There are few things more special in the performing arts than the curtain call, when performers take their bows at the end of a show, basking in a wave of applause. It’s a final breaking of the fourth wall that forges a connection between performers and audiences — an acknowledgment of the shared, ephemeral experience that precedes it.
It’s also a ritual unique to the performing arts. You don’t applaud at your TV screen after watching your favourite show. And unless someone has found a reliable way to communicate with the dead between the time I’m writing this column and when it’s published, good luck showing your appreciation to van Gogh or Monet when you next visit an art gallery. (Those manufactured “curtain calls” at film festivals don’t count either, with apologies to all you movie buffs.)
But the theatrical curtain call has evolved rapidly in recent decades. And with the standing ovation becoming ubiquitous, the entire practice has devalued faster than the loonie during the recent, pandemic-induced inflation crisis. Which all begs the question: What does the curtain call even mean anymore?
When we stand and clap, are we, as audiences, really showing our appreciation for the artists — or merely applauding ourselves?
In the long history of the theatre, stretching back millennia, the ritual of the curtain call (at least as we know it) is a relatively recent phenomenon. Scholars generally agree that it was only popularized around the 17th to 18th centuries, when audiences who enjoyed a performance would literally “call” an actor back to the stage. (At the time, artists were reluctant to engage in this practice, with many preferring to leave the theatre after their final scene.)
Throughout the years, some curtain calls have been so prolific that they’ve made the leap into pop culture lore. The Italian tenor Luciano Pavarotti, for instance, once received 165 curtain calls over 67 minutes following a 1988 show in Berlin. And in 1964, the ballet dancers Margot Fonteyn and Rudolf Nureyev returned to the stage 89 times after a performance of “Swan Lake.” All three eventually landed in the Guinness World Records.
But while, in the past, curtain calls like those were reserved for the most special performances, that’s no longer the case today. Now, even the worst shows are almost guaranteed a standing ovation.
Typically, it all unfolds something like this: after the final blackout, several audience members will get out of their seats. Some are genuinely enthusiastic. Others want to just stretch their legs or, in the winter, put on their coats. Then slowly, very slowly, like a tidal wave rippling from the front to the back of a theatre, everyone else will eventually stand — if anything, merely to get an unimpeded view of the stage.
It’s rarely done with much gusto. And other than those rare shows that inspire an instantaneous standing ovation (like “Come From Away” always does), they always feel more like an obligation than anything else. (To be clear, I’m as guilty as the next person for feeding into this standing ovation frenzy. I’ll usually stand if the person in front of me gets up, no matter how much I enjoyed a performance.)
It’s fascinating, though, to examine how the intent behind the curtain call and standing ovation has evolved in recent years. These days, it certainly seems that standing ovations are more meant for audiences to acknowledge themselves than the performers onstage.
When we rise and clap, it’s almost like we’re giving ourselves a pat on the back, trying to justify the money we spent on the tickets — and to make the entire event feel worthwhile.
Short of sounding like a curmudgeon, the rise of smartphones and social media has also altered the curtain call. During the bows at almost any show, you’ll likely find at least a quarter of the audience with their phones pulled out, filming the curtain call for their feeds.
Shows like “Six” and “MJ” have completely embraced this trend, even encouraging audiences to film these tightly choreographed curtain calls and post the videos. It’s a sly marketing tactic. But this all takes away from the curtain call’s original intent, more or less turning it into an extension of the performance that came before.
So what’s next for the curtain call? Tough to say. But we’re definitely not going back to the old days. Like that jack-in-a-box saying goes, once the bum is out of the seat it’s difficult to force it back down.
What we do need, however, is a new way to show our appreciation for a performance that’s truly exceptional. Bravos are far too formal and should only be reserved for the opera house. And I can’t whistle for the life of me. Maybe stomping? I’d certainly stand for that.
