Over the last two decades, I've attended enough shows—be they musicals, comedies, concerts, ballets, or operas—to realize that one is bound to encounter the occasional annoyances caused by ignorant, ill-mannered audience members: the disruptive group of teenagers who insist on carrying on a very audible conversation throughout the course of a play; the boorish clod who intentionally neglects to turn off his cell phone so that he can continue to receive unimportant calls and chat away in the middle of a jazz number (until a disgruntled neighbour turns around and tells him to shush, that is); or the big-haired woman seated in front of you who has her BlackBerry in the palm of her hand and allows the light from the screen to illuminate an otherwise dark theatre at five-minute intervals during a three-hour performance.
Nevertheless, those unpleasant incidents aren't what this blog post is about. No. This post is dedicated to that utterly obnoxious woman who was standing—not seated—two rows diagonal from me in orchestra centre of a recent Toronto performance of Rock of Ages. So, no, this post isn't even about a review of the musical. This is about that woman who, throughout nearly the entire duration of the show, chose to stand two metres from the stage and gyrate to the tunes of 80s rock music, perhaps reminiscing about her lost adolescent years or trying to relive her teenage fantasies as a rock star.
Forgive me if I come across as harsh with what I'm about to write here, but neither I nor the others seated around me went to this performance so that we could witness some buffoon make a fool of herself in front of a thousand other patrons at the Royal Alex. Not only were her wide hip twirls and dramatic arm-flinging off-putting to all those in proximity, but her provocative dance moves were a huge distraction to the cast members whose appalled (read: disgusted) facial expressions were clearly visible from where I was seated in the fourth row. To make matters worse, the woman motioned for her girlfriend to get up and dance with her each time she stood up, but thank goodness her friend had the good sense to shake her head (in mortification, no doubt).
As with certain other musicals where it's perfectly normal to want to sway in your seats and clap your hands in sync with the rhythm and beats of the music, I had no qualms with her overzealousness for the musical; what I—along with others both in the audience and on stage—found repulsive and distasteful was her unsolicited, attention-seeking participation in the performance and her disregard for the cast and other audience members. Perhaps she'd have been better off signing up as a contestant on So You Think You Can Dance but, as far as the rest of us were concerned, any entertainment value that she was hoping to contribute to that evening's musical performance was neither welcomed nor appreciated.
Nevertheless, those unpleasant incidents aren't what this blog post is about. No. This post is dedicated to that utterly obnoxious woman who was standing—not seated—two rows diagonal from me in orchestra centre of a recent Toronto performance of Rock of Ages. So, no, this post isn't even about a review of the musical. This is about that woman who, throughout nearly the entire duration of the show, chose to stand two metres from the stage and gyrate to the tunes of 80s rock music, perhaps reminiscing about her lost adolescent years or trying to relive her teenage fantasies as a rock star.
Forgive me if I come across as harsh with what I'm about to write here, but neither I nor the others seated around me went to this performance so that we could witness some buffoon make a fool of herself in front of a thousand other patrons at the Royal Alex. Not only were her wide hip twirls and dramatic arm-flinging off-putting to all those in proximity, but her provocative dance moves were a huge distraction to the cast members whose appalled (read: disgusted) facial expressions were clearly visible from where I was seated in the fourth row. To make matters worse, the woman motioned for her girlfriend to get up and dance with her each time she stood up, but thank goodness her friend had the good sense to shake her head (in mortification, no doubt).
As with certain other musicals where it's perfectly normal to want to sway in your seats and clap your hands in sync with the rhythm and beats of the music, I had no qualms with her overzealousness for the musical; what I—along with others both in the audience and on stage—found repulsive and distasteful was her unsolicited, attention-seeking participation in the performance and her disregard for the cast and other audience members. Perhaps she'd have been better off signing up as a contestant on So You Think You Can Dance but, as far as the rest of us were concerned, any entertainment value that she was hoping to contribute to that evening's musical performance was neither welcomed nor appreciated.
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