Monika Gimbutaitė. How often do the actors want to stop the show because of you? | Culture

In what seventh grade, a performance was shown in the school assembly hall, to which students from different classes were forcibly brought. I knew it was naive to expect concentration and engagement. Especially since the performance was neither of high artistic value nor had the potential to be relevant or interesting for at least one age group sitting in the hall.

Although I seemed to be morally prepared, I was not the only one overwhelmed by the growing wave of noise – the performance had to be stopped when the actor, barely holding back his frustration and anger, tried to appeal to the audience for understanding. It probably goes without saying that the teenagers, sensing weakness and testing their limits, accepted it as just another challenge. As another round of laughter and reprimands began, I kept wondering how to resign from the audience.

I experienced that this event deeply affected me a few years later. My mother and I were at the play, we sat in the first row. A couple is next to us. But adults in the play do not behave like a bunch of bored teenagers, they choose somewhat more sophisticated ways – for example, they speak in a low voice all the time, discussing each action on stage (and not only).

I could feel the tension building. I’m already somehow – it’s clear that it’s impossible to concentrate on the performance, because there’s another one going on nearby. But I sincerely feared that I would again have to experience the shame of sitting in the audience, the behavior of which forces the actors to stop and read the moral.

If I remember correctly, my mother asked me to reduce the intensity of the conversations. The man sent us both away and told us not to imagine that we were sitting alone in the hall. Oh, the irony!

But I’ve learned a lesson – addressing a disruptive audience member can backfire on you.

Today I have no tolerance for chair kickers, I address them immediately. Instead, for the indomitable whisperers, talkers, whisperers, tinkerers, work e-mailers, photographers, videographers and bingers of their followeriams I am trying to be more patient with broadcasters – at least for a while.

That doesn’t mean I don’t think about them. I often feel myself moving away from the artwork I am supposed to be experiencing right now and starting my own creative process. For example, I imagine how wittily and aptly I could scold those who deserve it – so that they both laugh and rethink all their life choices so far. Or I consider creative repressive preventive measures.

Because maybe people don’t really think that in the dark of the movie theater, not only the sound of the phone is disturbing, but also the light? That no one wants to see the show only through the phone screen held up by another viewer? That it is not tactful to raise half of your queue twice during the concert because the cup has run out of bubbles? That sharing a story with a fellow gallerist (about another colleague, by the way) is probably fun, but maybe it could be done outside of a sound installation?

And this is an invitation to cultural managers and event organizers: to remind, to draw attention, to form (new) norms of etiquette. These often unwritten rules vary from culture to culture, institution, or genre. However, it almost always exists.

All this is important in protecting not only the visitors, but in some cases also the nerve cells of the creators and performers.

Sometimes I keep thinking about the actor who quits the show because he couldn’t stand it, and I wonder how often that temptation befalls his colleagues who don’t have that luxury, because they’re not playing for teenagers in a school assembly hall, but on a prestigious stage for a bunch of self-satisfied people. upper middle class viewers. After all, as Lars von Trier’s short film “Occupations” showed, the tolerance for obsessively disturbing viewers is not infinite even among creators (warning: don’t watch when your patience is straining at the seams, and don’t show it grossly to a squealing viewer nearby – your delicate taste may be misunderstood).

And while I’m crossing my fingers for creative preventative nudges and hoping they’ll be effective, I can only admit once again that being friends with others can be difficult. It’s hard for everyone. As I can be led out of patience by endless speeches, so the speaker next to me is my babbling.

But still, none of us stop to remember the thresholds of cultural institutions and are secretly grateful for others who remember them. Because we know something else – a collective experience can be stronger than an individual experience.

It can only last a few seconds: the diner stops crunching, the talking group of friends falls silent, I stop rolling my eyes. Our attention is finally directed to the work and all of us, from those who have just taken different positions, share the same emotion, which we each grow a little, for one suppressed moment. Laughter seems louder, tears saltier.

So what, that’s enough? Enough! Until someone starts crunching the bag of candy that was secretly brought in again.