The Woebegone Unwilling Audience Participant

A true #longreads story of terror by Thienan Nguyen

Filled with the uneasiness that occurs in anticipation of an impending show, I sat there aimlessly flipping through the provided show program. In this small community theater, I had just made my way into the front row seats (not physically in front — no one else had seats ahead of me). I soon discarded the program and watched as the rest of the audience passed by making their way to find their own seats. As the type of person drawn to inner workings, the gaps in the curtain providing backstage glimpses became an area of attention. What was going on backstage in the minutes before the show was about to start? Maybe twice a flash of light or a brush of the curtain would signal a hurried individual walking past. As I stared into that dark area, I remember thinking that this setting was very intimate. Performers were within arms reach of the closest audience members. The stage was set down low with a narrower lecture hall style assortment of seats sloping upwards for the audience. Separating the seats was one large middle aisle. Adorned on the armrests on each side of the seats were little plaques commemorating the generous patrons/donors to the theater. As enthusiastic audience members filed in, they crossed right on the front of the stage. The same track of where audience footsteps had just treaded would soon be the sanctuary of the performer. Except for a strip of plastic, there was not a prominent demarcation signifying where the stage ends and where the audience space begins.

I was at the theater accompanied by two adult couples firmly in their middle age. The husbands were both family doctors and accompanying them were their wives. As a medical student, I was on my rural medicine rotation in Canon City, Colorado. The generous preceptor and his wife whom I was assigned to work with and learn from that month had been long time patrons of the Milibo Art Theatre in Colorado Springs. They had planned to see a series of three shows. These shows were grouped by the fact that they all were single performer spectacles. They all happened to occur all within the month I was in Canon City. I was invited and encouraged to attend all three shows. Living in their home and intruding upon their lives I felt an obligation to accompany them. In reality I truly think they enjoyed having random students in their home and sharing their lives with others. In their eyes it was no intrusion at all.

Sparkling zealousness filled the stare of the woman looking straight at me.

As a shy introverted person, I was terrified. The performer made a stride or two towards me. Eye contact was made. Sparkling zealousness filled the stare of the woman looking straight at me. Yes, out of everybody, I had been chosen — the woebegone unwilling audience participant. Our eyes locked. Before she did, I realized she was going to engage me. With the audience entranced by the performer, and her direction of the action right at me, the spotlight immediately shone upon me. Thankfully a real spotlight did not accompany the stares of what felt like a thousand eyeballs fixed on my every move. There was already enough light for the entire audience to see all. No one would think I would be the one to provide entertainment, or add humor to this performance. The intimacy of the theater made it that much more claustrophobic and unsettling. Based on the first part of the show, I had already foreseen that this woman, or at least her portrayal was completely opposite to my normal temperament. She was flamboyant, enthusiastic beyond all, and filled with unlimited nervous energy.

This was my second show. The first show the week before was a wonderful performance by a magical juggler, mime, physical performer, Peter Davidson. During that first week, we had arrived at the theater lobby, the perfect spot to get a refreshment or snack before the show started. My hosts bought me a small beer, which I could enjoy during the show. As someone with an acetadehyde dehydrogenase deficiency (see my post here), I experience Asian glow quite easily and was glad that lights dim when a show starts.

I also vividly remember how aware I was at the time that I was the only obvious minority in the theater. As an Asian American it still sometimes feels out of place to go to certain places. I intrinsically know that tons of Asian Americans enjoy theater. Yet even if no one else gives it a second thought, a self-consciousness about your race invades and you still imagine them thinking, “WOW. An Asian guy at the theater”. Maybe, part of this has to do with my disconnect with the theater. I’ve never had the same enthusiasm or been caught by the infectious nature of the theater that I’ve seen others display.

I had seen various theater performances sporadically up to this point. Back in college I had gone and seen a few Broadway hits in San Francisco — typically via dorm-sponsored events. I had also seen a few musicals and plays in smaller community theaters (dorm events again) which I really enjoyed. This first of 3 theaters experience that month brought me back to the magic that the theater could provide.

Once the showed started, I was transfixed. After Peter Davidson’s popped out of a chest on stage and started his routine, I totally forgot about my insecurities, the one about my flushed face, or being the only “Asian” guy. I truly enjoyed the show and looked forward to seeing the next 2 shows in the upcoming weeks. Little did I know…

The peacock instinct to fully display your plumage kicks in with the ever important sprezzatura-esque countenance required to fully convince your audience.

The zealous performer had just complimented me. I had just been commended on my physique. The performer did the thing where she squeezed my upper arm. As most guys know, the peacock instinct to fully display your plumage kicks in with the ever important sprezzatura-esque countenance required to fully convince your audience. Never do you want others to know how much effort you are using to flex. “Yes my chest and arms fill this shirt just so, and I typically look this good.” Even in sheer terror I remember that instinct never left me. In those moments, its hard to control your facial expressions. Its even harder to remember what your face was even doing. I probably looked very awkward.

The drive up to the show was quite an experience. My preceptor generally worked at least until 6–7 PM most nights and often would not make it out until 9 PM. Thus, on Thursdays when we would need to make it up to the theater in Colorado Springs, we would try to be as efficient and quick as possible to hit the road in time. It was an hour drive approximately 45 miles one way from Canon City. One of the few downsides to living in a rural town, but that is neither here nor there. I remember not getting dinner before work ended and needing to quickly heat up some leftover barbecue ribs.

My preceptor ended driving my car. He didn’t think he needed any food. We were going to meet his wife who had left earlier and she would take us the rest of the way in her car. I was in the passenger seat balancing a plastic container on my knees. Inside the plastic container was some vegetable dish. Inside an accompanying plastic bag were the ribs that had been slightly warmed. My teeth tore through the flesh and sucked on the juices. These ribs were amazingly tasty. I ended up just solely having a 100% meat dinner.

It was the first time I had let a new person drive my car in a while. I was somewhat scared, ashamed of my old weak car — you had to almost literally floor the accelerator to accelerate up a hill on the highway. To think that the terror would only intensify in the next few hours.

“Want” with the overemphasis that only seems genuine in a theatrical context from a performer whose life was dedicated to dramatic expression.

My responses were honest and simple. At least I wouldn’t completely ruin the show.

“You are quite handsome. Oo and it seems to me like you have some nice muscles” coo’d the performer.

“Thank you…” I hesitated. “Uh…” Do I return the compliment? I think you are beautiful too. No way! That sounded way too corny and even if I did decide to say something, I was afraid what it might sound like.

Next came something along the lines of “Let me really help you out. What do you want?” she said with lustful emphasis on that final word. “Want” with the overemphasis that only seems genuine in a theatrical context from a performer whose life was dedicated to dramatic expression.

“I want to pass medical school” I plainly said.

“I’m not really sure I can help you with that. Is there anything else?”

“How about some more chocolates?” confidently rang out from a fellow a few rows behind me. Thank you stranger. Right before these shows the founder and artistic director of the theater would mingle among the audience members carrying a metal pail filled with candy offering a nice treat. A tootsie roll had been tossed my way a few times.

“We’ll see what we can do about that” the performer said before continuing the story on stage.

I was sure by this time that my preceptor and his wife sitting to the right of me were smiling with glee. Glee at my expense. At least, I could provide some positive feelings. I dared not look their way. It was perhaps a 20 second excursion in the show. To me it didn’t feel long. It felt very intense.

As a one person show, this one had been full of colorful characters, all of whom were played by Shana Gordon. I had been very impressed by the writing and the storytelling and the very physical performance required to play a number of disparate characters. The audience is drawn into a magical world, a very creative performance, one that abandons normal storytelling conventions. Starting out as a very archetypal fairytale, the story soon devolves, the villain take over, heroes are left guessing. The show has substance, providing a unique perspective on the storytelling process and the constraints that typically befall its practitioners.

I wish I could have simply enjoyed the show. It was quite good.

Muscles, all over my body not necessarily tightened, but not at all relaxed

Thankfully the show continued without further audience interaction. However, I sat there thinking about my terrifying experience constantly. I sat back in my seat as far as I could. My legs were tense. Muscles, all over my body not necessarily tightened, but not at all relaxed. At the same time I paid attention to the show, and engaged in the performance. Yet, I looked forward to escaping as soon as the show ended. At the end of the show, I was already shifting back and forth during the applause.

The performer came back out for further applause. She bowed, then raised her arms toward me, clapping. SPOTLIGHT again on ME! I slightly nodded back at her. Fortunately, this wasn’t part of the show and the spotlight felt like a warm table lamp compared to the glare of the midday sun in the middle of the Sahara Desert. A brief bubbling up of terror had not exploded again. It was then announced that Ms. Cordon would be answering questions briefly from the audience after the show. I was stuck. We all sat back down. I racked my brain to come up with an AMAZING question. If I asked a great question, it might to normalize my awkwardness that I’m sure the performer and most of the audience sensed. Unfortunately, my brain was already liquefied, by the intense fervor of the prior hour.

Once the Q & A was over, my companions remained to mingle. I sat there. Once ready, we all filed past Ms Cordon. I had to walk past her. The swelter of dread peaked for the last time as I shuffled my feet quickly sticking to the person in front of me as I passed within a foot of Ms. Cordon (obviously avoiding eye contact).

We had to make the long drive back to Canon City that night. I sat in complete silence the entire 1+ hour drive. I pretended to sleep, sitting in the back seat. Fortunately my body was already tired. “Please, lets not talk about tonight,” I willed my preceptor and his wife. They fortunately, had their own discussion as I flickered back and forth in my state of hypnagogia. Before I knew it, we picked up my car, and made our way home. I crashed into bed and immediately fell asleep.

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