“Did That Really Just Happen?”: Weird Theatre Audience Behavior I Wish I Hadn’t Seen

I’ve always believed there’s a sacred agreement between performers and the audience: we promise to show up, give you our best, and tell the story. You promise to sit, listen, and not… ruin it for everyone.

And yet, over the past couple of years, that contract has been broken. Repeatedly. Spectacularly.

I don’t know if it’s a post-pandemic social reset, a side effect of screen culture, or just a general fraying of the collective attention span—but something’s changed. I’ve been in theaters my whole life, and lately, I’ve found myself watching audience behavior with more horror than the actual villains on stage.

So, in the spirit of catharsis (and maybe a gentle PSA), here are some of the most bizarre things I’ve seen happen in a theater—from the audience side.

The TikTok Tango

Let’s start with what I’m calling the “TikTok Tango.” During a poignant moment in a recent drama, a woman in front of me lifted her phone and started scrolling TikTok. Sound on. No earbuds, no shame. Just full-volume meme chaos playing over a monologue about grief. I tapped her on the shoulder—because I still cling to the hope that people can be reasoned with—and she replied, “Sorry, I was just bored.”

Well then.

Live Texting the Plot

This one takes a special kind of audacity. I once sat behind a guy who was live-texting the show to someone who couldn’t make it. Every scene. Every costume change. Full running commentary like it was his job. “She’s crying now. The set looks like a diner. He just kissed the other guy! Dramaaa!!!”

Sir, you are not a recapper for Vulture. Please put the phone away.

Full-On Phone Calls

This one nearly broke me. It was during a student production—one of those small, heartfelt plays where you can hear every breath in the room. A phone rang. Not once. Not twice. But three times. And on the third ring, the woman actually answered it. I quote: “Hi! Yeah, no, I’m just at a play. What’s up?”

I repeat: she took the call.

No whispering. No stepping out. Just a loud chat about someone’s vet appointment while two actors valiantly tried to pretend it wasn’t happening.

I wanted to crawl under my seat and apologize to the cast personally after curtain.

Snacks, Snacks, and More Snacks

Now listen, I’m not heartless. I get it. Sometimes a Werther’s Original sneaks into the pocket. Fine. But lately, I’ve seen people bring full meals into the theater like it’s a picnic in Act I. One guy next to me cracked open a tuna sandwich during a matinee. A tuna sandwich.

Do you know how hard it is to concentrate on a shpw when you’re smelling mayonnaise and fish?

Talking Like They’re in Their Living Room

This one’s especially painful because it often comes from people who genuinely love the show. They just… forget they’re not watching Netflix. I’ve overheard people narrate the show to their companions like they’re hosting a DVD commentary track. “Ooh, she’s mad now.” “He’s gonna leave her. You’ll see.” “That guy was on Law & Order. I recognize him.”

Look, I love enthusiasm. But maybe, just maybe, let the actors say their lines without the Mystery Science Theater treatment.

Standing Ovations for Everything

This one’s less offensive and more… exhausting. It used to be that a standing ovation was a powerful thing—a gesture reserved for moments that moved you to your feet without hesitation. Now, I’ve seen full houses leap to their feet for intermission. I once saw someone stand after a blackout in Scene Three.

Don’t get me wrong—I’m all for enthusiasm. But maybe let’s bring back a little discernment? If every show gets a standing O, none of them do.

The Self-Appointed Stage Mom

At a youth theatre production, a woman near the front row started gesturing at her child onstage. Not subtly. Full, arm-swinging pantomime: “Smile more!” “Look stage left!” “Louder!” It was like watching Dance Moms: The Musical.

At one point, she actually mouthed the lines with her kid and snapped along to a number that had no snapping in it. I half-expected her to walk onstage during curtain call and take a bow herself.

Your child is doing great. Please stop trying to direct from the audience.

~~~

What worries me most is how normal all of this is starting to feel. Like the bar for acceptable behavior has quietly moved—and we’re just letting it slide.

But we can do better. Theatre is a live, breathing art form. It needs our attention. Our silence. Our respect. You don’t have to dress up. You don’t have to know every name in the Playbill. But you do have to act like you’re not in your own living room.

To the folks who’ve shouted at ushers, filmed entire dance numbers, or eaten Cheetos during Shakespeare—I beg you: please reconsider your choices. You’re not just disrupting the show. You’re stealing magic from the rest of us.

And to the rest of us—the audience members who still hold that sacred agreement dear—keep showing up. Keep clapping loud. Keep turning off your phones. The actors notice. So do I.

And trust me, the tuna can wait.