OMG! I just returned from seeing a play at the Count Basie Theatre in Red Bank, New Jersey. To quote Annalise’s mother in an episode of How to Get Away with Murder, “Clean up this mess. It’s a pigsty. Where’s the home training?”
When did we begin to treat rich history-laden, 20th century, monumental theatres like Regal Cinemas? Can somebody in Red Bank please keep the hairspray out of their eyes long enough to realize that those are actual actors up there? FYI: THEY CAN SEE AND HERE YOU! They notice when you come to your sixth row seats, double-fisting cocktails, ten minutes after the curtain goes up. They notice when you have a full-on conversation without using your inside voice. And yes. They notice when you and the rest of your balding, leopard-print clad, double-date pick up and leave just as the curtain call begins and step on the toes of the shocked audience members between you and the door while showing the cast your back. Can you tell who I was sitting next to?
But the rest of the audience was no better. Upon leaving (After giving the cast their proper kudos I might add) I noticed squashed tubs of popcorn and cracked plastic cups with ice drooling out of them all over the floor. Did Wednesday used to be league night here or something? I’ve seen rednecks behave better at their sister/cousin’s wedding.
Shame on the Count Basie too. I realize I wasn’t there to see The Cherry Orchard. What play was it you wonder? Um... Okay. It was Spank! (Hey. The tickets were a gift!) But there is still no excuse! Why are you selling popcorn and cosmos in plastic cups at the theatre dah-ling? And you dare to use the British spelling of theatre on your building. I know times are tough. But come on. Respect for the craft son.