At last night's performance (I'm at the Rubicon Theatre in Ventura through March 5) there was a guy in the front row who was really into the show -- during the first act. But at intermission, his blood alcohol level must have crossed an important threshold, because at the start of the second act he was looking kind of green around the gills, leaning into the unfortunate young woman pinned between him and the wall. At some point, in a quiet moment, he let out this loud hiccup -- the kind of hiccup that in my childhood comic books would be depicted by an all-caps "--HIC!--" in a talk-balloon; quite impressive, really. A bit later he seemed to have drifted into blissful unconsciousness. But then, about halfway through the second act, where I re-enact a fairly intense conversation between myself and my mom, the guy woke up -- and, apparently deciding that he was rejoining a conversation between me and him, he began talking back to my character, in a quite impassioned (though incoherent) manner. Fortunately, this social interaction exhausted him so much that he immediately fell back asleep. But as it turns out, he was merely conserving himself for the climax of my show -- where, during a very pregnant pause, he let out a perfectly timed -- and amazingly resonant -- snore.
Now, you'd think this kind of behavior would bother me. And maybe in other circumstances it would've. But I have to tell you, wherever this guy was, in his pickled subconscious, he was in a happy place. I mean, smiling beatifically! He was getting a great show -- bits of it mine -- and who was I to begrudge him that experience?
Plus, he didn't throw up on the set -- bonus!
2 comments February 23rd, 2006