Taking a stand

I've been a season subscriber to the Ahmanson Theater for many, many years. Before that, for over ten years I had fourth-row center season seats at the late, great Shubert Theater in Century City. I tried on the Pantages for a few seasons, and I took a couple seasons of the Geffen for a spin when I lived in Santa Monica.

There's a phenomenon I've noticed increasingly over the years, and while it happens in New York too, it seems particularly native to Los Angeles. After every performance, regardless of whether it merits it or not, the audience rewards the cast with a standing ovation. Instead of standing because a play has been filled with brilliant performances that moved you, or were cast with the perfect actors to play the roles, sometimes it feels like standing ovations have become the theater equivalent of participation trophies.

Now you might think you're way ahead of me here—and God knows it doesn't take much—in thinking I'm against the practice. The fact is I'm not.

Here's the thing: I was a theater arts major, and no one appreciates the blood, sweat and tears that go into getting a production off the ground more than I do. And while I realize not every play and performance is worthy of a standing ovation, I believe every performer is.

Actors aren't responsible for the material they're given. Their job is to commit to it, and bring the characters to life as best they can. For all the talk about what an easy job it is, it's incredibly difficult, and they don't always succeed. Remember the last time you tried to convince someone of something?

Admittedly sometimes it's gotten to the point where it feels like the seats are spring loaded. It'd be easy to think doing it for every play across the board cheapens the currency of genuine appreciation for the craft. But the thing about actors is they know in real time if something is working or not. They sense the room tone, they hear the feedback and they see the faces looking back at them. Yet even when it's going south, they're giving it their all.

If I'm being honest, and really, where's the percentage in that, I've given standing ovations to more productions that didn't deserve it than I care to admit. I also tip more than I should for mediocre service at restaurants, clean up for the housekeeper and rinse dishes before I put them in the dishwasher. I may have deeper issues, but that's not the point.

The truth is when the curtain comes down and the cast comes out, I want them to know I appreciate the effort they've made in the name of entertaining me.

That's what I stand for.

A great Dame

Years ago, there was a Shubert Theater in Century City where the CAA mothership is now. The wife and I had been early season subscribers, and as a result for years enjoyed two fourth-row center seats to every production and concert that appeared there. And because we had such great seats, that we were never going to let go, we saw them all.

During the 2001 Shubert season, which included Mama Mia!, we also had tickets to another show: Dame Edna, the Royal Tour. At the time I had no idea who she was, but our seats were great and we were going.

Here are the things I remember. She brought two people out of the audience who hadn't had dinner, and had them sit at a table onstage. Then she brought out a phone and called Harry's Bar, which was downstairs from the theater, and ordered them dinner. When the dinner arrived, she served it to them, and they watched the rest of the show while eating dinner at their table on the side of the stage. Every once in awhile, she would ask them questions or talk to them.

It was a very interactive show, with Dame Edna talking to several people, including us, who were sitting up front. She asked one couple about their children, who weren't there, and who was taking care of them. Then she called their babysitter, and started quizzing her on how she was handling the children.

I realize I'm not even close to doing her justice describing what her show is like, but it's difficult to explain exactly what she does. Part satire, part improv, part slapstick, part social commentary, the only way to experience Dame Edna is to be one of her "possums," her affectionate name for her audience. This clip will give you a better idea than I can:

The character of Dame Edna is the creation of the brilliant Australian comedian Barry Humphries. He's almost 81 years old now, so this Farewell Tour may actually be just that. All the more reason if you can get a ticket, do it.

The other thing I distinctly remember is I have never laughed so hard in my life. I was crying, and my sides were literally aching. I instantly became a Dame Edna fan, and promised myself I'd see her every time she came to L.A. It's a promise I've made good on.

So a week from Friday, the wife and I are taking the kids to the Ahmanson, and we're going to see her Farewell Tour. I can't wait. I know it'll be a great evening start to finish, when she tosses her beloved gladiolas out to her possums.

And of course, I'm hoping the "farewell" part is the biggest joke of the evening.

Rate of exchange

If you've followed this blog at all - and really, don't you have better things to do - you know that I've written here about the pure extortion the Ahmanson Theater practices if you want to upgrade season tickets.

Yes, I understand this is a terribly first world problem to have.

Anyway, the wife and I were supposed to go see Backbeat there yesterday. But as so often happens, once we actually looked at our calendar, we had a divide and conquer day which would leave both us getting home around five and in a state of complete exhaustion.

Once we realized this, we also realized we'd better exchange the tickets. As Ahmanson season subscribers, we have that benefit as well as the convenience of doing it online, as opposed to having to drive up to the box office and do it in person.

Their website not only lets you see available dates and select seats, it shows you the view from those seats. I wound up with center orchestra seats that are 10 rows closer to the stage. And they only cost $10 each more to upgrade from where our season seats are.

In my other Ahmanson post, I mentioned we donated $600 once and didn't get an inch closer to the stage.

So here's how the math works out: for four shows, if we're able to upgrade at least 5 rows for an average of $10 a ticket, it would cost us $80. Much better, and much less than any donation we'd have to be robbed of before they'd consider moving us closer.

Getting good seats at the Ahmanson has always been filled with intrigue, double-crosses, jealousy and greed. After all, it is the theater.

And where I used to have two words for the Ahmanson management that made it so hard to improve our seats after being subscribers for over a decade, after discovering this little loophole in their rules about upgrading I only have one.

Bravo.