Cut the standing ovations please, unless we mean it
Getting on our feet to hail average performances happens all too often
Someone recently posted an article that’s critical of standing ovations. The writer suggested that these days, people leap to their feet at the end for any performance. They cheer and applaud whether the show is good or bad.
Therefore, the gesture has become hollow and meaningless.
In my opinion, the proliferation of the insincere standing ovation is the equivalent of being diagnosed with terminal cancer and then someone says: “Hey, how are you?” And you respond: “Oh, good!” But you’re not really that good because, well … cancer.
Put another way, the fake standing ovation is like Donald Trump pretending he cares about America’s working class.
I think there’s something to this criticism of standing ovations. People of Victoria, let us return to the sincere S.O. It should be reserved for truly superior performances.
For example, let’s say Nickelback’s bassist suffers a heart attack (God forbid!) on stage. He collapses, then is dramatically revived with those electric paddle thingies. The bassist slowly rises to his feet. He not only continues to play, but rips out a righteous bass solo worthy of Jaco Pastorius. And then he deftly makes a bal- loon animal, presenting it to an admiring fan in the front row.
Now that deserves a standing ovation.
For a merely adequate show (say one of the actors forgets his lines and a spotlight crashes to the stage) clapping is sufficient. If the show is terrible, don’t clap. Or do the “slow clap,” the applause equivalent of sarcasm.
If I had any backbone, I’d give a standing ovation only once every two years. Or even five. But instead, I do what everyone does, that is, go along with the crowd. I don’t want to be the sad sack in the concert hall sitting down when everyone else is standing up applauding and giving me dirty looks.
When offering my fake standing ovation, I rationalize in order to preserve my dignity. For instance, I tell myself: “Hey, you needed to stretch your legs anyway.” Or I think: “I have to stand in order to see the performers better.” And there’s always: “Well, it’s best to stand in order to be better prepared for my maniacal sprint to the parking lot/restroom/lobby bar.”
In a way, the obligatory standing ovation is understandable. It’s like when you go to a party and have an absolutely horrible time, but are polite about it.
Perhaps the other guests were dull. Perhaps they failed to respond enthusiastically to your amusing anecdotes, even those proven to be “comedy gold” at other social occasions. Or perhaps — worst of all — your hosts failed to refill your glass whenever empty (a.k.a. the horn o’ plenty).
In short, a bad time was had by all. Yet when you’re in the hall, trying to find your coat under a pile of seemingly identical coats, you invariably say: “Oh, thank you (insert host’s name here). We had such a wonderful time!”
In a perfect world, you’d be able to say: “God, I’m so glad I’m leaving. I’m stone sober because you offered me just one minuscule glass of wine at the beginning of the night. So I won’t have to pay for a taxi. However, that’s the only good part of what has been, without exaggeration, one of the most excruciatingly boring nights of my life.”
Sadly, we can’t say refreshingly honest things like this. We live in an imperfect world — a world of kneejerk standing ovations and budgetconscious party hosts.
As long as we’re talking about audience behaviour at shows, here’s another thing I don’t like. It’s people yelling “I love you” when some pop star comes to town. This happens frequently. You’ll be at a Jann Arden concert, and, during the first pregnant pause, some twerp will scream: “Jann, I love you!”
“I love you too,” Jann will say dutifully. But Jann doesn’t love you. Not really.
If I was a big star and someone yelled “I love you,” I’d respond by saying: “Thank you. Unfortunately, I cannot reciprocate the sentiment. We don’t know each other. In fact, I cannot, in all honesty, say I like you. But I do appreciate you buying a ticket. Have a good day.”
Here’s another thing. Why do people clap sometimes when their airplane lands safely? Clapping is like saying: “Thank you, pilots, for having successfully landed this airplane as you are trained to do instead of crashing and killing us all.”
Ditto for those who clap after movies. Benedict Cumberbatch cannot hear you. Nor, based on the inherent silliness of your actions, would he care to.
Next week: Party etiquette and the importance of the “horn o’ plenty.”