Theater Etiquette (or Death of a Smartphone Salesman)

Recent performances of Adam Brody’s brilliant The Fear of 13 have faced another real fear: poorly behaved Broadway audiences.

Clocking in at one hour 50 minutes without an intermission, this armrest-gripping drama demands a silent audience, a skill some individuals are incapable of mastering. Smartly, the play begins with a sizable guard sternly and repeatedly stating the all-too-familiar rules of the theater ─ turn off your cell phones, no photos, no talking, no candy wrapper crinkling. In my 40-plus years of theatergoing I have never heard a more seriously inflected demand for the sound of silence.

In Sexual Misconduct of the Middle Classes, Hugh Jackman’s professorial persona kickstarts the play by lecturing the audience, now his students, with a similar demand.

On- and off-Broadway theaters are navigating the waters of today’s phone-addicted audiences and their phone withdrawal behavior. It’s a malady requiring no audible lyrics. I applaud all attempts at controlling the sound and light shows of some audience members, though I feel the need to go further.

I Can’t Believe It’s Not Luggage

If you are wearing a backpack, accept the fact it is a sizeable extension of the space above your ass. Think Quasimodo. Or Igor’s iconic question from Young Frankenstein: “What hump?” Yes, every turn of your body pushes your backpack into someone’s else’s body, perhaps knocking them in the head, or worse yet, “ass over tea kettle” as the saying goes. Speaking of expressions, does the phrase “an equal and opposite reaction” ring a bell that isn’t your smartphone?

And an aside: one should not have to climb over someone’s actual luggage during Come from Away.

Gentlemen: Everything Is Big in Texas

There may be small cowboys but there are no small cowboy hats. Shaped like enormous chip and dip sets, cowboy hats must be removed and placed between the legs of your overcompensating self. Sitting behind someone wearing a cowboy hat will only encourage a view-blocked Annie to get her gun. Yes, such anger can get out of hand, but until Brokeback Mountain: The Musical is mounted, do recall the only spitting allowed in the theater is on stage.

Ladies: Fashion Tips Are Taxable

This is not a slippery haberdashery slope. Berets, green or otherwise, may remain. Caps are not generally feminine but still permissible ─ that is, unless your visor is a miser to someone else’s sight line. Anything that rises multiple inches above your head that isn’t religiously based or a lifesaving medical device, must be removed. Fashion can be fabulous but not if those seated behind you are allergic to your feathers, fins, fox tails or other follies.

I Can Sit on Whatever I Choose!

This was the phrase tossed over a fellow theater-goer’s shoulder to me at the hit show Oh Mary! Was this woman reminiscing about a long-ago evening at Plato’s Retreat? Had she once possessed her own country and throne but now finds herself not so flush? No, the put-upon mistress seated before me has wadded up her heavy winter coat and placed it on her seat, thereby lifting her posterior many inches in the air without the assistance of Brazilians. Those seated behind her watched a play as if it were a confusing ping pong match held between two abnormally sized ears. Until Eraserhead: The Other Side of Pencil Lead opens in fall 2027, someone needs to be defrocked.

I Can Read My Texts Whenever I Want!

Ma’am, no, no you can’t. Please put your phone away. You checked your messages three times during the first act of Death of a Salesman. This play was written for only one death. If Arthur Miller were alive and witnessed your behavior, perhaps he’d consider a rewrite. Act 2 will find Willie Lohman desperately attempting to stay financially afloat while you attempt to cover your phone with your theater program as a light beam hits the eyes of dozens behind you. Ma’am, they didn’t buy tickets to see a disco cat’s Jellicle Ball; however, they are having you spayed at intermission.

I Drink, Therefore I Drunk

Before, during, and after a performance? I’m speaking easily of the loud talkers and the over-served, those tone-deaf drunks who think AA is the garage level where they parked their car. The only 100-proof solution I offer is that they be thrown overboard, notably during Broadway’s Titanique run where the jokes wash over the hilarity of a scene-stealing Celine Dion impersonator. Near. Far. Wherever you are. You’re in the drink!

Update: My ever-vigilant theater-going companion informs me that The Fear of 13 now places a sticker over the lens of every smart phone and mouth of every smart aleck. (Those last five words weren’t true, only hopeful.) And both Fear and Salesman are the must-sees of the season!

Drop me a note about your experiences and solutions. Anything short of slapping a fellow theatergoer will be read without judgment.

---

Follow on Substack! Duane Scott Cerny takes the blame for most everything in his monthly satirical column, It’s All My Fault. Best-selling author of “Selling Dead People’s Things” and “Vintage Confidential, “he is the co-owner of Chicago’s Broadway Antique Market. Send podcast invites to ThanklessGreetings@yahoo.com