Theatre Etiquette or GET YOUR DAMN FOOT  OFF MY ARMREST!

Notes from New York

by Mollie Fermaglich

New York. The definitive city for style, food, fashion and, of course, theatre. Be it a musical revival, a classical play, a Mel Brooks comedy or Shakespearean tragedy, there’s only one Broadway. And, whether you’re a native New Yorker or visit our theatres from the tri-state area, from across the country or across the pond, it’s crucial to remember the importance of rules.

Though I possess the good manners to not ask, “Where do you think you are –  your man-cave?”,  trust me, I’m thinking it, as is everyone else in your vicinity. Whatever your particular transgression, lack of thought or consideration might be, from this point forward, you shall have no more excuses. So get your damn foot off my armrest and take note…

Study your theatre ticket. Closely. Does it state anywhere, perhaps in the finest of print that other well-heeled, better-dressed patrons may have missed, “keg party” or “luau” or “B.Y.O.B.”? You are going to the theatre. I implore you – dress appropriately. “Casual Fridays” is, at best, an unsightly option at work during the summer months. Do not bring this ill-conceived concept into my town and especially not into our theatres. Stained khaki Dockers are still stained and Dockers, a double-negative if ever there were one.  Think of others.  Think of me.   I just paid $300 for an orchestra seat – I want to look at your Harley T and stretch denims about as much as I want to see Nathan Lane in Spanx. And please remember that “informal” is but one way to err here. I’m sorry you only got one wear out of that aquamarine sparkly halter prom gown. Sequins, beading and chiffon are frightful enough to look at on a mother-of-the-bride – don’t subject me to it in the rear mezzanine of the Helen Hayes Theatre.

Don’t ever use “Avenue Q” and “theatrical experience” in the same sentence. Ever.

Don’t pretend to be so engrossed in your Playbill that you’re oblivious to the fact that I’m trying to get to my seat and, much as I’d like to accommodate you, it’s simply not possible to vault over your Yao Ming-like legs. I know that you see me. You know that you see me. And though nothing would make me happier – truly – than stepping on your Bally loafers or Manolo peep-toes, or tripping over them and directly onto your date’s lap, it’s simply not practical. I could tear a ligament or tendon, though what a small price to pay to stop you from reading “Who’s Who in the Cast?” as though you were cramming for final exams

Even Forest Gump can figure out the difference between a Broadway theatre lobby and the Statue of Liberty. Are you at the theatre to experience the immersive atmosphere, to share in the magic of a live performance in a historical Broadway theatre or to collect the theatrical equivalent of shot glasses and refrigerator magnets?  Do you really need souvenirs?  Is this a class trip?  Your life will proceed just as nicely without that “Wicked” hoodie or coffee mug.  The average Malawian earns $594 per year and even he, if he weren’t so busy, you know, starving to death, mock you for spending $80 on a set of “Mamma Mia!” tea towels.

When you were young, you had dreams of being a Broadway chorus girl?  Well, now you’re old and wear support-hose knee highs and rubber bands around your wrists for no goddamned reason.  Shhhhh!!!!

Let us once and for all understand the verb “to need.”  You need to pay your rent or mortgage.  You need to work in order to earn money to pay your rent or mortgage.  You need to drink water to survive.  But no one, with perhaps the exception of a heroin addict, (and even he is smart enough to save all his money for heroin), needs a $12 Hershey bar.  Why are you eating during intermission?  Didn’t you just have your pre-theatre dinner?  More to the point, why aren’t you embarrassed to be holding a family-size box of Junior Mints?

You’re not as interesting as you think you are, particularly to anyone sitting within earshot of you.  The only person interested in knowing that the last time you saw a Broadway show you could ride the subway for a quarter is dead by now.  And you probably killed him with all of your boring stories.

You’re at a play – not standing in the front of a lecture hall or on the steps of a double-decker bus with a microphone in your hand.  Therefore, you should not be explaining anything to anyone.  And you – yes you– with all the questions, stop!  Now!  If you don’t understand that Les Miserables” is set during the Paris uprisings of the early 19th century and not during the French Revolution and keep asking your date, “I don’t get it – where’s Marie Antoinette?”, then perhaps you are also unfamiliar with the fact that the Guillotine was primarily built for people who ask asinine questions at the theatre.

Here’s the skinny – CATS closed years ago.  Therefore the consuming of multiple plastic tumblers of Scotch and soda is now inexcusable.  What’s that?  Oh.  You’re right.  Wicked is still running.  Pass the Dewar’s.

Your three year-old daughter, Ava, does not have to see Peer Gynt.  Really.  It won’t help her get into an Ivy League.  Or Pre-K.  What it will do is invite complete strangers like me to want to do terrible things to you and your child.  If perhaps you spent as much time teaching her that she isn’t the center of the universe, as you do stocking up on pre-computers and pre-coding software, the world would be a less irritating place.

Forget about teaching her to save the planet or making it “greener” – I’d gladly settle for her not kicking the back of my chair just because you thought her first theatre experience should be Long Day’s Journey Into Night.   If you dare take your small child to a play he won’t understand because you think the experience will be “broadening,” clearly your parents didn’t hit you enough when you were small.  Maybe it’s just that you don’t know whether or not a play is appropriate for a child.  In that case, ask yourself the following:

1. A) Are all musical numbers performed by actors dressed as animals, orphans or inanimate objects?
2. B) Do they serve punch and cookies in the lobby?

C). Would most of the audience fit comfortably into booster seats?

If you aren’t nodding yes to at least two out of three of these, surely you can find another activity to share with little Ethan or Charlotte of Hannah.  Stay home and bake a brioche together.  Help your kid study for the pre-pre-pre-SATS.  Or, stick him in front of the television and put on Nickelodeon like you usually do when no one else is watching.  It’s okay. I won’t tell.

As adults, many of us develop certain personality traits that possibly border on the fringe of neurosis.  Though we haven’t actually met, I’m willing to go out on a limb and say that if you’re never able to enjoy the second act of any play because you’re certain you will never get a cab if your don’t leave 15 minutes before the end you are – well, you are nuts.

When was the last time you had to spend a week in the lobby of the Winter Garden Theatre because there were no yellow cabs?  If the mere thought of someone getting a taxi before you is anxiety-provoking, then you should probably stick to suburban dinner theatre, where everyone drives and everyone gets a parking space and every diner sings along with the waiters/performers to “Tomorrow”.  Of course, if you’re not the first one out of the parking to, you’ll have to wait and wait and wait, and you will worry that you’ll never get out so you’ll have to leave that theatre ten minutes before the end of that play because somewhere in your fucked-up childhood you didn’t get a slice of birthday cake because you were the last on line and you know what?  A little Ativan goes a long way.

Everyone knows the line in the men’s restroom moves faster than the women’s room line, so when you’re standing on line, don’t pontificate on the many reasons this could be so.  There is no philosophy here.  You are the reason the men’s line moves faster.  Stop “upholstering  the toilet seat with cheap toilet paper, in some inane attempt to prevent contracting the Ebola virus. (and if you do engage in this gross practice, make sure that toilet paper is flushed so I don’t have to sit in your urine).  Practice pulling up those “one-size-doesn’t-fit-you” pantyhose in under 15 minutes – pretend there’s a prize – a Clinique Bonus Bag, a hand blender, depilatory cream –  to motivate yourself.  Choose to-reapply your lip liner in front of the mirror by the sink.  Outside the stall.  To belt or un-belt the cardigan?  You look frumpy in it either way.  Decision made.  Move it on out.