Okay. It was my fault. I was late for last night’s evening performance. Heavy rain. Snarled traffic on 8th Avenue. By 6 minutes for the 8 o’clock curtain. And was herded into the Golden Theater’s foyer to wait 45 minutes till the first intermission for Edward Albee’s A Delicate Balance. Twenty-five others waited too, with headsets, watching the play on an overhead monitor. Security gave us a pat down, searched our belongings. “Draconian,” exclaimed one woman at the theater’s latecomer policy, before she stormed off into the storm. “I’m outta here,” announced another prior to leaving too. The glass doors began to steam from the heat. The man next to me had rivulets running down his face. As to that monitor, you could not tell Glenn Close from Lindsay Duncan. It was a very expensive ticket.
Backstage, the cast joked about the evening’s celebrity guest. In Act II, Martha Plimpton comes out wielding a gun. (Maybe they are Republicans.) The prop had to be cleared by security ahead of time, as you would expect. “The vice president is here, the vice president is here,” recounted someone in the dressing room, marveling at the noise one person could make. To wit, someone asked, the vice president of what company? For me it was an off night at the theater. I don’t want my money back. Are you listening Scott Rudin? I’d like a ticket to see it again. Maybe those 25 others would too.
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