Ugh, Walnut Street Theater. The most interesting thing that happened at you tonight is that somebody in the mezzanine threw up. Her face got all yellow, and the EMT's came.
What a really, really boring production of An Ideal Husband, which might be a boring play. It's hard to tell. I'm pretty sure that Oscar Wilde wrote edgy, biting comedies? Was this his one attempt at saccharine earnestness with no timing? Or was that the directing? I don't know.
I do know that the woman two seats over from me just has no idea how to text flirt, and that is because the woman sitting next to me had to coach her in a conversational tone on what to say throughout the first act. Judging from the messages I heard read aloud, I think he might be into her. I am not sure whom the woman next to me was texting, which made her texting more interesting. (It's engaging for an audience member when they have to put pieces of a puzzle together.)
All the lit up phones were a nice aesthetic, too, like tealights floating in a Japanese pond at night.
Or maybe like distress beacons.
(It is ideal, in the theater, that aesthetic choices such as the lighting reflect emotional states)
At first I wanted to put all my energy into making nasty judgy faces at the texting people, but then I felt conflicted because I didn't want to be seen as defending the idea that they should quietly and politely watch the play. (It's good when a theatrical experience has conflict.)
And besides, I needed something to entertain me.
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