When I was invited to the Goodman Theatre’s opening night performance of “The Ballad of Emmett Till,” I thought immediately of my fancy pants. I anticipated swapping my jeans for those brown linen slacks that reside safely in my closet until a cultural occasion befitting their elegance arises. As the sun set on Chicago, I hopped on the Purple Express, dressed to impress, with my housemate. We headed to the Loop for a real-life night at the theater.
When it comes to drama, I am a novice in every way. I haven’t participated in anything related to the stage since my junior high days on prop crew. At least one-third of the plays I’ve seen have been “A Christmas Carol.” In other words, I had no idea what to expect upon entering the lobby of the Goodman, at a big-city opening, already crowded with patrons 30 minutes before the performance was scheduled to begin.
My press pass and tickets were waiting at a podium just inside the main door to the lobby. My housemate and I got in line with the journalists and, for the first time in my life, I knew my name would be “on the list” for an exclusive event. After checking in, we wandered off – press packet and tickets in hand – to try to mingle.
My housemate, graduating this month with an MFA in screenwriting, playwriting and television writing, knows more about theater than anyone I could think of. I knew he would be a good guide to opening night. As he told me about the programs and the press packets and about how to read the crowd, he and I stood awkwardly among the theater patrons, looking around. We took in the sea of brightly-colored fabric and walked back and forth between small circles of people who apparently already knew each other.
He told me the crowd at an opening night consists of journalists and theater elite, the sponsors, and donors who made the production possible. Apparently, the awkward standing-around-in-the-lobby part of the evening is a sort of opening night ritual. The shows are also notorious for starting late. But once we were seated, we found the seats themselves to be the best in the house. Often, as I learned, theaters reserve the seats in the first row of the balcony for the press so the critics are guaranteed a good view of the show. It felt good to sit among the swanky. While we sat out the overture, I asked my housemate to show me how to properly read through a program.
“The Ballad of Emmett Till,” which runs through June 1, began with song and ended in tragedy. The play is about a hate crime murder committed in Mississippi in 1955 and the resulting widely publicized trial; it attracted an audience more diverse than those attending many other opening nights. The story has particular resonance in Chicago, as Till was originally from the city and had been visiting Mississippi when he was murdered. The show was long and detailed, and the staging of the dramatic beating and murder of Till obviously affected the crowd. The bows at the end were met with a partial standing ovation.
To top off the performance, Goodman personnel invited to the stage three adults who had been seated in a box across from me. Before the audience could worry too much about who they were, they were introduced: the real life family members of Emmett Till – two cousins and Till’s “girlfriend,” who had been mentioned in the play, all grown up. The real-life people whose story had been shown on stage stood next to the actors who had played them. The actor playing Emmett Till kissed the real-life Heloise on the cheek. Their presence was an honor for the audience and gave the story an immediate resonance.
After the performance was over, we left the Goodman and walked to Wabash Avenue, to the hotel where the reception was to be held. Inside, we were ushered up a small back staircase and into a banquet hall reserved for the occasion. The room was dimly lit, with trays of sandwiches and other puffy snacks floating on the arms of white-shirted waiters. The room grew louder as people hustled in from outside, and the same circles formed around tables, as they had in the lobby of the theater. Lines formed for wine and for food at buffets in each corner of the room; it was interesting to see what setup the Goodman had put on for its friends and media members.
My housemate and I stood like wallflowers and walked back and forth amongst the crowd. We had talked to a professor and playwright earlier in the evening, quite briefly, and this time spoke only to those standing immediately around us. Such interesting people continued pouring into the room, as the inside was increasingly filled with the “in crowd.” As we left, after having eaten one small sandwich each, I realized that the fancy-pants theater experience consisted primarily of people-watching – before, during and and after the show.
