Our lives are sometimes punctuated by strange and unsettling events. Saturday night I experienced one of these moments while attending my cousin's high school production of Clue (the Milton Bradley game/ Jonathan Lynn movie). The play was very cute, and I was very happy to see my family in Cincinnati. The most suspense in the show was created by Ms. Scarlet; she was, as prescribed by the script, dressed as a slut. The tension would rise when she would sit in the front stage couch with her slut skirt covering nothing and her legs slightly spread apart. Perhaps the costumer thought she was dressing her for a burlesque show... or perhaps she thought the skirt wouldn't leave the actresses vagina revealed. This was, to me, extremely funny given that it is a Catholic high school. Also funny was the fairly frequent taking of the lord's name in vain. The show continued with plot, mystery, and people dropping like flies. This is when the melodramatic turned truly dramatic.
It was not the conclusion of the play that brought a climax to the evening, but a little old lady across the isle from me. While the players were thick in plot, I began to hear whispers and talking to my left. "How rude," I thought, with a mean glance in their direction. I continued watching the play with slightly squinted eyes, hoping they would see me and realize that it is rude to talk during live theatre. Well they obviously didn't care at all, as I soon heard a cell phone going off. Since the daggar-throwing stare was not effective I thought I would have to step up my strategy with a half-body-turn and prolonged-scoulding-stare combo. Well I turned towards them with devilish eyes and realized it was not a cell phone ringing, it was a cell phone turning on to call an ambulance. There were three woman huddled around the old woman, who was making muffled sounds and only managing slurred words.
By this time most of playhouse has realized something is happening and people started standing up and leaning in all sorts of directions to see what was happening. So I'm right next to this woman and have no idea what sort of action to take. I have absolutely no emergency training (outside of Red Cross babysitting classes I took in the 7th grade) but feel like someone should be doing something. Luckily a nurse rushed to the woman and laid her on the floor.
While the woman is seemingly dying the play continued. As a former thespian I realize the show must go on, but my goodness! I was seated and wondering what I should be doing if the woman were dying. I thought, "fuck, if I was dying there I would want someone to come and hold my hand and tell me that help is on the way and stroke my hair and CARE! I would not have a happy passing over during a high school show of Clue with dozens of strangers in the dark staring at and whispering about me."
In fact I did not grab her hand. She did not die. I still felt bad.
It turns out the geezer had popped too much Vicodin before coming to the show and her blood pressure dropped. She was fine... I'm sure she was scared but more than fine with all the Vicodin... more than fine. It was an incredibly awkward, sobering, and pathetic situation. Pathetic because it was a drug overdose, because I did not reach for her hand, and because of everyone's reaction. Everyone was drawn in and fascinated, but no one took action. It was as if we were all on the verge of empathy but entirely incapable of actually being human and feeling for her. Half the audience continued watching the play and the other half whispered about the woman and about how weird it would be if someone died in the room during the play.
In conclusion: I give the players props for continuing through the incredible circumstance; I scold the director for not taking an intermission with someone in need of imediate medical attention; and I'm disappointed in myself watching and not doing anything about it.
To end on a lighter note, here is one of my all time favorite film moments: the incomparable Madeline Kahn as Mrs. White with Tim Curry in the 1985 version of Clue
It was not the conclusion of the play that brought a climax to the evening, but a little old lady across the isle from me. While the players were thick in plot, I began to hear whispers and talking to my left. "How rude," I thought, with a mean glance in their direction. I continued watching the play with slightly squinted eyes, hoping they would see me and realize that it is rude to talk during live theatre. Well they obviously didn't care at all, as I soon heard a cell phone going off. Since the daggar-throwing stare was not effective I thought I would have to step up my strategy with a half-body-turn and prolonged-scoulding-stare combo. Well I turned towards them with devilish eyes and realized it was not a cell phone ringing, it was a cell phone turning on to call an ambulance. There were three woman huddled around the old woman, who was making muffled sounds and only managing slurred words.
By this time most of playhouse has realized something is happening and people started standing up and leaning in all sorts of directions to see what was happening. So I'm right next to this woman and have no idea what sort of action to take. I have absolutely no emergency training (outside of Red Cross babysitting classes I took in the 7th grade) but feel like someone should be doing something. Luckily a nurse rushed to the woman and laid her on the floor.
While the woman is seemingly dying the play continued. As a former thespian I realize the show must go on, but my goodness! I was seated and wondering what I should be doing if the woman were dying. I thought, "fuck, if I was dying there I would want someone to come and hold my hand and tell me that help is on the way and stroke my hair and CARE! I would not have a happy passing over during a high school show of Clue with dozens of strangers in the dark staring at and whispering about me."
In fact I did not grab her hand. She did not die. I still felt bad.
It turns out the geezer had popped too much Vicodin before coming to the show and her blood pressure dropped. She was fine... I'm sure she was scared but more than fine with all the Vicodin... more than fine. It was an incredibly awkward, sobering, and pathetic situation. Pathetic because it was a drug overdose, because I did not reach for her hand, and because of everyone's reaction. Everyone was drawn in and fascinated, but no one took action. It was as if we were all on the verge of empathy but entirely incapable of actually being human and feeling for her. Half the audience continued watching the play and the other half whispered about the woman and about how weird it would be if someone died in the room during the play.
In conclusion: I give the players props for continuing through the incredible circumstance; I scold the director for not taking an intermission with someone in need of imediate medical attention; and I'm disappointed in myself watching and not doing anything about it.
To end on a lighter note, here is one of my all time favorite film moments: the incomparable Madeline Kahn as Mrs. White with Tim Curry in the 1985 version of Clue
