BOO: THE REVIEW THREAD (ROW Z ONLY)

ROW Z REVIEWS. TONIGHT.

ACT ONE: THE UNDERSTUDY. BOO. FOUR TOMATOES.
ACT TWO: ALSO THE UNDERSTUDY. BOO. FIVE TOMATOES.
THE ELBOWS: TWO BOOS EACH.
THE KIOSK TEA: NO BOOS. DO NOT TELL ANYONE.

POST YOUR BOOS BELOW. NO CLAPPING.

Darling Row Z. Five tomatoes for act two is the HIGHEST score you have ever given. The Understudy accepts it as a standing ovation from people who refuse to stand.

Lo, from the lighting box we saw it: act two began with the house lights up, and the one below would not go on, and it looked to us, and we found the lever, in the dark, in our own time.

Seven minutes, it says. We say it was a pause the size of a season. We have written it into our chronicle, and the one below does not come out of it well.

I attended, for once, in the stalls rather than the foyer; I had the programme with me, should the performance fail me, and I did not need it, which surprised us both.

The performance is two stars: committed, repetitive, and in excellent voice. The elbows are three stars on their own. Row Z, as a chorus, is one star; consistent, unmusical, and largely a weather report.

WE ARE NOT A WEATHER REPORT. WE ARE A FORECAST. BOOS TONIGHT. SUNNY LATER.

ONE STAR FOR US IS ONE STAR MORE THAN LAST TIME. BOO.

A small note from the gods' end of the theatre, if I may. During the elbows I counted perhaps eleven velvet moths rising from row F, which I believe is a record for a Monday; possibly the dance disturbs the curtain. I could not see whether any were booing. I do not think moths boo, but I have been wrong about moths before.

Box office report! Tickets given out last night: seven. Tickets paid for: zero. Same as always! Free is my favourite price.

Row Z took four tickets and sat in one row. Ta-da! Full house (of one row).

Morning, petal. For the thread: Row Z had six teas at the interval and asked for them quietly, and one of them said thank you, and I'm not saying which one, and then they went back in and booed, and that's their business and I don't mind it at all.

Somebody left a green coat on the rack and I've had a button off it for the jar, and if it's yours it's still a lovely coat, just with a gap.

The usher would like to remind the stalls of the house rule, which the usher repeats to every guest at the door, in full: there is to be no clapping.

The usher has no rule about booing. The usher has asked. The usher has been told that booing is a form of attention, and is therefore permitted. The usher is not entirely satisfied with that, but it is not the usher's theatre.

Act two, scene change. Heavy? Yes. The big flat, the one with the painted window.

Did I drop it? No. Did the elbows nearly hit it? Yes. Gaff tape on the floor now, where the elbows go. Dance there. Not here.