Phantom of the Mystery Science Opera.
The event described in this post occurred over two weeks ago, so this entry is a little late. Nonetheless, the sentiments described are no less potent than the day the event occurred.
I mentioned in a previous last post a short saying, attributed to the late Gene Siskel (but not researched for authenticity, lest someone wants to do the footwork for me), about theater audiences:
A film receives the reaction it deserves from a paid audience.
The paid bit is important, but after a recent dehabilitating affair at the Michigan Theater, the maxim requires a necessary augmentation:
A film receives the reaction it deserves from a paid audience, as long as the audience is not actively encouraged to provide their own reaction.
On October the 31st — Halloween for those who are obliged to forget the only macabre holiday of the year — the Michigan Theater indulged the region with seasonal spirit by showing Lon Chaney’s The Phantom of the Opera on the main screen. Catching the Opera screening was a perfect fit to my pledge to see a film at the theater once a week, and having a flick that featured the phenomenal theater organist Steven Bell as the soundtrack moved the show into must-see territory. I even bought pre-release reserved seating online to make sure I’d have a sure chance of being there in case the screening sold out.
Had a pretty good seat, too — middle section, center seat, marred only slightly by the head of the fellow who sat in front me, which took up an unimportant bottom part of a frame. The show-time eventually arrived, and shortly thereafter the master of ceremonies strolled out, a gentlemen I had seen several times introducing Summer Classic Film Series shows, and began to plug the film. Dr. Bell was introduced, who offered a few words about the film and the soundtrack (he wrote it, partially inspired by the original soundtrack — the guy is crazy good), and introduced another musician on the stage, a soprano who would offer her voice during certain film scenes that were staged in the Paris Opera House.
The audience was lively and spirited, large in turn-out, and some members had donned appropriate costumes, including one chap dressed up as Andrew Lloyd Webber’s version of the Phantom. Another great night at the theater, or so I thought at the time.
After Dr. Bell finished his notes on the film, the MC took back the mic, related some historical facts about the films production and the personal agony of Lon Chaney’s makeup, and then finished up with this gem of a suggestion (paraphrased):
“Back in the 20’s, the audience laughed, talked, jeered with the on-screen actors and action. For our showing of the 1925 Phantom of the Opera, feel free to do the same — interact with the movie! Talk back and with the characters! Have fun!”
And my own personal hell was opened up before me.
Okay, I exaggerate. A little bit. But one of my cardinal rules of movie-watching (for new, yet-unseen films, at least) is that the audience shouldn’t react outside of the context of the film. Lately I’ve gone as far as refusing to watch films outside of the theater (i.e. with friends) because the compulsion to chatter is too great. Remember: a film receives the reaction it deserves, by and large.
The aforementioned maxim is generally applicable because a reaction aroused in one member of the audience can easily be extrapolated to most or all other members. If a scene is funny, people will laugh, and no one is brought out of the film; the laughter is an expected, unrestrained reaction. The same applies to scenes and sequences of romance, action, adventure or drama: the tools and ability of the skilled filmmaker guide the production to produce a tuned and directed emotional result and experience for anyone who watches the movie. (Aside: Interpretation of plot devices, narrative and in-depth character analysis is not within the scope of a audience reaction.)
On the other hand, imagine a gag playing itself out on screen, but instead of the crowd wholly breaking out into a peal of laughter, imagine if one guy loudly talked-back to the character on-screen, like he was witnessing the ordeal in person. “You idiot,” he’d say. “That was clearly an exploding cigar!” or something of the sort. Or imagine someone talking during the actor’s big joke, or a teen’s cell phone blaring out during the punchline. And so on. Or if someone laughed when a character’s throat was slashed open. Same deal — the audience would be distracted and pulled back out of the film-watching experience.
Which is pretty much what happened at the Michigan Theater last Friday night: once the MC unleashed the commentaries of any audience member who deemed themselves self-important enough to yell at a movie screen, a crowd of bad Marx Brothers-impersonators was given wings for the next hour and a half. As for the rest of the audience, the ones who just wanted to watch the film as presented, too bad. I couldn’t have turned around to the woman behind me who would say “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty…” and make pigeon-coo noises every time a animal appeared on-screen and tell her to knock it off, not after the theater explicitly condoned her to do what she pleased.
All of that is disruptive behavior for a movie that was not promoted before-hand as featuring such. If the movie was advertised as “Live organ, with audience participation encouraged!” my reaction to this particular showing would be different: I wouldn’t be ranting about how the screening unexpectedly featured a relentless distraction by other audience members, but rather what the experience was like to be present at a showing that allowed audience chat-back (which I have essentially done here anyway, just with more heat). The difference is, I didn’t know any better prior to buying my ticket, no thanks to the theater itself.
Whether theaters allowed talking during movies back when this 1920’s flick was released is irrelevant — what was acceptable theater-going behavior is certainly and evidently not acceptable now. However, if the Michigan Theater’s screening was originally advertised as allowing audience participation…well, that’s something else entirely. Similarly, only the ignorant catch a midnight showing of The Rocky Horror Picture Show to see the actual movie.
Even through all of the other disruptions inside of the theater on Halloween night, I enjoyed Chaney’s Opera, especially when the rogue commentators forgot they were trying to be funny. Several moments in the movie were fraught with anxiety, and not surprisingly those sequences received little to no ribbing from the crowd. Good filmmaking has the power to dispossess its audience of other attentions and volition, and Lon Chaney’s grotesque appearance and performance easily pulled the audience into a setting that only demanded attention, not participation.
Actually, allowing the chatter did provoke one very funny instance. During a scene transition, a title appeared that described how one of the character’s “barouche” was waiting outside of the opera house for his arrival. The title was many words long, and Dr. Bell wasn’t jamming on his organ during the title, so the theater was generally pretty quiet while the title was up on the screen.
After several long seconds of the title being on-screen, a voice in the back of the theater piped up, in perfect sitting-room volume without a hint of drama or, “A what?” That received a big laugh from the rest of the crowd, because we were all wondering the same thing: what the heck is a barouche? (The answer: a barouche is a type of 19th-Century horse-drawn carriage.)
If only the rest of the chatterboxes during that evening’s showing of Phantom of the Opera had the same tact and deftness as that lone title-commenter, but alas, people just like to show off when given the chance, and we can’t all be Mike, Joel, Tom or Crow.
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