Dani Garavelli: Scene and not heard

Published on Saturday 28 November 2009 19:12

WHEN I first heard actor Ian Hart had leapt off stage at the end of a performance of the play Speaking In Tongues to berate a member of his West End audience for talking, I wanted to give him a standing ovation.

There seems to be a new breed of theatre-goer who sees the stage as little more than a back-drop for their inconsequential chit-chat, and it's high time they were put in their place. It's not just theatres either: increasingly at cinemas, concert halls and outdoor gigs the show seems to be regarded as a bonus feature to the main event, which consists of jabbering, consuming large quantities of junk food and popping in and out to the toilet. If Hart was prepared to take a stand against these insupportable breaches of etiquette then surely he deserved an enthusiastic round of applause.

Admittedly, it now appears that Hart's ire may have been misplaced. Those who sat near the aforementioned audience member, Gerard Earley, claim that, despite Hart telling him to "shut up" shortly after the interval, no-one had heard a peep out of him all night. And even if it he had been disturbing the actor's concentration, lunging at him after the curtain call was probably a step too far. Add to that Hart's oh-so-luvvie assertion that he doesn't "enjoy the relationship between the audience and the actor" (it's bums on seats that pay your wages, mate) and one's admiration for him could start to wane.

But, at its core, this sense that modern audiences are increasingly coarse and disrespectful is one that is shared by actors and traditional theatre-goers alike. In fact, Hart is just the latest in a long line of thespians to remonstrate with disruptive spectators. Earlier this year, Hugh Jackman and Daniel Craig interrupted their Broadway show A Steady Rain to tell a member of the audience to turn off their mobile phone. And Patrick Stewart raised eyebrows when he lost his rag with an autograph hunter who had tried to take a sneaky photo of him and co-star Ian McKellen during the curtain call outside the stage door of the King's Theatre in Edinburgh, after a performance of Waiting For Godot. "Are you the arsehole who was sitting in the front tonight?" he bellowed "You know, what I really want to know is how you can sleep at night? I really hope you're pleased with yourself."

Never having spent much time on the stage side of the curtain (well, not since I ruined a student production of Rozencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead by buying the stars the wrong kind of tights – R&G in 10 denier hose were a sight to behold) I have never suffered from stage rage. But with auditorium rage I am well-acquainted.

The first time I felt my heckles rise was on a day out to see REM at Balloch Castle at Loch Lomond several years ago. For me, the effort required to go and see Michael Stipe perform was considerable. Not only were tickets expensive, there was the problem of finding a babysitter willing to stay overnight in case it took longer than expected to get home after the gig.

Anyway, I finally got there, but the night was ruined by a group of people who clearly thought I'd paid 50 for the privilege of listening to their sparkling repartee. They yakked through Orange Crush; they yakked through Imitation Of Life; and yes, they yakked through Man On The Moon. Had these people travelled all that way just to demonstrate their contempt for a band they felt had sold out (it was around the time of Leaving New York after all)? Or were they just bad-mannered morons who would have been better inviting friends round to dinner and putting a CD on low than traipsing to a country park to see a band they had absolutely no interest it.

Since then I've found myself in a Victor Meldrew-style stew almost every time I've set foot in an entertainment venue. Here is a short list of the people who annoy me the most: the nachos munchers; the have-to-give-a-running-commentary-as-it-goes-along'ers; the I'm-so-important Blackberry-checkers; and the I've-brought-my-kids-along-but-I've-no-intention-of-watching-the-film texters.

And, finally of course, there's the unabashed latecomers. I do understand that once in a while you might arrive after the show has started. You could have been delayed at work, or got caught in traffic. But then you'd wait for an interval, wouldn't you? Or, at the very least creep in as quietly as you could. But no, every time I go to the theatre, the latecomers burst in, trailing shopping bags behind them, scrabble around noisily trying to find their row, and then act as if your legs – rather than their poor timekeeping – are the inconvenience as they climb over you to plonk themselves on their seats.

There are those, of course, who would argue that unruly behaviour is the essence of theatre, and that, in Shakespeare's day the groundlings would shout, jeer and throw tomatoes at the stage. But then, in Shakespeare's day, they burned witches and put heads of traitors on spikes on Tower Bridge, and that's not an argument for bringing those practices back.

Personally I would like to see the introduction of entertainment Asbos for repeat offenders. But if that can't be arranged, then those who breach the basic contract between performer and spectator ought to have their collars felt.

So if you want to heckle, go see a stand-up comic in a union bar. If you want to chat, go to a coffee shop. And if you want to send inane text messages to your mates, go stand in a bus shelter. If – and only if – you have a concentration span that exceeds that of a goldfish and an ability to keep it zipped when the show everyone else wants to watch is on, should you be allowed through the doors of an auditorium.