Whatever preoccupations might have been in the minds of the passengers and crew of the Titanic as they awaited rescue after the benighted vessel hit the iceberg on that terrible night back in April 1912, it’s probable that the football scores were not foremost among them.
Yet this was the fate of the cast and crew of Titanic – The Musical at the Theatre Royal Nottingham on Tuesday night, who had to struggle manfully towards the conclusion of their performance against a background of “Ooohs” and “Aaahs” from the front row of the stalls, after two members of the audience decided to stop watching the show and instead follow the climax of the England-Colombia football match on their mobile phones, just as the lifeboats were being lowered.
To the two women in the front row tonight who not only followed the penalty shootout on their phone, but also said “yesss” on each goal scored, you are the most ignorant audience members I have ever had the misfortune to perform in front of.
— Niall Sheehy (@niallsheehy) July 3, 2018
According to one cast member, each successive goal or save was accompanied by clenched fists and cries of “Yesss!” Rumours that the band played the hymn Nearer My Hand of God to Thee as the show slipped beneath the waves have not been confirmed.
Several members of the company rightly took to social media afterwards to complain about the conduct of these individuals (and as is the fashion these days, received a ton of unwarranted abuse in return for their pains). But was it disgraceful behaviour by people utterly disrespectful of those around them, or the inevitable consequence of an overwhelming sporting event, the sort of thing that comes along once a decade and sweeps all before it, long after the tickets have been booked and the venues hired?
England’s 2005 Ashes triumph; Jonny Wilkinson’s drop kick at Sydney; Andy Murray’s first Wimbledon title: who can predict when these glory days will occur, and what we’ll be doing at the time? Up and down the country this coming Saturday wedding ceremonies, cricket matches and community fetes are all having to take swift evasive action at 3pm to ensure their own events don’t turn into a cultural or sporting Mary Celeste: so why should live theatre be immune? Perhaps the miscreants with the mobiles should be smothered with understanding rather than opprobrium, for when it comes to sporting passion, none of us think straight.
And believe me, it’s not just the punters who get swept up in the unfolding drama, but the actors too. Richard Burton, who famously declared he’d have rather played at Cardiff Arms Park than the Old Vic, kept a radio in the wings during his portrayal of Hamlet so that cast members could whisper the score to him as they crossed upstage, and in my own West End career I’ve experienced numerous occasions when actors have nearly missed their entrances due to following their teams on tiny TVs in the wings (Gazza’s goal against Scotland during a matinee of Stephen Sondheim’s Company in Euro 96, and the penalty shootout against Portugal at Euro 04 during an evening show of Michael Frayn’s Democracy, to name but two).
And then there was Italia 90. The now-infamous World Cup semi-final between England and Germany on the night of 4 July coincided with a performance of Lanford Wilson’s powerful drama Burn This, at Hampstead theatre, starring John Malkovich in the lead role and with me in a supporting one.
It so happened I was on first after the interval in a two-handed scene with Juliet Stevenson (whom I seem to recall wasn’t even aware the World Cup was on). With the ball for the first penalty still being placed on the spot I tried every ruse to delay curtain up so I could witness the climax of the match on our dressing-room TV – broken shirt button, jammed trouser zip, lost cufflink, I tried them all – but finally I was ordered to the stage or risk being sacked.
As I slunk out, Malkovich turned to me amiably. “Michael, I can see the outcome of this match obviously matters to you,” he drawled. “I’m on in 15 minutes. If I enter and say my first line as written – ‘You arsehole’ – that’ll mean England have won. But if I change it tonight to ‘You butthole’, that’ll mean they’ve lost to Germany. Will that help put you out of your misery?”
“Thanks, John, you’re a pal,” I mumbled as I left the room.
When, a quarter of an hour later, Malkovich burst through the upstage door, fixed me with his eye and screamed: “You butthole!” with a look of glee blended with infinite sadness, I dropped all pretence at my characterisation, and instead of lunging at him as the script dictated, merely put my head in both hands and slumped on to the couch.
No one else knew – not even Juliet, who I think interpreted my improvisation as a bold and daring character choice. But I knew what butthole meant all right. Someone had shot over the bar …
• Michael Simkins is an actor, author and former Guardian columnist
