Why Do We Clap for That? The Strange, Wonderful Things Theatre Audiences Will Always Applaud
by Chris Peterson
Theatre audiences are a curious species. We pride ourselves on our refined tastes and critical instincts. We dissect performances, praise nuance, and discuss dramaturgy like sommeliers at a wine tasting. But then someone does a high kick, and we absolutely lose our minds.
Seriously, why do we clap for that?
There’s a long-standing, unspoken agreement among theatre-goers that certain moments, no matter how minor or unrelated to plot, deserve a full-throated ovation. Not because of narrative importance. Not because of emotional catharsis. But because... well, that’s just what we do. Tradition? Peer pressure? Muscle memory? All of the above?
Let’s take a look at some of the weirdest, most inexplicable, yet completely expected things theatre audiences will always clap for:
The Kick Line
A classic. The Rockettes may have made it famous, but now if any group of performers dares to put their legs in the air in vaguely synchronized fashion, the audience will erupt as if they just solved climate change. It doesn’t matter if the show is a Sondheim deep cut about grief and loss. Throw in a kick line, and people will whoop like they’re at a Vegas revue. There could be tap shoes, jazz shoes, or orthopedic inserts. No one cares. The legs go up, and the hands come together.
Entrance Applause (for Characters, Not Actors)
We need to talk about this. There are certain characters that, when they step on stage, receive applause just for showing up. The audience claps not because it’s Meryl Streep, but because it’s Dolly Levi. Or Elphaba. Or the chandelier. Sometimes the actor hasn't even said a word yet. Just the silhouette, the costume, or the music cue is enough to bring a roar of recognition. You could be at a high school production and still hear someone yell "Yessss!" from the back row.
Sustained Notes
Look, we all love a good belt. But theatre audiences treat holding a note for eight full counts like it’s an Olympic sport. Forget vocal tone, interpretive phrasing, or emotional honesty. That note was long, and therefore, it was good. Clap. And if they add vibrato toward the end? Forget it. The audience is now levitating. We will stand up for you. We will name our children after you. All because you inhaled properly.
Riffs (Even Questionable Ones)
You know this one. Someone sings the word “love” and decides to add seventeen notes where one would do. It may be messy. It may be medically inadvisable. But if it's loud and ends high, the audience will cheer like it’s Beyoncé’s Super Bowl halftime show. Accuracy is optional. Confidence is not. If the performer looks like they’re about to ascend to another realm, the audience will treat it like a religious experience.
Tap Dancing
Is it a human instinct? A throwback to vaudeville? Do we all secretly wish we could make that much noise with our feet? Whatever the reason, tap dancing sends audiences into a frenzy. The faster and louder, the better. Bonus applause if someone does that one move where they spin around while clicking. It does not matter if it fits the plot or if it was choreographed during tech week. If we hear that shuffle-ball-change, we are emotionally obligated to go wild.
Reveals That Were Clearly Coming
Quick change? Applause. Dropped cloak to reveal a sparkly outfit? Applause. Giant set piece slowly revealed behind a scrim? Oh, you better believe that gets a gasp and a clap. Even if it’s foreshadowed so heavily you can see it coming from the parking lot, we still act like the magician just pulled a rabbit out of their hat. The more obvious it is, the bigger the reaction. Bonus points if glitter is involved.
The Final Tableau
It doesn’t even matter what’s happening. The lights go down, the music swells, and everyone freezes—and that’s our cue. Applause. If it’s a sad show, we clap softly and respectfully. If it’s a comedy, we go wild. If it’s Les Misérables, we clap while sobbing. Sometimes we start clapping even before the blackout because we can just feel it coming. The actors hold still. The audience explodes. It’s a sacred ritual. It’s also deeply satisfying.
There’s something oddly comforting about all of this. Theatre audiences are, above all else, deeply loyal. We cheer not just for excellence, but for effort. For tradition. For the showmanship. For the silent contract that says, “You pretend to be someone else for two hours, and we will clap for your high kick like our lives depend on it.”
And honestly? That’s kind of beautiful.
So here’s to the weird things we clap for. May they never make sense, and may they never stop.