very much at all. And I wish I could have caught the moment that you realised that. Or the point you decided to give up reading to the end. Well, now I've just told you all that that is a thing that I do, have a song by Francois Hardy. It's one of those songs that makes you want to sit in a window seat of a cafe sipping coffee (you like coffee because you're sophisticated) whilst it's raining outside and pretend you are the protagonist of a film, in the bit just before the big revelation (and you're also french): 

Cya x