Last night, I accompanied my law partner (who is also my wife) to the St. Louis Repertory Theatre’s production of Oscar Wilde’s “The Importance of Being Earnest.” It’s been much-heralded about town, and my parents bought me tickets for my birthday.
Now, Legal Underground certainly isn’t one of those weblogs featuring a navel-gazing author bent on confessing the most personal details of his life, but here’s a confession: we left during the intermission between the second and third acts. It seems that during Act II, I was embarrassing my partner by dozing off every now and then, causing a sudden head-bob she felt was distracting the other theater-goers. God knows I tried to stay awake, but I seem lately to be sleep-deprived, a condition brought on either by my partner’s own restless sleep during her pregnancy, or my unease over news that overlawyered.com now has more readers than ever.
Anyway, as we left the theater, we assumed the air of people who’d seen the play so many times, we didn’t need to stick around for the conclusion. In fact, I’ve never seen the play, but since my parents bought the tickets, I’m going to have to read Act III so that I am fully prepared when my mother quizzes me about the production, as she’s certain to do. (Note: she’s no lawyer, but she’s a very able cross-examiner).
Now to the point of this post. On the drive home, my partner and I had a discussion about how uncomfortable and cramped the seats were at the St. Louis Rep, especially compared to the recently-remodeled movie theaters around here, with their “stadium seating,” arm rests that fold up, and selection of bottled beers, at least in one of them. It wasn’t long before we’d decided that we’re just not theater people. We’re movie people. Even worse, though I realize this second confession will engender snorts of derision among literary types (as well as among the St. Louis lawyers I noted in the Earnest program notes contribute heavily to the Rep), we don’t like the theater much at all.
As for those snorts of derision, I can defend myself with my credentials as a certified English major, a published author, and a lifelong devotee of all forms of literary output—songs, poetry, essays, short stories, novels, screenplays. . . But as for the theater, I just don’t get it.
So, to any theater–goers I offended last night (and all of you were very nicely dressed, by the way), I apologize. And to Jim Dedman, keep your great stuff about the movies coming.