You won’t meet someone who goes to the theatre regularly who doesn’t have an opinion on theatre etiquette. You also won’t meet someone who doesn’t go to the theatre regularly who doesn’t have an opinion on theatre etiquette. We all love to police the behaviours of others in any space we come together in.

When Patti LuPone told off a patron for using their phone in the theatre, the news reverberated around the world. When the stage musical Wicked was adapted into a movie, there was a movement on TikTok ticking off fans who dared to sing while watching.

In my own networks, when theatre etiquette is mentioned I’ve discovered that everything from opening a lolly to daring to wear jeans is among the grievances of the theatre police.

I’m a playwright. Most of my living is earned from a percentage of tickets sold to see my shows, which means bums on seats is everything. The more bums on seats, the more likely I am to not have to call the bank that month and ask for an extension on my mortgage payment.

I want everyone to feel welcome, and comfortable, in the theatres my plays are on. I don’t care what they wear. If they need to suck a lolly to get through the play? Go for it. I’d prefer if you turned your phone off in the first place, but if you forget and it goes off … just turn it off now, please, so it disturbs as little of the performance as possible. No one’s going to die because Janet’s husband’s calling her to find out where his glasses are.

See, opening a Mintie or a phone going off is the least of theatres’ worries.

For those of us on the inside of making theatre, there’s before the pandemic and after the pandemic began. We haven’t recovered the audiences, and the costs of making theatre have increased and so have tickets.

During the pandemic lockdowns – which technically was years ago – we were forced to stay inside and consume our entertainment on our phones and laptops. Lying under a doona, you could wear a tracksuit and open the loudest lolly bag there is and no one turned around and shushed you. Hell, when you’re watching something at home you can scroll on your device while on a loudspeaker call without fear of LuPone snatching the phone out of your hand.

This, and the cost-of-living crisis, means leaving the house is a big deal, and an expensive one: paying for a ticket, paying for dinner, paying for a babysitter, negotiating where to find a parking spot near the theatre that won’t incur a fine.

I haven’t always been as chilled a theatre-maker. But everything changed for me because of A43.

A43 is a seat in the front row of the theatre most of my plays have started their lives in. Ensemble Theatre is a small artistic enclave within a pretty well-heeled part of Sydney. I’ve always wondered if there’s some sort of magical dust from the lighting rig above A43 because whoever is sitting in the seat will fall asleep, into a slumber Snow White and the manufacturers of sleeping pills would be envious of. Curse the dark magic that puts people to sleep in A43 (we’re a superstitious lot, we theatre people).

Then came a summer matinee where everything changed.

I was sitting on the opposite seating bank to A43. A woman limped into the seat. There was no way to tell her age but what I could tell was that she was really sick. Her face was pale and she moved very, very slowly. She looked as if she didn’t have a lot of time left. She took her seat, A43.

And, as with anyone who sits in A43, she fell asleep. She woke up every now and then, enjoyed a bit of the show, and fell asleep again.

I watched her for the whole show and, when the show ended, she woke up and applauded with all she had. And with that, she’d made a different theatre-maker out of me.

When I’m sick, I can’t be bothered going to the lounge room and switching on the telly. This woman had got out of bed on a 35C day, had a shower, put some nice clothes on and got herself to the theatre. She’d made a huge effort to be there. And to me, that’s everything.

So while we can bitch and moan about what someone’s wearing, complain when they accidentally leave their phone on, and when they loudly chew some Smarties, I’m absolutely stoked they’ve made the effort to be there.

Most people are at home scrolling through their phone.