Verse 6: On leaving at interval
We pays our subs and takes our chances.
Support the arts, put bums on seats,
and if the play’s a dud, well, cancer’s
worse and nothing really beats
the sense of risk when new creations
meet an audience: ovations
(standing)? or polite applause?
Will these two hours throw wide the doors
of hell and heaven? Last night neither.
We all worked hard: director, cast,
designer, writer, punters. Vast
good will drained away and by the
midpoint: ‘Who cares how this ends?’
we said, ‘Let’s go and eat with friends.’
At least we waited until the interval, unlike the occasion in 2010 that prompted the following (here’s a link to the original post):
This is just to say
We walked out of your play last night
from front row seats. We’d hung in there
for five whole scenes. The script was tight,
each actor sound, the set though spare
was spot on, and the vocal coach
had nailed the accents – no reproach
on that score. All these things were fine
but almost from the opening line
I couldn’t, couldn’t feel a thing.
I’d pay to watch two monkeys fart
if done with two boards and a heart.
Last night had timing, lines that sing
and sting. It’s heart that wasn’t there.
Sometimes a pause is just dead air.
Me fail? I fly! 