Is it just me, or are theatre audiences getting… worse?

Not in terms of character. Those who love theatre are my kind of people – but in terms of basic manners.

I grew up with old-school parents who made it crystal clear that unless my head was about to explode or my seat was on fire, everything (and I mean everything) could wait until the final bow. There was a reason for this. It showed respect not just to the performers on stage, but also to those around me. We had all bought tickets to watch the show, not to contribute to the background noise. So I learned to sneeze silently, stifle a cough to the brink of bursting an eyeball, cross my legs and hang on. I didn’t rustle, rattle, or jiggle. I even tried to breathe quietly. 

As someone who’s spent a lifetime both on stage and in the audience, I know how easily one audience member’s distraction becomes everyone’s problem. It’s a kind of second-hand frustration. You’re pulled out of the story and left wincing on the performers behalf. Maybe it’s just the few who misbehave, stand out more. Or maybe it’s post-COVID habits, streaming, and TikTok culture creeping into our collective theatre mindset. But it seems audiences are finding it increasingly difficult to focus — to remember they aren’t at home on the couch with a pause button. Most likely I’m becoming just a little crotchety. But when it happens, especially during art at its finest – it’s a crying shame.

I did a little psycho-social experiment recently. I was at Nijinsky by the marvellous Australian Ballet. One of those rare, breathtaking performances that reaches right into your chest and rearranges your heart. And yet… I found myself playing a game of Audience Etiquette Bingo. The Sydney Opera House, thankfully, doesn’t allow food or drink into the auditorium; otherwise, this list would be much longer:

• At least four coughing fits — including just as the house lights went down.

• A patron rummaging constantly through her handbag? Check.  

• Strepsil popping — always at the quietest moment, and no, slow doesn’t help. Check       

• Flashes of watches or screens? Check.

• Couples whispered running commentary? Check.

• Nijinsky pauses majestically… and someone’s alarm goes off? Bingo.                                            

• Wait, they didn’t turn it off properly, so it goes off again. Double bingo.

• And then — the pièce de résistance — phones being dropped.

I counted exactly eleven phones dropped that night. The Opera House is known for its beautiful, wooden surfaces… which, unfortunately, also happen to perfectly amplify the dull, echoing thud of a brick-sized phone smacking the floor.

It made me wonder: what could possibly replace phones as the most annoying disruption in the theatre? It mystifies me that people can’t bring themselves to turn it off, put it away, and – I don’t know – watch the show? Let’s not forget, the ballet is bloody expensive, even up in nosebleed C Reserve.

Add snacks to the mix and it’s open season on silence.

I understand snack bars make a lot of revenue and make sense at the movies, but can we really not wait roughly an hour to munch through an overpriced, giant tub of popcorn or chips the size of dinner plates during a live performance ? There’s nothing quite like trying to absorb a moment of theatrical stillness while someone two rows back is digging through a crinkly bag like they’re assembling a Lego set in the dark. And, do we really have to wait for the exact moment the lead pauses to sing her heart out to open a can of soft drink? That sharp crack and hiss slicing through the air completely kills the mood.

No doubt theatre etiquette -or lack thereof, will keep evolving. After all, if I were part of the penny crowd standing in the rain at The Globe during the third hour of Hamlet, I’d be grumbling that deodorant hadn’t been invented yet — and that the plague- afflicted won’t cover their buboes.

If I were up in the slips at the Royal Opera House in the 1800s, I’d just be grateful no one had urinated in my seat, started a fistfight at interval, or shouted “rubbish!” during the soprano’s big aria. On second thought, not much has changed, and a dropped iPhone is practically genteel.

I still believe in the sacred hush of a darkened theatre. In being fully there — not half-in, half-scrolling. Theatre offers precious respite — be it escapism, reflection, or simply a chance to laugh, cry, and be fully in the moment. So if we can’t sit still, listen closely, and show a little respect for the magic unfolding in front of us… why are we even there?

As the old saying goes, “When you come to the theatre, leave your worries at the door and bring your attention instead.” That’s my reason for going , and the kind of audience I hope to sit among. 

Got a theatre etiquette gripe? Vent in a healthy way and send it to faithintheatres@gmail.com

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