Commentary: Early birds conquer Broadway

NEW YORK, Sept. 15 (UPI) -- On Broadway they have a tradition called the Eleven O'Clock Song.

The Eleven O'Clock Song is the show-stopper, the emotional climax, the third-act payoff, the moment when the women cry, the men cheer, the orchestra swells, and stars are made. In "Gypsy," for example, currently in revival with Bernadette Peters as Rose, the Eleven O'Clock song is "Rose's Turn," the moment when she mounts the empty stage, thinking her life is a wreck, and sings about what a star she could have been. In "42nd Street," it's the amazing 40-person tap-dance rendition of the song "42nd Street."

In "Carousel" it's "When You Walk Through a Storm."

The Eleven O'Clock Song, though, is apparently over. We might as well retire the term, because pretty soon now there won't be any theaters OPEN as late as 11 o'clock. It's called the Eleven O'Clock Song because, in the golden age of musicals, Broadway curtains went up at 8:30, and there was no such thing as a show shorter than two and a half hours. Gradually, through the seventies and eighties, the curtain time was moved up so that 8 o'clock became standard (the Ten Thirty Song? just doesn't have the right ring, does it?), with even earlier starts on Sunday night.

Now they're actually starting Broadway shows at 7. Not only are they doing this without apology, but they're PROUD of it and they're ADVERTISING it.

When did the concept of "an evening at the theater" become "a rush from work, 100 minutes of being amused, and a rush home"? What happened to the idea of a couple of hours of cocktails before the curtain, a smoke and a drink at intermission, and then, after the show, a long late supper in Restaurant Row on 46th Street? When did the idea become "get in and get out"?

You can also forget two-intermission shows. The classic three-act structure of plays was thrown out years ago, because producers believe that audiences hate that second intermission too much. I think the last place that will schedule more than one intermission is the Metropolitan Opera, at least partly because, when the actors are doing "Aida" or something really demanding, they need the rest time. I've seen as many as four intermissions at the Met.

There's also been a trend in recent years to compress shows so that they're under two hours -- even classic shows like "My Fair Lady" and "Hello, Dolly." (Is this why "Les Miserables" finally closed? After all, wasn't it the last three-hour show on Broadway?) There's a popular view among producers that no show should be longer than the standard two-hour movie. Forget "Angels in America," which ran seven hours in two parts, so that you had to come back to the theater two nights in a row to see the whole thing. Forget "The Kentucky Cycle," which was eight hours. On modern Broadway, these would never be tolerated.

But what's the rush and the urgency? In some European theaters, it's still not uncommon to have a late start and three LONG intermissions, because people actually eat and drink and converse during the intermissions. In London and Madrid and Moscow, I'm told, the tradition of the after-theater supper still prevails. It's only in New York that we've got the sudden need for speed.

The night Broadway has chosen for the early curtain is Tuesday. Ten theaters have gone to "Tuesdays at 7" this fall, an idea that apparently has some commercial value because they tested it last season -- thereby RUINING the favorite theater night of New Yorkers. It's always been the custom for locals to get tickets on Tuesday because a) no children, b) no talkers (it tends to be a night for serious theatergoers), c) no tourists (people who rarely visit the theater and sometimes react to it like television -- which is to say, hardly at all), and d) Manhattanites tend to leave town on the weekends anyway.

The reasons, according to the spiffy new "Tuesdays at 7" Web site:

-- It helps commuters who "dread the late, long drive home."

-- It helps the mom or dad who "doesn't want tired children at school the next day."

And, even though only 10 theaters have signed up so far, they're so confident that others will fall in line that they've decided to start ringing the Broadway Bell at 6:45 instead of 7:45. (It's a carillon in the Paramount Building that plays "Give My Regards to Broadway" each night.)

I assume this also means that the famous "pre-theater" menus in the Theater District -- "Wolf it down fast and we'll get you to the show!" -- will now begin at the unearthly time of 5 p.m. There are farmers in South Dakota who don't eat dinner that early!

Not that the Theater District dining has been much to speak of in recent years. With four or five notable exceptions, it's become assembly-line "prix fixe" meals before the show, and after the show often little more than "dessert menus." You can still get a veal chop at 11:30, but you're likely to be told, "Order quick because the kitchen is closing soon."

In other words, New York has gone all suburban and bourgeois on us. I could understand if the list of affected shows was limited to evergreen favorites for out-of-towners and children, like "Beauty & the Beast," "42nd Street" and "Phantom of the Opera." But the new production of "Henry IV," opening on Oct. 28, will also feature the early Tuesday curtain, as well as recent hits like "Aida," "Hairspray" and "Urinetown."

They might as well hang a sign outside the theater: "Massive numbers of chatty restless children sitting next to you TONIGHT!" Whatever happened to taking the kids to MATINEES? On WEEKENDS? (The Wednesday matinee is reserved, of course, for elderly ladies.)

So now that they stole our Tuesdays, my own strategy is to switch to Thursday night. Wednesdays have that whole two-show problem. If Bernadette Peters blows out her voice at the matinee, you get the understudy at 8 p.m. Thursdays is a compromise -- it's actually the first weekend party night, but it's still troublesome for people working the next day -- so you do get a serious theater crowd. And if they don't leave at least one night for people who want a WHOLE evening at the theater, I'm afraid we'll have to get a little rowdy.

After all, isn't this the same city where Ray Bolger first performed "Once In Love with Amy" in the 1948 production of "Where's Charley"? And every time the audience heard it, they would demand that he sing it again, and again, and again? The show would be stopped, the scene would be reset, he would re-enter and sing encores, complete with an audience-singalong chorus. He once did 32 encores of "Once in Love with Amy" -- because there was a time, in New York City, when people wanted to BE THERE, even if they did miss the last train home.

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Joe Bob Briggs writes a number of columns for UPI and may be contacted at [email protected] or through his Web site at joebobbriggs.com. Snail mail: P.O. Box 2002, Dallas, Texas 75221.