The sound of a phone going off during a theatrical performance is distracting and seems disrespectful of all performers and the whole audience. When it happens I always ask, “Why didn’t they have the sense to check it was on silent?”
So let me make an admission. If anyone was disturbed by a phone ringing about 10 minutes into the Brian Cox and Nicole Ansari Cox interview in the Yvonne Arnaud Theatre on Sunday, it was me. Mea culpa.
See: Stage Dragon: Brian and Nicole Ansari Cox – In Conversation – Yvonne Arnaud Theatre
If I might explain… when I reached for my phone to operate the “silent” switch I found my phone was not in my shirt breast pocket, its habitual home. So I started to search with increasing urgency and concern in my outdoor jacket. Still no luck and the on-stage interview with two of our finest actors had just started. What would happen if it went off? So embarrassing.
Luckily, I was at the end seat in our row and grabbing my jacket, which still, I thought, probably contained the ticking time bomb of a phone, I scuttled up the steps and out of the auditorium, giving a brief explanation to a sympathetic usher. But another, more thorough search in my numerous jacket pockets drew another blank.
“Perhaps I left it at the ticket desk,” I said a little desperately to the usher and we quickly proceeded.
“Have you found a phone here?” I asked.
“No,” said the woman manning the desk.
Where the devil was it? I wondered if I had, in fact, even brought it with me. I had a pretty clear memory of having it in my hand at the ticket desk in case the record of my booking had been required but perhaps I was wrong.
Remaining puzzled I returned to my seat next to my slightly bemused sister and whispered a request to use her phone to text my wife at home, asking her to check that my phone had indeed been left behind.
Minutes passed.
Then I heard a phone ring. It was a fairly quiet ring but persistent. Because of the low volume I wasn’t sure if it was anything to do with me and think I might have even looked around to see if anyone was reacting. Fortunately, I resisted a look of disdain and noted, with concern, that no one else seemed panic-struck.
Had I really managed to twice fail to find my phone in my jacket? My wife often tells me I don’t check my pockets properly when I have mislaid things.
So I grabbed my jacket once again hoping the annoying ringing would accompany me as I retraced my escape route. But after a few steps I slowed, realising that the sound was not keeping me company. I seem to have left it behind.
What the devil?
I returned to my seat and the still continuing ringing of the phone. I quickly scanned my seat. Nothing. Then even in the gloom, as it stopped ringing, I saw something reflect on the floor. Oh the joy of finding something lost, something only adding to my ability to make a fool of myself. (As if I needed any help!)
Perhaps I had put it on the seat as I was folding my jacket and it had fallen through the gap of the flip-up seats. Anyway, I scooped it up and firmly switched it to silent.
Although in the theatre, I think I made the right decision in resisting the urge to make a speech, a dramatic public apology. Instead I just tried to act as if not much had happened.
Had those on stage noticed? The ringing had been quiet. So hopefully not. But after the show my brother-in-law and nephew who were sitting on the far side of the stalls said: “Oh yes we heard it. Didn’t it go on?”
So Brian Cox, Nicole Ansari Cox, Joanna Read and all the audience please accept my sincere apology.
Those on-stage knew the show must go on and gave no sign of annoyance. Even those around me in the audience said nothing at the interval. Perhaps they had found the sight of an elderly chap running round holding a jacket, as if it had caught fire, amusing and an unexpected entertainment bonus. I hope so.
When I got home I asked my wife, “You knew I was in the theatre, why did you ring my phone?”
“You should have had it switched to silent,” she said, adding, “Anyway, you said you had left it at home, so I thought that by ringing it I might hear where it was.”
I have learnt, long ago, that it is best not to argue with my dear wife and on this occasion I had to admit she had a point.
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