In the Audience

The day was June 10th, 2011. I had been highly anticipating this moment for months now, and the day had finally come. Today I was going to see The Tree of Life. I was dressed in my nicest dress shirt and pants, the tie my sister bought for me in London, and a new cardigan my brother gave me...I may have over done it, but it was clear I was excited and had prepared for this moment. My brother drove as my sister and I passed the time talking about the movie and other things. We met my cousin and a friend at a restaurant, but as we ate my mind was still in the hour to come. I had wanted to show up at least an hour early to get a seat, but as always happens in life we were a bit late and had to sit a bit off to the side. But nothing could deter me from fully enjoying the film I had waited for so long (or so I thought). Refrigerated Junior Mints in hand (they sell them that way at the River Oaks theater!) I was ready. But nothing could have prepared me to what was to come.

Unfortunately this last sentence is not referring to the mind blowing nature of The Tree of Life (I will post on that later, once I have seen it one or two more times). No, this blog post is an indictment of the incorrigible couple sitting behind me on that fateful evening. From this point on I will refer to them as Mr. and Mrs. Rude.


Mr. and Mrs. Rude promptly took their seats at the beginning of the previews. They talked a bit, but that seems excusable - people are still arriving, and many people like to talk before the film. The Rudes thus far were merely a part of the crowd.

But then, seemingly out of nowhere, the Rudes began to stand out. It all started with the beginning of the film. The opening credits began to come up, and Mrs. Rude, in a normal speaking voice, turned to Mr. Rude to say, "Well I don't know anything about this film, but somebody mentioned it the other day, so I thought we might as well check it out." This was not a good sign. Mr. Rude then responded, in an equally normal speaking voice, "Well I want to see that Woody Allen film [Midnight in Paris was the only other film showing in the theater], but I guess we can see that another time." Things just went from bad to worse. It became more and more clear that Mr. Rude, in an attempt to impress Mrs. Rude, had taken her to an art film that neither of them truly wanted to see, and they decided to share their running commentary with the ten or twelve people within hearing distance of them. In all likelihood these two were not really married, but I will continue to refer to them as such for the sake of clarity. The first image of the film is a quote from Job, in which God asks Job, "Where were you when the heavens and earth were made?" Mrs. Rude's adept opinion on this opening frame was, "Well that's a little heavy." It only got worse from there. At one point in the film there is a shot of jellyfish swimming in an ocean, and Mr. Rude decided to say (with total confidence and completely out of the context of the film), "The boy was reincarnated as a jellyfish!" I was told afterwards that he was very excited about this insight (which, no doubt, greatly impressed his date). Just a moment later, after a shot of prehistoric dinosaurs, there was a shot of a meteor headed toward the earth. About two seconds before it hit, Mr. Rude felt the need to announce, "That's probably the meteor that killed the dinosaurs!" Perhaps this was news to Mrs. Rude, but it was pretty clear that no explanation was needed. Several other insightful comments and commentary followed as the film progressed, but these were the most memorable ones.

After the film ended there was applause and some cheering, but mostly everyone was quiet. I think I can speak for most of the audience when I say that I was exhausted after the experience of watching the film, and couldn't formulate the words to say in response for some time (I am still trying to do that). However, it was very easy for Mr. and Mrs. Rude to respond, as it seems that they were completely unaffected by the film. The second the film was over, Mrs. Rude said, in a normal speaking voice as always, "Well, it was no Woody Allen film, but it was OK I guess." Mr. Rude concurred right away. These were also the people who had laughed at one of the most awe inspiring twenty minutes of a film that I have ever seen.

Fast forward now to June 12th. I am yet again dressed in my nicest clothes, and on my way to the Houston Ballet to see The Taming of the Shrew with my sister. We took our seats, and were excited because we had heard nothing but good things about this ballet. Directly behind us were seated an older couple (probably in their early 60s) and their grandchild. Just as the ballet began, the boy began to talk. Instead of asking him to sit still, or to enjoy the show silently, the grandparents began to respond to him, encouraging him to talk more. This proceeded throughout the entire show, with the boy even singing to the music several times. Now while this may have been cute for the first few minutes, about an hour in the good will began to wear thin. Perhaps I should have said something, but I truly thought that a couple of well placed glares would do the job, and yet, nothing changed.

Now perhaps I am nostalgic for a time that never really existed (I know I sure never lived in it), but I like to thing there was a time on this earth in which audiences respected others, and even respected their own role in the production that they are viewing - a time when the Mr. and Mrs. Rude's of the world could sit still and quiet for 2 hours and 18 minutes, and save their comments for the ride home.

I truly think that today's audience member has lost any idea of what it means to be sharing an experience with strangers that has a dress code higher than the sweat pants they wore when they got up in the morning. We live in a world where people are used to having things their way when they want it. When you combine that with the way in which people consume most of their entertainment (in the privacy of their own home and with the intimacy of family) you come out with an audience member who doesn't know, or want to know what it means to have entertainment be an event rather than the action he performs every day, all day. Entertainment has lost all manor of specialty, and has become commonplace. I believe this to be a symptom of an increasingly self-centered culture, but a damning one all the same. Many people no longer even dress up when they attend a Broadway show, but instead attend in jeans and a polo shirt as if it were an event just a step up from bowling.

I don't write this to feel sorry for myself because my evenings could have been ruined by these audience members. I know that I am beyond blessed to even have the opportunity to attend these shows. I write this because I think that it reveals an ever-growing problem that is too often overlooked. I hope someday to attend a play or a film showing in which the audience is courteous to all, and even reaches the level of responding well to the event. Perhaps this is merely wishing for something that never has been or will be, but a guy can hope, can't he?