Next!

I would hate for anyone to get the idea from a previous essay that I believe children are the greatest sources of pain and torment when it comes to attending plays and concerts. It's true that they often haven't learned what is and isn't appropriate behavior in public settings; but they're young yet, and we can hope. Plus they usually have a minder with them who can shush them at the right time, or be requested to do so; and for money or ice cream enough, can often be bribed to sit through nearly anything.

No, the sad fact remains that even if every child stayed home or was sedated into perfect behavior, still there would be no peace for theater-goers. In the course of a single concert yesterday, I was privileged to witness or otherwise be subjected to the following behavior, all committed or caused by people who will never see twenty again:

• The woman two seats down from me waited until midway through the first movement of the first piano quartet, then unwrapped an edible packaged in the thickest, most crinkly cellophane plastic I've ever seen or heard. (I started counting once I realized what she was doing. I often start to count during times of extreme stress, such as childbirth or earthquakes or red lights. I got to twelve. Go get a lollipop or a bag of potato chips and, the next time you and someone near and dear to you sit down to watch television, or better yet a movie you've been waiting for months to come out on DVD so you could finally see it since you know how much sitters cost these days and then with parking and everything there's just no way, and rattle and scrunch it for twelve seconds straight. If your companion doesn't kill you, you're either lying or already dead.)
• Several watches went off at various times to alert their wearers and everyone within hearing that either the hour had changed or it was time to pay their taxes, write a letter to Congress, or whatever important tasks people ask their watches to chirp about in public places at odd, random times like 3:37 when one might reasonably expect to be safe from such racket.
• A man decided that his having gained a coveted front-row-center seat meant that everyone else at the concert was longing to see and hear his comings and goings, and marched out in a leisurely manner about a third of the way through the performance without waiting for the piece or even the movement to end, carrying a heavily-laden plastic bag that gave the unwrapping-lady's candy a run for its money in terms of sheer homicide-inducing noisemaking.
• At odd moments during the performance, a man sitting behind me read the program aloud and discussed its contents with his wife in clear, ringing tones.
• After the first five minutes of music, all manner of people engaged in various acts of conversation and roaming about, clearly convinced that they'd done their bit by enduring a few measures with tushies still attached to seats and lips sealed. Apparently, even though the announcements about the concert and the posters advertising the concert and the programs for the concert that these people were clutching in their hot little hands all specified that this concert would last from 2:30 until 4:00, the idea that therefore audience members should be prepared to sit quietly for an hour and a half had never entered their adorable heads.

This, of course, is hardly a comprehensive list. I kept my eyes fixed firmly on the musicians in order to avoid killing anyone with a glare I've been required to register as a deadly weapon, and so no doubt missed quite a bit of the audience's performance. But I was given more than enough material to cause me to wonder, as I watched men and women who had worked for many patient years toward perfecting their art, why the musicians were the only ones who'd had to audition in order to be here. Buying a ticket is clearly no guarantee that one understands the ins and outs of being an acceptable audience member. Making the tickets more expensive won't help -- it'll only mean that there will be that many more electronic gadgets per capita. And being surrounded by a bunch of self-absorbed louts who don't seem to realize that they forgot to don their magic clothing that will render them invisible and inaudible can ruin a theatre-going experience far more than any muffed line or squeaky note.

We must start holding auditions for prospective audience members. Just as actors and musicians must work to acquire guild membership, civilians should only be allowed to purchase tickets to cultural events if they can show documentation to the effect that they've demonstrated a certain level of seat-sitting competence.

In order to earn the card, you'd have to prove, just as a violinist has to prove she can play that beautiful instrument before she earns a position in the orchestra, that you can witness an artistic performance without causing everyone around you to either wish that they'd never been born or fantasize about belatedly rectifying the fact that you were.

Auditions would be simple. Batches of people would be ushered into a theater or a room made up to look like one and asked to seat themselves on worn velvet-covered chairs. I haven't decided yet if there should actually be some sort of performance for them to watch, or if they should have to pretend that one is going on in front of them. I'm leaning toward the latter. It would be that much easier to see who's really behaving, and the auditions wouldn't have to take so long since even a conscientious individual shouldn't be asked to sit still and unentertained for more than about fifteen minutes. On the other hand, the whole point of the exercise is to remind people that they're not at home watching television, where the performers are oblivious to the behavior of their viewers. So the jury's still out on this one.

These auditions wouldn't be like artistic ones, which are a process of elimination. Whole groups at a time could qualify for their cards. All they'd have to do is sit the hell down and shut the hell up for a specified period of time.

Anyone who excused themselves to use the restroom would be asked not to return unless they could furnish a doctor's note explaining that due to a genuine medical condition, they're unable to sit for an hour and a half without relieving themselves. Facilities will be available to those who wish to avail themselves of them beforehand; anyone who doesn't, and can't wait for intermission, will be subjected to an embarrassingly public lecture about there being a time and a place for everything. They will then be asked to leave, and their permanent records marked to the effect that they are not eligible to audition again for at least a week from the date of this unsuccessful venture.

Consumption of food or drink will only be permitted if the snacker in question is a diabetic or suffers from some other medical condition rendering them unable to endure the entire performance without sustenance, and no, being addicted to chocolate or blended-coffee drinks doesn't count. Those who must consume will be asked to supply themselves with silent, non-spillable, and preferably smell-free goods.

The very young will be allowed to try out. Babies who fail to make the cut may not be glared at, and the possibility of their having what it takes to successfully complete the audition should not be ruled out by virtue of their age or size alone. Children have been known to be older than they look, and there are infants, one of whom was related to me (and still is, though he did outgrow that babyhood thing), who not only attend cultural events from a young age but even enjoy them. This should be encouraged. If parents bring their offspring to audience auditions, they must be assumed to have good reason until and unless events prove otherwise. Said parents may be subjected to withering glances only if they sit obliviously on while their wee ones engage in arias of their own to rival those coming from the stage or cheerfully set about destroying the theater.

Anyone whose electronic equipment emits any sound whatsoever will be dismissed, and won't be allowed to try out again for at least a month.

Those who subject their fellow audience members to running commentaries on the performance will be expelled for six months.

Those who subject all around them to descriptions of their recent vacations, the weather, or the traffic on the way over here will be banned from auditioning for a year.

Allowable noisemaking during a performance will include genuine laughter (that pompous, aren't-I-the-clever-one-for-understanding-that-joke stuff will be grounds for immediate expulsion), appreciative sighs relating to the beauty of the performance or the physique of a performer, brief murmurs of pleasure or disappointment pertaining to the same, and non-prolonged coughing, throat-clearing, giggling, or weeping. Please note that audible speculations as to how a performer's name is pronounced or what exactly the word "adagio" means are not included on this list.

Acceptable movements will be limited to moderate squirming, shifting, occasional uncrossing and recrossing of the ankles, applauding when appropriate, and occasional discreet rolls of the neck and shoulders. Seat-kickers will be escorted out. Knuckle-crackers will be shot.

Gold stars rendering the earner eligible for discounted tickets at participating venues will be awarded for not clapping between movements, not giving routine standing ovations to everything that occurs on the stage including opening announcements and requests that phones be switched to silent running, and not shouting "Bravo!" when you mean brava or bravi.

If a member of the cast or orchestra is a very close relation of yours, you will be allowed one brief whispered boast to one complete stranger once the performance has commenced.

And lastly, if (not that I want to get too specific about more of the unspeakable occurrences I was unwilling witness to yesterday) you notice that one of the performers on stage is an Asian woman, and as you're leaving the concert you see another Asian woman who is dressed completely differently and is three inches shorter and twenty pounds lighter and is wearing (unlike the woman on the stage) glasses and has a different hairstyle from the English horn player you've had plenty of time to observe during the course of her performance -- if, on catching sight of this woman innocently leaving the theater after enjoying the concert, since after all she's a member of the audience and even if you didn't see her come in and sit down you can see a ticket stub sticking out of the back pocket of her skirt, which skirt, by the way, is distinctly different from the slacks the musician was wearing -- if you then shout, utilizing a tone and volume level appropriate to an announcement that yes, in fact, the British are coming, "WONDERFUL PERFORMANCE, MISS KIM!" thereby embarrassing not only this young lady but everyone else in the room (except, amazingly, you), you will be taken far, far away and never be seen or heard of again. And we'll all be very happy. We may even give you a standing ovation.

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