I love drinking when I go to the theatre. Pre-show, mid-show, post-show, when I’m home from show. It feels sexy, sumptuous, indulgent. Very classy, quite sophisticated. Bourgeois. Elegant, depending on what your tipple is. I hate the plastic cups, I hate how much I have to pay for a drink in a plastic cup, but with a measure of red wine in one hand and my ticket in the other, I'm good to go.
By the time the show starts, I’ll be holding my second glass. I won’t have had dinner - 6pm is too early while 10pm is too late - so I’m probably, probably feeling the effects a little. Not drunk, not even tipsy. Just soft, emotional, vulnerable, forgiving, a little more sensitive to all of the memories theatre can drudge up for you. In short, in the ideal state for an audience member.
A couple of times, I’ve been the equivalent of a friend I had at 6th form college who cried in the toilets every time we went out for the night. Every single painful memory she had from childhood to the present moment came gushing forth onto scratchy toilet roll, three of us in the cubicle with her trying to make it all better, thanks to too many shots of Apple Sourz.
One occasion for myself was seeing Alice Birch’s 'Anatomy of a Suicide' in summer 2017. It was hot, really hot that summer: I’d walked from Warren Street to the Royal Court in glorious, sweaty sunshine and rehydrated with two large glasses of wine before the show. By the time the show finished, I’d drunk three, and was sobbing on my friend’s shoulder. She thought I was crying because the play had struck a chord and I’d had experience of attempting suicide. I knew I was mainly overwhelmed by how good the play was. I mean, really. I was sucked right in and screaming to be let go, absorbed in story and performance and truth. But there’s definitely a chance that my reaction was overblown due to all the wine, and unfortunately I’ll never know for sure, besides confirmation that others loved that play, too.
So my question is: is it the booze or the theatre talking? When I’ve been reduced to a quivering, sobbing, overwhelmed and overjoyed mess, is it the writing/performance/directing/set like I insist it is, or should I have just stuck to tap water before the show?
There are a couple of plays I’ve seen that I know were a pure “experience”. 'The Effect' by Lucy Prebble (National Theatre, 2012) still makes my eyes prick and a lump form in my throat. 'Time and the Conways' by J.B Priestley (National Theatre, 2009) still holds my shoulders tightly and pulls me closer. 'Escaped Alone' by Caryl Churchill (Royal Court, 2016/17) still has me shaking and gasping for air. But all three of these shows were matinees, and although it wouldn’t stop me, all three were not accompanied by alcohol. The memory of Anatomy of a Suicide makes me feel light-headed and weak, but…
I started thinking about this because I saw Anthony Neilson's ‘The Tell-Tale Heart’ this week - and for a whole host of reasons (chief among them, Playwright’s Christmas Party hangover), I stuck to drinking Cawstons sparkling rhubarb. Now, I already knew that I would at least like this show. I love what Nielson does and there is always a laugh, and always something to take away from his stuff. And in fact, yes - It’s great. I had a fantastic time, with nothing to blame it on other than the show itself.
Well let’s not get ahead of ourselves here - before you say it, I’m not suggesting that anyone, most of all myself, should stop having an alcoholic beverage at the theatre. But, there’s something to be said for watching something with a clear head and nervous system, if only to know that it’s the play alone that gave you cause for joy, pain and thought.
It suddenly feels frighteningly like a matter of respect - to consume the play as the artists intended it to be received. We can of course argue that there are some new-writing nights that come with a “please drink responsibly” warning - consume as much as you need to in order to pretend it’s entertaining - and I’ve certainly been on the other side, hoping the audience are in a good mood. But for a good play, I enjoy it all the more - and even more in the days thereafter - for staying sober.
If the play’s awful though, I don’t blame you - that’s what the interval’s for. See you at the bar.
