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The last time Shakespeare’s dark tragedy Titus Andronicus was performed at the Globe Theatre in London, in 2014, there were frequent fainting spells. At each performance, a crew recorded the number of people who had fallen. Recovering audience members were placed in a special box for the rest of the performance. “I used to be upset if three people fainted,” director Lucy Bailey told me. Her previous production of Titus in 2006 recorded more than 40 fainting spells in a single performance. A team of paramedics stood by outside.
We assume the fainting spells were due to the good hydration and lack of corsets. Although Titus is rife with violence — at one point the Roman general serves a pie to two of their mother’s brothers — audiences at the Globe may have seen more shocking scenes on Game of Thrones. But Bailey noted that fainting spells don’t necessarily involve visuals. Midway through the play, Titus’s rival Aaron challenges him to chop off his hand. “And the moment the word ‘chopped’ is said, you’re almost guaranteed to hear someone fall to the floor,” Bailey said. The play’s mounting grief is like listening to a tenor sing a high note for a long time, she explained. “The audience becomes so wound up that when you add in the threat of further violence, you become particularly susceptible to fainting spells,” she said. “So while it was the blood that was making you pass out, it was also the threat of activity through the tongue.”
Lately, London audiences have been swooning during a play that is considerably less gory than Titus. (We are suggestible, I suppose.) The Years, masterfully adapted by Elin Arbo from the memoirs of Annie Ernaux, opened at the Harold Pinter Theatre in January after a summer run at the Almeida. The play follows Ernaux’s life against the backdrop of world events, from her childhood in the 1940s to the mid-2000s. Annie is played by five distinguished actresses—Gina McKee, Deborah Findlay, Tuppence Middleton, Harmony Rose-Bremner, and Anjli Mohindra—each at a different stage of her life. Throughout the show, the actors frequently had to pause, turning up the lights, so that ushers could help an audience member who had fainted. Sometimes this happened more than once. (At least the Pinter, unlike the Globe, has seating, so there’s less chance of injury.) Fainting was common during the scene in which Annie describes the aftermath of an illegal abortion. This, and rumours that most of the fainters were men, led to a flurry of controversy. “West End theatre forced to stop play after audience members fainted during bloody abortion scene,” reported the Daily Mail.
The rash of fainting incidents has prompted online speculation that they may be staged, part of the show to heighten the drama of the scene. There has been a lively discussion on Reddit. “The theatregoer in me knows that if you book a West End show you can’t be sure what you’re going to get,” wrote one user, “but the cynic in me wouldn’t rule out the possibility that the production is using this gimmick to make the audience think about something that was already hard to take.” Another sceptically noted: “This can’t be happening spontaneously at every show.” “At least two people fainted when I was there, including the woman next to me. It’s just weird that it happens EVERY time,” added someone. The ticket takers seemed to anticipate the fainting, “like they knew exactly when and what time.” Some countered that “some people are more sensitive to this kind of thing,” and praised the actors for their skill. “I can’t imagine what it’s like to cut the scene short and then continue as if nothing happened,” wrote one user. Plus, another added, “It’s a powerful scene with a lot of blood, and quite a few men tend to faint at the sight of blood.”
How gory is it? As I was watching the play, someone fainted, right on schedule. I knew it was possible, but it still startled me, like a dream being interrupted. (I was with a friend who once passed out reading a Sally Rooney book on the subway, so I was especially wary. She was fine.) There was blood, but not much. The action was described, not shown. However, just before the pause, we heard heavy breathing from the balcony. I saw someone else cautiously leave through a side exit. Suddenly, the house lights came up and a crew member appeared onstage to explain that there would be a short break “while the audience attends to an audience member.” About five minutes passed—an elderly couple behind us took the opportunity to leave the theater—and then Middleton, who had been performing the abortion scene in the second half of the play,
Sourse: newyorker.com
