by Erin Woodward
[I’m posting a new article by a Woodward, but this time it’s not my
college buddy Kirk; it’s his daughter, Erin.
Coincidentally, though, I’ve paired Erin’s disapproval of the over-used
standing ovation with Kirk’s discussion of the curtain call—not just because the
authors are related, but because the topics are. (The two posts were not composed together, by
the way. That was just serendipitous
timing.) If you haven’t already read “Curtain
Calls,” check back to 3 February and give it a read after (or perhaps before)
you’ve read “The Cheapening of the Standing O.”
[Like her father, Erin has some standing to comment on theater and its
aspects. She’s not only an actress and
director herself, but she’s been teaching theater in the New York City public
schools for a number of years. (She got
her degree from the New York University studio program, so her training
background is substantial as well.) I’ve
known Kirk since we were in college together in the mid-’60s; I haven’t known Erin quite that many years—but it’s been almost all her life! As I’ve said of her Dad, Erin knows whereof
she speaks . . . or, in this instance, writes.]
It was a high school show. Lots of heart, lots of smiles. No particular
emotional connection occurred, nor was there “that kid” that took our breath
away. Big numbers received a range of applause, the last number before the end
earning the least-the kids were a little worn out, or perhaps it was the
choreography. But the performers were working hard, and there was nothing but
positive energy flowing to and from us, the audience, as relatives, friends,
alumni, etc.
However, while I clapped with vigor during the curtain call, I was
utterly dismayed and flummoxed when, after a couple minutes, in drips and
drabs, a standing ovation commenced. I looked to my friend, who also clearly
thought it was unearned, as he raised his eyebrows, and then got up himself. “I
can’t see the stage,” he explained apologetically. Eventually, as nothing else
was happening for a few unnecessary minutes filled with the smalls
of backs of this audience, I too stood up for what seemed too long and too
little.
That show is unfortunately not the only production for which I had it
decide if I would insincerely ovate an undeserving show or sit in protest of
all the over-exuberant theatergoers. Broadway shows with huge stars,
Off-Broadway shows with no stars (nor script of worth), and educational theater
with some heart have all within the last year gotten me begrudgingly to my feet
mostly due to wanting to see the stage over the head of a standing ovator.
Standing ovations are becoming the norm for any show that, well, finished,
regardless of its actual impact on an audience.
I believe the ovation is the moment when a performance literally pulled
you onto your feet, whether it be the performance by a great star doing what
she does brilliantly, or the first time the kid got through the song, with such
pure heart that yours is in your throat and you find yourself utterly compelled
and stunned by the moment of pure . . . now.
For the ovation is about the NOW of performances; right at this instant,
your work changed me, exceeded my expectations, gave me goose bumps on my arms
or a metallic taste of adrenaline in my mouth. You did that, just now. Not in
that other show you were in, not in sum of all your performances in the Harry
Potter films, not in the fact that you tried awfully hard. An ovation is not an
Honorable Mention, nor is it a Lifetime Achievement award. It is a rare and
precious aurora borealis for that moment. It is perfect 6.0s across the board
at Sarajevo, it is the aria no one ever really heard until she sang it, and it
is the performance that was pure nuclear energy from start to finish. The
audience should be so eager to honor the work that just concluded that it
develops a quick bout of stage fright, or the gift of tongues, either crisis
propelling it onto its feet in an elevated genuflection to the art witnessed
milliseconds prior.
This occurrence is unfortunately not new. In 2003, Jesse McKinley of the New York Times questioned the
overabundance of standing ovations: “Go to nearly any Broadway house, any
night, and you can catch a crowd jumping up for the curtain call like
politicians at a State of the Union address. And, just as in politics, the intensity
off the ovation doesn’t necessarily reflect the quality of the performance.”
McKinley goes on to research the proliferation of the standing ovation,
noting a long tradition of standing as part of astounding performances of opera
and classic drama. For shows on Broadway, however, standing ovations were never
the norm until musical icons the likes of Angela Lansbury and Carol Channing,
bedecked and bedazzled, took long and glamorous curtain calls, drawing people
to their feet. Now, even Broadway icons are unimpressed: “‘It’s gotten totally
out of hand,’ said Chita Rivera . . . . ‘It’s become a bit of audience
participation. What does it mean anymore?’”
Some theorize that there is a relationship between the increases in
ticket prices to the increase in standing ovations, and there are definite
moments of engineering an ovation at the end of the show to encourage business,
such as the end of Mamma Mia! that
encourages the audience to dance-while standing-during the last song. The
audience will just stay up for the curtain call, and since it is ABBA, you know
they will be clapping along: voila! Standing Ovation! Clock it, critics!
Ben Brantley, the man with the power to kill or crown a Broadway show,
urges his readers in a 2012 New York
Times article, “Want to Applaud a Broadway Show? Don’t Get Up. Really,” to “think
before you stand.” He associates the “reflexive” standing ovation with tourist
or irregular theatregoers who attend the more popular shows versus the habitual
and therefore more discriminating theatergoers that attend the shows of higher
quality versus higher popularity.
Yet I have attended plays at Brooklyn Academy of Music (pre-Barclays
Center), attended by mostly locals and tri-state area subscription holders,
with the occasional first timer, that both I and critics described as “fine” or “clear.” Yet they too received
standing ovations because, well, that actress, from that Woody Allen movie, she
was in it, you know, what’s her name? She was good, and I loved her in that
other movie, with Ben Affleck, you know the one! Despite applause during the play
maintaining a reserved volume, once those characters turn back into (somewhat)
famous actors, Connecticut subscriber and Brooklyn hipster alike lurch onto
their feet, as if to push the performance into the realm of “remarkable”.
Like selfies at events, or watching events through a 2 x 4 inch screen
despite actually being in the same space as the event itself, the ovation
perhaps offers audience members a way to step into the moment more firmly and
more egotistically. It is a way to join the cast in that millisecond: I am here with you in this moment! I laud
you so that I am part of your memory and moment: I was contributing to the
event!
Why is our role as audience not enough? Has the viral video life made us
incapable of not being a star in our life at every moment?
As the fifteen minutes of fame has evolved into something of an entitled
occurrence, people are hurling themselves against the wall of anonymous and
obscure. To be followed on Twitter, now Instagram, is to win Fame merit badges:
the more followers one collects, the closer one is to the Eagle Fame
Scout. We are being taught more and more
that a talent or special ability is not required-leave that to the circus folk.
The slightly less pretty sisters of pretty women make magazine covers now for
being lonely, or not lonely, or cranky, or married, then not married. Fame and
presence in our modern world need not be earned by skill, achievement, or even
notoriety, really.
So stand up for the end of Mountville Middle School’s production of Seven Brides for Seven Brothers! Nobody
fell down! On your feet for the Broadway show that did not bore you or one of
the supporting actresses of Sex and the
City two rows in front of you! Jump, audience, jump, so the performers see
YOU ovate THEM and you can star in the cast’s memory of this moment. That’s why
you’re there, of course . . . for the spotlight, not the show.
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