Walking Out

I walked out of a play last night. That brings my count to a total of three (plays that I've walked out of in my life).

The first play I walked out of was 4 Rooms (an adaptation of the movie of the same name) at the Stage Door in Cranbrook. A former student directed it, so we went to support him and the theatre community in general. It was awful. The storyline didn't go anywhere, the characters were completely unlikable (and un-rootforable - and uninteresting - the biggest crime ever), besides which the production was just sloppy. My husband and I didn't even make it through to intermission. Luckily we were sitting at the back and I think we slipped out unnoticed.

The second play I walked out of was Hurlyburly. I think it was at the Carousel Theatre on Granville Island some 12 years ago or so. I'm not sure what company put it on, but I think it was one of those groups of actors (who never really stay together very long) who think they're going to rock everyone's world by getting together and mounting something "edgy." I went with my brother and prior to the show starting (out in the foyer), one of the company members (could have been the director) assured us that the show was going to be great and punctuated the fact that it would be "full on" with such force that it left me unclear as to whether that would be a good thing or a bad thing. It sucked - for many of the same reasons 4 Rooms did. At intermission I looked over at my brother (apologetically) and asked him how he was doing. His answer resembled something like, "In my worst dreams, where I question whether I would really rather live or die and decide that dying would be better, I look around and I'm sitting through this play." I felt the same way, so we left.

Which brings me to last night. Where I live, the theatre community is pretty tight and supportive. As in, no one goes super public when a production sucks balls. Which is good in many ways. I know how hard it is to put up a show, and depending on who you've got in your cast and to support you with lights, costumes and sets at the local level, results are always variable. I've directed good stuff and not so good stuff, so I am thankful that the blows are soft when something doesn't land quite the way I hoped. So, even though my sentiments about this topic are strong, I feel a little guilty about coming clean.

The birthplace of this most recent disappointment is the Wildhorse Theatre at Ft. Steele. Years ago, Ft.Steele had some caché as a professional summer theatre gig for young emerging artists. Some seriously good people (with hefty training and chops) came out and spent their summers there, giving solid crowd-pleasing work. Though the "Fort Steele Follies" as they were called weren't my favourite style of theatre, I was always pleasantly entertained and appreciated the level of execution and I was always impressed. For details on the kinds of theatre offerings currently available at Ft. Steele, check it out here.

I went to the evening play last night, along with 9 other folks (no, that was not the number of people in my party, that was the sum total of the audience), one of whom is my good friend, Eve. I'll let you read about the play (title, synopsis, etc.) yourself, but the first half can be summed up thus: Talk. Talk. Talk. Irrelevant backstories galore. Two characters play a multitude of caricatures (oops, I meant characters) placed in a fictitious historical situation I could not care less about. One of the actors (that's 50% of the cast!) stifled a yawn on two occasions. Right up there in front of everyone. One of them was right before he told the audience (there was a lot of "telling the audience" in this play) how much he adored the girl he was sitting in the boat with. Oy.

After the polite but scattered applause at intermission, I looked over at Eve. She confessed that she was falling asleep and was bored as fuck (okay, she didn't quite say that, but that was her sentiment). Since we were two of ten people in the audience, and since I was pretty sure I was spotted by one of the actors (whom I know - he is a former student - God, I am such a bitch), I was reluctant to leave (but I wanted to leave). We knew a couple of the other audience members - a mother and daughter combo - and we went to the foyer to suss out whether they were going to deke so Eve could catch a ride back to Cranbrook with them. They looked like they were staying put, so I acted on my "I'm leaving and they can just suck it" impulse (a true rarity - I felt so rebellious!). Eve and I bolted. Before we got to the car, we joked, "Will the two leads (whose names escaped us because the plot was so confusing) succeed in convincing the town that there really should be a radio station where young girls can sing mildly jazzy songs?" Who the fuck cares? Not us.

You see, babies are being born. Wombs are closing. The earth is turning on its axis. So many things are happening in this world that if we want people to go to the theatre, we have to give them a reason. The play's the thing. It really, really is. The best acting, the flashiest lighting design and the most fly set in the world cannot cover over the multitude of sins inherent in a bad script. Much of the faults of last night's travesty were due to the horrible, horrible script. It is my prayer that Ft. Steele (and the local theatre community in general) can raise their game at choosing scripts. Aristotle provides a means of determining what's important in that endeavour.

Let me close with this. I, as an audience member do not owe any given production company (should I choose to attend one of their shows) anything more than my money and polite attention. It is I who am owed. I am owed a reason for being there and I am owed engagement. I hereby declare a moratorium on sitting through execrable plays from beginning to end in the interest of being seen supportive. No one needs to be rude, but neither does anyone need to miss out on the glories of laughing and joking with friends or enjoying a night summer breeze (or having pubic hair pulled out one by one, for that matter) because they felt obligated to stay in a dark room with a handful of other people suffering through a terrible theatre production.

Step it up, Ft. Steele. You can do it.