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A cool story about Twelfth Night
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A Disclaimer: I wasn’t there. The following re-telling may be incomplete or contain inaccuracies. If that bothers you, stop reading now.
Of course, if it is true, I think a story like this needs to be shared.
Last night, July 12, the Shakespeare In The Park (nee Public Theater) production of Twelfth Night closed. (As far as anyone knows, anyway. Audiences and critics loved the production. When that happens, the producers traditionally find a way to move the show to a Broadway venue. We’ll see if that happens in this case.)
This story, however, is about the night before. Saturday, July 11.
For those of you who don’t know the process of getting tickets to a play in Central Park, let me explain. These shows are free. It’s one of the great bargains, and annual traditions, of living in New York. Everything has a price, of course, and in this instance, it’s time. Normally, people line up in the morning and wait in line until the tickets are released to the public around mid-day. However, in the event of a show that is both popular and gets rave reviews (like Twelfth Night), people line up the night before and camp out. It becomes an event. For any tourists who remember the New York of the 1980’s and wonder why anyone would risk spending the night in Central Park for tickets to a play, I offer two thoughts: 1. New York is a lot nicer place than it used to be, and 2. As far as I know, the park is closed at night, and the line takes place on Central Park West. Still, it’s not the most comfortable night you’ll spend in the city.
Saturday night, like seemingly every night over the past six weeks, featured thunderstorms in the New York area. That means that everyone who was waiting overnight for tickets was not only trying to get some sleep on asphalt, they were also getting wet. And, this summer, they haven’t been the gentle rain showers traditional of the East Coast. They’ve been the booming, roof-rattling, storms of the Midwest that I grew up with.
Around 2:30 in the morning, the people in line heard voices screaming something about “pizza!...” A few poked their heads out of whatever poncho or blanket was keeping them dry to see what was happening. Most were prepared to tell those idiots to shut up. This is still New York, after all.
As it turned out, the folks making all that noise were the cast and crew of Twelfth Night, there to thank everyone for waiting in line, and handing out free pizza to keep their spirits up. I’ve gotten confirmations that Anne Hathaway, Raul Esparza, and Julie White were there, but I’m quite confident that it involved most of the company. Again, it was 2:30 in the morning.
I think that, regardless of how you felt about this particular production, that story reiterates the one irrefutable truth I’ve been trying to establish in this column: that the audience is an integral part of the show. (That’s why we get angry about cell phones, people!)
If a show falls in the forest (or, in this case, Central Park) and no one hears it, did it really happen? The answer is: No. It didn’t. Believe it or not, when you sit down in a theatre, you become part of the process. Without you there, it’s just another rehearsal.
And it’s nice to see that the folks responsible for Twelfth Night know, and appreciate, that. Nice job, guys. And, congratulations on the end of your run.
(By the way, is it the end?)
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