By: Isabella Urbani, Sports Editor
You’ve probably watched a handful of ‘90s sitcoms — Seinfeld, Cheers, That ‘70s Show — that had a live audience laugh track. So when your friend tells you they have two tickets to attend Netflix’s newest “social experiment,” you just have to say yes. What better way to ruin your day than forcing yourself to pitifully laugh at the secondhand embarrassment of the actors?
On second thought . . .
What were you even going to see? Your friend never mentioned the title, but it shouldn’t be that hard to look up, right? Wrong.
There’s no information. Odd, but not odd enough to start ringing alarm bells. The project is probably still in its early phases, you tell yourself. Your friend should know more, right?
Your friend doesn’t — in fact, they don’t know anything at all. They didn’t even purchase the tickets. Those just showed up in the mail.
Oh, that’s reassuring. Your friend, who’s an acquaintance AT BEST, invites you to a show with tickets that just happened to show up at her front steps? It seems like the only way you’re going to get any answers is by going to the show itself, so that’s exactly what you do.
You arrive before your friend, with plenty of time to pick your seat before the performance begins. Although set in a large auditorium, there’s no one else there. Looks like you’re going to do most of the heavy lifting here.
On cue, the show begins — or at least tries to begin. The curtain is stuck, and while you can’t see anyone, you can hear the frantic grunts of the stage crew trying to get it to work.
A door behind you slams open and a person, who you assume to be a cast member, runs down the aisle before stumbling up the stage.
Is this part of the act?
Moments later, a group of actors enter the stage from the wings with chairs in their hands. They sit staring straight ahead, unmoving. Um, did they miss something? What were they looking at? You turn around to come face-to-face with the director, glasses perched on his nose and a script in his hands, which he gives to you before summoning you to turn back around.
“Line,” whispers the director behind you.
Line? What’s he talking about? You turn your head to look back at the director before a noise on stage catches your attention.
The same actor from before rollerblades across the stage holding a white sign that reads, “Laugh.” It’s your friend.
You look back towards the director who gives you a small nod, encouraging you to follow instructions.
Staring at your friend, you manage to choke out a laugh, much to their relief. The actors on stage begin conversing with each other, looking just as confused as you feel.
You’re unnerved for the rest of the show. You aren’t even listening to what the actors are saying anymore. All you can pay attention to is how the director’s voice gets louder each time he directs you to laugh, like you’re a part of his show.
You don’t know how long you’re sitting there when the actors in front of you begin to burst out in laughter. And for the first time, you can’t help but let out a real, genuine laugh.
But the actors don’t stop laughing. It isn’t until your friend at the side of the stage points to the script in your hand that you understand what’s going on. You’re not the audience. You’re the show, and they’re unknowingly finding humour in your pain.
How could you have known this was how all live audience productions go?
