Q: What does a standing ovation mean in Vancouver?
A: The show’s over.
Sometimes it can feel like that, anyway. And, to be fair, it’s not just Vancouver; North America is standing-O crazy. Studio audiences leap to their feet when talk-show hosts arrive on-stage, for God’s sake. To far too great an extent, standing ovations have become the norm; I’m sure that, to some people, staying in their seat to applaud would feel mean.
I’ve got a rule for standing ovations: I’ll stand up if a show has positively changed my life.
This past week, I stood up for Kim Collier’s production of Red at the Playhouse. That show reminded me of the importance of simple, visceral openness to art, and of the importance of honouring one’s capacity for profound aesthetic experience. For me at least, it’s way too easy to get caught up in survival and to forget about the ecstasy of presence.
I’m not kidding myself; I know that Red isn’t a perfect script. In some ways, it sucks up to its audience. I’m thinking of the scene in which Rothko and his assistant paint a base layer onto a canvas, for instance. In this production—as per the stage directions—they do so with opera blaring and in a frenzy. On opening night, the audience burst into applause at the end. But for what? They just painted a base coat. It’s a mundane task. In my reading at least, the playwright presents a ridiculously crude reduction of the artistic process and, eager to be in on an act of creativity, the audience buys into it.
But who cares, really? The play opened me up. And my primary response is gratitude.
