I hadn’t realised what a very, very good girl I was until I caught an unexpected reflection of myself in the window, listening to the flight attendant on the plane back from France last week. It was imperative that she saw I was paying attention. Not just paying attention, paying tribute. She must see that I was engrossed, that I was appreciative of her care, performance and sensible little mimes. Catching sight of myself like this was interesting to me, revealing as it did a part of myself I’d not yet identified: the good audience member. I watch, I listen, I breathe through the impulse to reach for my phone as if it was a contraction. I participate, when required, even though it brings me pain, and I clap, when appropriate.
Recently, stories of bad audiences have gone viral – people on their phones during Oppenheimer, people pouring their drinks over said people on their phones, violent fights at Barbie, captured on bystanders’ phones. In theatres (partly due to pressure to augment profits with bar takings), ushers have had ice-cream thrown at them, watched audiences join in with the onstage dialogue (the Evening Standard reported that during a production of The Taming of The Shrew at London’s Sam Wanamaker Playhouse, one man who did so was kicked out only to return later to shout “wine and cheese, that’s all you are!” at the audience) – audience members have been caught having sex and watching porn. Music industry experts said last week that bad behaviour at pop concerts “has become the new norm”, with the latest incident a drink chucked at Cardi B mid-performance, and someone throwing their mother’s ashes on stage at Pink. Their mother’s ashes. Pink.
It all made me think. About, maybe, meeting somewhere in the middle. One of the few pure joys of having a young child is the weekly opportunity to go to a parent and baby cinema screening. These are showings of grownup films where babies are welcome – some crying is expected, some distractions, some chaos.
My favourite was a 10am showing of Fifty Shades of Grey, which had been preceded by complaints from parenting charities concerned about the effect of babies being subjected to “mummy porn”. The screening was a hoot, predictably. I remember looking out across the audience and noting that over half of us had a tit out. Babies were gurgling and snoring and crapping themselves through the bondage and ice cubes and, increasingly, doesn’t it feel like this is the way forward?
What if we had special weekly screenings that are, if not exactly baby-aimed, certainly unruly, where a level of chaos is expected? Wouldn’t that be a good idea? I say this without a sneer – it has become clear there is more than one way to watch a movie. In an interview with the Hollywood Reporter, filmmaker Justine Bateman said showrunners were being given notes from executives that, “‘This isn’t second screen enough.’ Meaning, the viewer’s primary screen is their phone… and if they get distracted, they might look up, be confused and go turn it off.” Admittedly, on first read, this sickened me slightly.
I felt a dystopian sort of gout. But then I remembered the absolute bliss of recently watching When Harry Met Sally on the telly while scrolling through exquisitely curated lipsync TikToks on my phone and I… Get it?
It opened my eyes to the gluttonous freedom those bad audiences must feel, the dark pleasure of talking back to a musical or laughing in the wrong bit and, if not quite throwing a drink at a pop star, perhaps Googling their scandals as they sing. How might it feel, I wondered, to ignore the flight attendant on take-off, or to scroll Instagram two hours into a film? Would the plane crash? Would someone tell Gerwig? What was I hoping performers would do if they saw me from the stage, listening intently? Throw a party? Invite Shakespeare? A new kind of empathy slithered its way through me… for the bad audiences.
In all reports on the rise of bad behaviour, experts wearily offer reasons for a decline in manners – the pandemic, trauma, the internet, etc – but few are offering solutions. Mine is: embrace it. Do the limited of attention span not deserve culture, too? The thirsty, the itchy, the awfully loud of voice? Instead of lumping all of us in together at the cinema and imposing rules on fun, could we perhaps make room for everyone, screenings for everyone? Relaxed showings are becoming more acceptable at the cinema – surely rowdy crowd nights are next? Singalongs at the theatre, smoking, phones out, chat – if we’re leaving the house in pursuit of entertainment, then shouldn’t we squeeze the evening for everything we can get?
Email Eva at e.wiseman@observer.co.uk or follow her on Twitter @EvaWiseman
