Since Miss Fancy Says…‘ groundbreaking blog went live, we’ve received a few truly heartbreaking etiquette questions, but the one I’m about to answer almost brought a tear to my eye, describing as it does, an issue that has cause me much sadness throughout the years.
Dear Miss Fancy,I recently attended the ballet, and found myself sitting in close proximity to somebody who spoke throughout the majority of the performance. I found this to be quite distracting, and it really hampered my enjoyment of the show. What steps might the Fabulously Fancy take to remedy this situation when it arises?
Yours sincerely,Cultured of Carlton
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Dear Cultured,
I am so sorry to hear this, and can sympathise unreservedly. Some years ago, I attended a live performance by Barry Humphries, during which the chap seated behind me proceeded to explain every line to his companion, who did not, as far as I could tell, require an explanation, and was not, as far as I could tell, grateful for his efforts. And yet, this fellow… this,…this…entertainment thief – for that, my darlings, is what he was – stole my enjoyment, and the value of my ticket away from me, without so much as a moment’s hesitation. And what was gained by his explaining every nuance, every double entendre? Was this woman, or indeed anyone, edified by his efforts? No, they were not. It was a hate crime against those who just wanted to enjoy a Saturday evening at the theatre, sunk down low in their seats against the ever-present threat of involuntary audience participation.
Make no mistake, Cultured, this is a blight, a plague, visited upon those good folk everywhere who have paid money and taken the time and trouble to attend cinemas, theatres, arenas, circus tents, sporting ovals, and even church halls the world over. People chatting away through eisteddfods, barracking over-enthusiastically in the ears of their fellow figure skating fans, sending text messages and checking emails while the final moments of Titanic play out on the big screen, explaining the plot of the Grade 3 Nativity play to their companions, or just simply noisily making their way through an entire jar of pickled onions over the course of La Boheme.
Are our attention spans so short that we cannot sit for a little while in quiet engagement with whatever it is we’ve come to see? Can we not respect the hard work and efforts of the performers enough to actually allow them do do their jobs? Are we so sure that whatever noise or distraction we are providing is more enjoyable to the rest of the audience than the actual show we’ve each and all paid to attend? Were we all raised by wolves? Unable to adhere to basic social niceties and public behavioural standards? Really, it’s the absolutelimit.
For centuries, event-goers and often performers, have struggled to know how to handle these sorts of difficulties without adding to the problem. I did once see stand-up comedian Daniel Kitson have the house lights raised, so that he could address a couple of non-stop talkers, asking them politely but firmly, to leave. Other people have paid for their tickets, and you’re spoiling their enjoyment and mine, he explained quite matter-of-factly. He then reimbursed the offenders from his own pocket, and bid them farewell. It was a true quality move, but one perhaps only suited to that kind of performance, and not, say, a matinee of The Mikado.
There is always the possibility of a well-aimed swat with a programme, though this is really the least fancy option. And, to be completely frank with you, my own personal strategy of directing a sharp look in the direction of the offenders has not always been completely successful, which is why I’ve come to realise that a spot of public calling to account might be the best course.
And so, I offer to you, Miss Fancy’s patented, performance ready cure-all for rude folk at public events. (TM,©MMXII)
Imagine the scene… you’re a third of the way through Act II of the Moorabbin Mummer’s Medea! (the exclamation point, of course, denotes that it’s a musical) when you finally reach breaking point with the young man behind you, whose second cousin is in the chorus. He has made what he mistakenly assumes to be witty comments throughout, and shows no sign of stopping now. You’ve directed a number of pointed glances his way, even loudly muttered an irritated ‘oh, for goodness sake…’, but this loutish fool has not ceased his wittering.
You gather yourself, take a deep breath, and rise gracefully from your seat, holding up a hand toward the stage (Supremes style) to denote that the performance needs to pause. You turn to the offending party and recite the following, loudly, clearly, and to the basic rhythm that is, I believe, known in classical musical circles as ‘Oompa Loompa’ :
This show (event, film, match, insert as applicable) is entertaining,
But my enjoyment is now waning,
And I’m not sure what’s appertaining,
Because I’m struggling and straining,
And it’s you that I am blaming!
First you were explaining,
And then you were disdaining.It’s really very draining,
My enjoyment, you are stainingWhat is it that you’re gaining?
So if you wouldn’t mind deigning;from talking – try refraining!
From comment – try abstaining!
Your own counsel – try maintaining!
And silence – try sustaining!
Or soon I’ll be obtaining,
With the object of complaining,
And perhaps a spot of shaming,
The attention of an usherwho will have you ejected forthwith.
Cue rousing applause from your fellow audience members. You may even receive the bouquet that was intended for the lead performer at curtain call time. The modern world being what it is, somebody will have whipped out a phone and recorded the event, and before you know it, you’ll be a YouTube sensation. The quick thinking Fancy might also consider working in a crowd-pleasing quip about ‘poetic justice’. And, after his initial embarrassment has abated, the young hobbledehoy in question will be grateful to you for alerting him to his folly.
But most importantly, you’ll have reclaimed the enjoyment that you bought and paid for. Huzzah!
With love and best wishes for a Fabulously Fancy Day!
Miss F xox
Miss Fancy Says 