"Wow... That Was Just... Wow!"
When I arrived at the common area by the call board, she was surrounded. I thought, "Give the poor woman some room." But she was in her element, living. She said something enthusiastic to every single person she came in contact with. And the remarkable thing? It was always sincere. She was a grace machine. When my turn came, she turned to me as if she recognized me and screamed, "And you!" While I don't recall much of what she said after that, I do remember that she made me feel like a really good actor. This was quite an accomplishment, because in this particular show I was often flat and always mugging. I'll never forget what a colleague whispered in my ear as he stared at this huge star in action… "God, she gives great backstage."
It was then that I realized, "By gum, she's done it!" She's solved the dilemma we theatergoers have suffered through since Grok the Fey Caveman asked his Mother the Tribal Elder what she thought, honestly, of his under-rehearsed performance of Dance of Twirling Mammoth Tusk. [His title] Fast forward 50,000 years. 3,723 for you Creationists out there. You've just seen a show. One of your dearest friends is in it. They know you're there. You hated it. As the sage Keanu Reeves said in Speed, "Pop quiz… what do you do?" He used more profanity, but the dilemma remains the same. Although talking down a thumbless mad bomber requires far less tact than navigating the mine field that is backstage at a Broadway show.
But before we plow ahead and answer the riddles of the cosmos, I've got some debunking to do. I'll put this as delicately as I can. That sure-fire, all-purpose feedback you keep tucked in your back pocket, those nuggets of gold you've been using to butter up your friends and deflect attention away from your obvious displeasure? As see-thru as The Invisible Man in a Saran Wrap factory. Here are some old chestnuts that, believe it or not, people still give the old spit and polish and try to pass off as appropriate:
"It was so great to see you up there."
"You looked like you were having such a great time!"
"I always love watching you work."
All debunking aside, there's a cruel joke lying at the heart of our backstage riddle: honesty isn't the answer. You'd think it would be the honorable choice, but honor can be such a lonely pursuit. Years ago, I went to see a friend in an avant-garde show at a hole-in-the-wall theater. When I saw him afterwards he asked me what I thought. "Be honest," were his fateful words. I told him the following: I was disappointed that he was only in the first ten minutes of the two and a half-hour show. While he was good, the rest of the acting was amateurish. The play itself was rambling nonsense. The direction was so sloppy as to be irresponsible. Oh yes, and the set was unconvincing. That last one seemed really important to me at the time. Do I need to mention that we're not friends anymore? Before you intellectually flog me for being so cold and unfeeling, I had just finished reading Atlas Shrugged. The defense rests.
The secret of giving good backstage is simple. Cover the little ones' ears. Lie. That's right. I said it. Lie. Lie out of your ass. It's easy! I find my friend backstage, hug him like I haven't seen him in years, look him in the eye and I say, "That was awesome!" And then, "That was, bar none, some of the best music I've ever heard in my life." Followed quickly and conspiratorially as if they've committed a crime of excellence by, "And you… you were amazing." Then I pepper it with a little, "The set was both beautiful and functional." Then I finish with a flourish of, "Truly, truly great. Seriously." After which I turn to someone else as if I recognize them and yell, "And you!" I've practiced in the mirror and, I wouldn't lie to you, it's very convincing. And here's the clincher: even if they know the show's a stinker, what are they going to do, question my taste? How rude would that be?
How deliciously condescending. The implication here is that not only should I be happy someone let me walk out on the stage, but I should thank my lucky stars I'm even able to walk at all. Halleluiah! And to think, a scant two years ago, all I could get was "roll-on" parts in shows like A Brief Musical! History of Time: The Stephen Hawking Story. But now look at me go! I also put on my own pants! Notable Exception: This one's OK if the speaker was blinded by an errant radioactive canister to the head as a child and now, thanks to Lasik surgery, can see again.
Also condescending, the fallacy here is the notion that I'm singing and dancing around up there for my own enjoyment. This reaction is reserved primarily for the non-musical-lover. Yes, my idea of a grand old time is smearing a whole tube of greasepaint on my face, strapping on a harness that will prevent me from having children in the future, swinging from the rafters, and screaming this rock'n'roll music that seems to be all the rage these days. As a matter of fact, I have it in my contract that I get to take my heavy, stinking costume home, where I put on the original cast recording and do the whole show over again. Now that's a great time.
While one of the gentler options, the condescension still shines through. Are you getting the trend here? I'm so glad I could give you the pleasure of seeing me struggle both as an artist and a person. How was the view from up there on your perch? Did you need opera glasses way up there to see me so clearly wrasslin' with this "piece?" And while I might not have interpreted the text to your liking, did I at least make it out of there without embarrassing myself and my family? Notable Exception Part Deux: This one actually works on anyone who went to a conservatory program for acting.
I actually like this one. Transparent and bold. If pulled off properly, this speechless reaction is closest to the old axiom, "If you don't have anything nice to say, smile real wide and do your best Conway Twitty." It requires a level of commitment that few can muster convincingly, however, so if you want to risk using it, practice at home in front of a mirror.