Standing Ritual

"People sang stuff and danced!"

In reality, no publication printed these reviews; you'd never find a legitimate theater critic waxing rhapsodic over the basic requirements of putting on a show. The production that they didn't write about does not exist either.

But, after years of observing the behavior of theatergoers in Greater Los Angeles, one reaches the conclusion that neither the nonexistence of this show--nor its astonishing mediocrity--would stop an L.A. audience from giving it a standing ovation.

It may be more difficult to please the critics--but to make the Los Angeles theater crowd happy, it seems that all you have to do is finish the show. Can't act, can't sing, can't dance--but, hey, nobody's perfect.

Posing the question "Are there too many standing ovations in Los Angeles?" touches a nerve with some members of the local theater community, who insist this is a misconception fueled by jaded journalists who attend way too many opening nights, where the house is papered with friends, agents, celebrities and the performers' moms and dads.

"I am totally in favor of standing ovations," says Rick Barr, general manager of Pasadena Civic Auditorium. "I think the press and others are looking to be cynical about it, to say that audiences don't know what they're doing, that it's too frequent, that it doesn't mean anything. It means something, it's the audience's way of responding."

But fact or fiction, there exists a widely held perception that audiences here in the show-biz capital will give a standing ovation to anything that moves.

Sheldon Epps, artistic director of the Pasadena Playhouse, wonders if too much standing is confusing for audiences and performers. "If it now occurs for anything and everything that you see, what defines that theater experience as being great instead of moderately successful?" he muses.

Then again, maybe not. "I do feel that, if you go to the theater often, you can feel the difference between one that is genuine, and one that is pro forma, or perfunctory. There is a spontaneity and energy about a real standing ovation instead of one that is about etiquette."

Well, there's something new for L.A. actors to worry about: To paraphrase a line from a neurotic character in a classic Woody Allen film, you've finally had a standing ovation, but it was the wrong kind.

Some believe the standing ovation--of whatever kind--has become like the 15% tip: no longer a recognition for exceptional service, but an obligatory payment to any waiter who doesn't drop the catch-of-the-day on your head (those servers get 20%, so they won't feel bad).

Does our penchant for standing ovations reflect a national trend toward over-congratulation, the theatrical equivalent of grade inflation? Are we seeing in the theater the same trend that has led horrified educational psychologists to speculate we've created a generation of egocentric monster children with too much self-esteem?

Or are we simply experiencing something that's only natural in a town full of actors, directors, writers and stage or film crews? After all, where else in America do you find movie audiences wildly applauding the technical credits, cheering for the gaffer, the key grip or the unit publicist as lustily as for Dustin or Denzel? (For those of you who applaud after movies, there's something you should take steps to deal with: The people for whom you are clapping are not really there. Same goes for any standing ovations you may be awarding to your TV screen.)

Possible, too, that standing ovations happen more here because whether you're in the entertainment industry on not, you're in the industry. This is Hollywood, baby, whether you live in Beverly Hills or just east of the Cerritos Auto Square. Even if you aren't looking to be discovered, you could be. Everything here is a performance, an audition, and that includes applauding for someone else.

A few years back, in a Melrose hair salon, I overheard a woman instructing her hairdresser that she needed her shortish red-gold locks cut in such a way that her coif would look best just after she ran both hands through her hair.

"I have this gesture that I do a lot," she explained very seriously, demonstrating the move. Suddenly, it was the end of an exciting, exhaustingly creative business meeting; her fingers swept through the red-gold thatch in the sort of frustrated but exhilarated brain-massage only a woman with such an exciting, exhaustingly creative life would require.

Maybe our standing ovations are like that gesture--pure theater. By the end of the performance, her hair is standing, and so are we.