top of page
Search
If you can’t see the performance, then what’s the point, right? I’m not talking about the fact that if you are seated on the extreme side of the auditorium, you will not see the near upstage corner of the stage. This is allowed for in the scenic design. I’m talking about some seats where you can’t see a significant portion of the action on stage. Some older spaces have obstructed view seats that are sold at a discount. There are many newer spaces where some audience members will not be able to see large portions of the stage. Why does this happen?
Balcony boxes, those seating areas located on the side walls of the auditorium stretching from the balcony toward the stage are my personal bete noir. Historically, these were preferred seats for those wishing to be seen rather than to see. History has repeated itself - - consciously or not - - in some premier venues. Attending a performance of the American Ballet Theatre at the Metropolitan Opera House in Lincoln Center I was seated in a balcony box and the only way to see more than half the stage was to tip my chair forward and lean onto the railing. It is arguable that an opera house is designed as a space to listen to music, but I would argue that if you can’t see, then you can’t hear.
All of the performing arts share the need for good sightlines, but some place constraints on the seating design. Dance, for example, requires the audience to see the dancers from head to toe, from downstage to upstage and side to side because, for the most part, dancers are in motion. A relatively steeper seating design will satisfy this requirement. For a symphony orchestra, on the other hand, one is not so concerned with seeing the toes of the first violinist, but about what percentage of the audience members (who absorb sound energy) will be exposed to the stage and how this may impact room acoustics. These venues typically see a shallower seating design.
Another consideration, and often a primary one, is economics. For a venue to be financially viable (or as close to it as is possible in the US) a higher seat count is preferable. 2,000 to 3,000 and up to 5,000 or 10,000 seats depending upon the venue type. Many performance venues are intended to accommodate all types of performances: theater, musical theater, opera, dance, symphony concerts, jazz, rock ‘n roll, etc. Incorporating seating and sightlines that will satisfy the sometimes diametrically opposed requirements of different performing arts is a key design challenge.
Add to that: the design of the structural, mechanical and electrical systems.
Add to that: the code requirements for egress, fire protection and the Americans with Disabilities Act.
Add to that any other unique aspects of a design that inevitably come up and you have an intricate puzzle to be solved by the architect, theater consultant and design team.
And add to that . . .
Perhaps one of the most useful and reassuring things I’ve learned over the years is that it’s not so important to know everything, but more important to know who may know what you don’t.
My first consulting job, when I was very wet behind the ears, was with a small theater consulting firm. The partners had a wealth of experience and expertise between them, and we had a number of large-scale projects with preeminent architects. At design meetings, they were uniformly kind to the new kid, but I remained very intimidated and in awe of the firms’ partners who interacted so easily and seemed able to answer all the questions that arose and to resolve the issues that arise during the design of a theater. Over time I realized that the partners often as not did not answer all the questions or resolve all the issues at the meeting but deferred their response. What did they do upon returning to the office? They called someone: a lighting rep, a rigging contractor, a structural engineer or whoever could provide the needed information.
How could they not know? Shouldn’t a professional know everything about everything in their field? Did my idols have feet of clay? At that time, I suffered the cardinal sin of all young people: the assurance and confidence that I knew everything about everything. The confidence and arrogance this brings can be a useful trait until life slaps you in the face and throws you on your butt to let you know that you don’t and that you’re not even close. Many years later, and with a very callused posterior, I take a more understanding attitude to my former bosses and allow myself the slack I was unable to give them.
In the years since then, I have gained a different sense of confidence, and hopefully not arrogance. I know many more things than I did, but also know more of what I do not, and I no longer look at this as a personal failing. If I don’t have an answer or immediately know how to resolve a problem or how best to evaluate/approach something, there are many people I can call. Some will be able to answer a specific question and others to knock things around. Who can help and in what fashion is variable: these folks are not slotted into fixed categories. I may call some on a regular basis and others infrequently. Many times, the initial question is answered, but other unanticipated issue(s) arise. Sometimes, there’s no good answer: only a choice between the lesser of two evils. I’ve come to realize that sorting these outcomes is what being a professional is really all about.
We are meeting new people all the time, so make friends with everyone you can because you never know and, of course, because it’s a nice thing for you and them. Friends, colleagues, business associates, acquaintances, someone you’ve met at a party are all valuable resources to be acknowledged and cultivated because you never know who you’re gonna need to call.
bottom of page