On World Theatre Day, I find myself (for some odd reason) thinking about the standing ovation — or, more precisely, the fact that the standing ovation seems to have become almost too commonplace as to carry any significance any more.
I am reminded of the word fuck. (Bear with me here.) I love the word fuck. I grew up in an era in which fuck was a dead-on expression of a certain level of extreme feeling that no other word seemed to capture. Unfortunately for me, that era seems to be gone, or at least disappearing. But that’s perfectly understandable. Language must change, after all. (Fuck itself might not have always been so vulgar, in fact.) We will always have other words to replace the words we lose. If we writers do our jobs, that is.
What we can never — and will never — lose, however, is the need for vulgarity itself. There must always be words that are somehow taboo to utter. Words that shock and shake and unshackle our civilized grammar. We need them, you see, because there will always be atrocities to respond to. The need to express great moral anger.
So… back to the standing ovation. If, in fact, the standing ovation is becoming almost as commonplace as the casually-dropped f-bomb… I wonder then what might replace it. In the theaters of the future, how will an audience genuinely moved in some over-the-top fashion express the full measure of its emotion? Will theatergoers start rushing the stage, for example, like fans storming the court at the end of a particularly thrilling college basketball victory? Will there be high-pitched, keening wails of some sort? Undergarments (or flowers, or octopi) hurled at the actors? (That one seems silly, I realize.) How will we all give voice to that genuinely rare (I believe) experience of having been transformed by a performance?
I honestly don’t know.
The standing ovation itself is not a measure of anything, but you can parse the quality of it. Do people leap IMMEDIATELY to their feet the minute the cast comes out to take a bow? That’s the only real standing ovation there is–the NEED to leap up and clap to demonstrate what the show meant to you. Any delay, any variation of one person standing up and others reluctantly following one-by-one (often only so they can see the stage), ANYTHING ELSE is bullshit. For the record, I’ve seen maybe two of the real thing in all my theater-going.
My response from a while back to this issue.
http://markkrawczyk.blogspot.com/2011/06/on-june-16th-2011-my-friend-katie.html
Very cool. And I wouldn’t want to proscribe behavior, either. I just want to reserve some means by which we can express extreme adulation or positive feeling.
I wonder if curtain call is even the place where an audience today does or should show its greatest appreciation for the work. There have been shows that I have loved watching and that provoked immediate joy–the kind of shows where a standing ovation felt natural. Did I feel the same way the next day, the next week? A year from then, did those shows keep returning to me, provoking me to look at things in a different way? Not necessarily. Probably not even the majority of the time.
To me, the real measure of appreciation is how I think and talk about that show the next day, the next week, the next year. Am I starting conversations about it on Fbook & Twitter? Am I going out of my way to make sure friends and colleagues see it before it’s gone? Am I seeking out other work by the same writer?
For example, I saw Annie Baker’s new play FLICK at Playwrights Horizons last week. I didn’t give it a standing ovation. Not because I didn’t think it deserved the highest praise, but because the tone of the play and the ending made a standing O seem…jarring. But I bought a collection of Baker’s plays that night and read two more the next day. And I find myself talking about that play more frequently, not less.
If every audience member stood and clapped for every play everywhere from now until the end of time, I don’t think I’d mind. Because I think the quality and shape of the applause has stopped being the measure by which we judge the impact of a performance.
So the new standing ovation is buying more plays, reading them, and talking about them? THAT I love.
The reluctant standers are the key to me. Why isn’t it ok for a smattering of people who really enjoyed it to stand, without the peer pressure to stand, too. When I have remained seated, but still applauding, during a mass standing o, I’ve been asked, with I credulity, “didn’t you like it?” Sitting isn’t a judgement or protest – I just reserve my standing o’s for the kinds of plays where I must leap to my feet because I thought it was brilliant. And I agree with Steve: some plays end on a note that makes it weird to stand and hoot. I wish it was easier to track who talks about a show after, as I would love to hear the discussions. Helps us theater makers understand the impact our show had.
In small theater productions, I do feel like standing o’s are rare. The few times a show I was in received one, I have felt honored and touched, as they almost never happen & the audience typically allows just those who want to to stand. I have received standing o’s for my musical improv shows. Those are especially rare – nobody stands for improv. Those have meaning. Just standing because everyone else is doing it doesn’t.
The urge to conform (among members of the middle class particularly) is super-strong. I, too, remain seated more often than not… and sometimes get looks. Oddly, though, I cannot remember standing when others didn’t. I wonder what that might feel like…
Standing while others sat: my Dad and I did this once. It was a high school orchestra concert that one of my brothers was playing in. They did Stravinsky’s Firebird Suite and it was amazing. Like goosebumps and hair-raising. And totally a professional quality performance. After they hit the last note, my Dad and I jumped to our feet, clapping and shouting ‘bravo.’ We were the only ones. It didn’t matter because I was so caught up in the euphoria of the performance, I didn’t feel awkward. I actually felt a little sad that no one else was moved enough to express themselves in that way. A very much earned ovation.
With hopeful optimism I believe that people are drawn to their feet because we are so dulled by Television that full on contact with living breathing theater brings awe…even when that theater isn’t exactly “genuinely rare”. However, I don’t jump to my feet for all shows even when everyone around me is doing so. I still save it for the rare occasion that I’m deeply moved or truly awe-inspired.
I like a rousing SITTING ovation myself. I only stand when sitting is unbearable. And I’m so tired of profanity in plays and on TV that I could spit. Just saying.
I’m a fan of any appreciation the audience wishes to share, including hurling octopi. However, I understand the “easy O” to be a reflection of the times we live in: the expectation to be overly-praised for every thing we do. So yeah, at what point do we dial it back, because we have to or…well, flying octopi, and what a sticky mess that’d be. And unnecessarily cruel to cephalopods.
And as Stephen has said, “the real measure of appreciation is how I think and talk about that show the next day, the next week, the next year,” and the actions that follow: when an audience member seeks the playwright out to say they enjoyed it, or takes the time to write an email, or post a review, spread the word, or buy your work.
All that said, I wouldn’t turn down a standing ovation…
I really love this idea, which I’ve distilled from his comment: if you really want to show your appreciation, buy a copy of the play on the way out… or a gift certificate for a ticket for a friend.