Audience participation is the lowest form of comedy. It is a staple element of stand-up, which makes it suspect in the first place, and is desperate attempt to engage spectators when the script, characterisation, structure, and dramaturgy have all left the stage. In the example of the ‘comic’ version of The Importance of Being Ernest?, the stage is eventually filled by members of the audience, dragged on stage and left pretty much to their own devices. That this is a popular fringe success may prove how out of touch my opinions might be. Nevertheless, audience participation is a signifier of a lack of confidence in the artists’ own material.
Two shows, of varying quality, provide examples of how this practice can either undermine an otherwise excellent show or identify the fundamental weakness in a performance. Voices of Evil is a ventriloquist show based around a satanic ritual. Sadly, Lachlan Werner does not rely on their charisma, solid physical acting skills, or even their wonderful ventriloquism skill. Instead, time is spent asking audience members whether they are scared or not, and getting people involved in irrelevant ways. This does create an apparent atmosphere of engagement, an illusion that the audience is involved in the comic fun. But it also messes up the pacing and veers away from the comic potential in summoning Satan. Playing Latinx is, by contrast, a politically engaged and very funny study of stereotypes. And the actual audience participation is limited to inviting members on stage to facilitate certain comic routines. But, as in Voices of Evil, the time spent getting people on stage, and their very limited role in the routines, interrupts the flow.
Most audience interactions follow the same pattern. A mock aggressive performer addresses a member of the audience. The victim replies reluctantly, with a mixture of embarrassment and desire to help the performer. The performer thrives on the embarrassment, and the whole incident ends with applause. The applause is a combination of sympathy for the victim and I hope that the performer will get on with being funny.
I have form on this issue. At a clown festival, a clown brought me on stage to have comic tussle. I had recently been at a seminar discussing clowning and I knew the clown was entirely responsible for my behaviour on the stage. There may have been some comedy in this battle between critic and clown, but I matched the clowns comedy, not by being funny but I just staying on the stage until they were able to get me to leave. I am variously ashamed and proud of my behaviour. I hope that the clown realised that using members of the audience can be a bit more dangerous than they had previously thought. And I have no idea whether the audience was watching my behaviour with disgust or outright hatred. I interrupted the performance. This may have been a bad thing, but the clown had full responsibility for what happened.
I have further form. Years ago, I created a series of performances. I realised very quickly that my own talent extended to about three minutes of entertainment. So, I retreated to one-on-one shows. They became a conversation. It wasn’t so much audience participation as a fully immersive experience. And I am not a skilful performer, I am a critic, and my knowledge is mostly theoretical. But I knew that as somebody who didn’t have enough charisma or material the command the stage, I could get the audience to do the hard work.
There are examples of audience participation that are effective. Fight Night and Audience by Ontoerend Goed interrogate the relationship between stage and auditorium and are merciless in their attitude towards the passive spectator. The latter remains controversial, at least in Edinburgh, for a sequence in which a woman was subjected to verbal abuse. Of course, as with everything from these Belgian Masters, the situation was always safe and under control. Red Bastard turns his audience into clowns and leans into the cringe. It is almost as if the acknowledgement of how nasty audience participation can be transforms it from being lazy into a weaponised dramaturgical strategy.
My preference is for drama that hurts and comedy that scores trenchant points. I like to be uncomfortable in my seat. I like to be provoked. I don’t want to feel uncomfortable because I might get picked on. I don’t like to be uncomfortable as I am seeing another audience member being embarrassed. There is already a power imbalance between the performer and the spectator. Exploiting this for cheap laughs is unsound.
on the positive side, I notice that audience participation is now included as a trigger warning before certain shows. Good.
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