BroadwayGirlNYC: Goodbye, I Love You - Closing Night

There is something special, sad and wonderful about attending a closing night on Broadway.

 

This past Sunday, I attended the final performance of Enron at the Broadhurst Theatre; it closed an indisputable flop, after only 38 previews and performances.  Still, the final show had an air of celebration about it, and the standing ovation the cast received was genuine.  The energy from the performers poured from the stage into the audience, and the final bow was a bittersweet moment for everyone.

 

This was my third closing night on Broadway, and admittedly, a bit different from the previous two. The shuttering of any show is sad and celebratory, but it's a different game entirely when the production has been a success.  My experiences seeing the final Broadway performances of fan-darlings Spring Awakening and [title of show] were visceral, gutteral, and shared throughout packed theatres of devoted, adoring supporters. 

 

I saw Enron on closing night because it was literally my last chance (they posted the closing notice only five days before the final performance).  The house was only about 3/4 full, unfortunately for the cast, and tickets were being sold that very afternoon at TKTS at a 40% discount.  That meant that Enron closed quietly, if lovingly.  But when a show closes triumphantly, closing night is a huge party and also a wake: fans and friends of the show come together to mourn, rejoice, and bond with each other.  I've actually made great friends by sharing hugs at the moment of final curtain.

 

One "final performance" I attended was closing night at Spring Awakening on Broadway, on January 18, 2009.  I had seen the show 13 times over its 2-year-8-month run, and it had totally redefined my theatre-going experience; it wasn't until falling in love with that show in 2006 that I began my quest to see every production that opened in New York.  Certainly, I wouldn't be blogging and twittering about Broadway if it hadn't been for Spring Awakening.  So, when it was announced that the show was going to close, I knew I had to be there for the final performance; not only to say goodbye, but also to say thank you to a show that changed my life.

 

Tickets to Spring Awakening's final performance sold out almost as soon as the announcement was made.  I scored a great seat in the center of the second row of the mezzanine -- coincidentally directly behind the seat where I saw the show during the first time I saw it 25 months before.  In addition to having a perfect view of the stage, I could also look right down into the orchestra seats that were occupied by the Spring Awakening original cast, almost all of whom had returned to see their counterparts close the show in tribute to the work they had all put in.

 

Spring Awakening's normal running time was, like most Broadway shows, about 2-and-a-half hours.  But on closing night, the show ran over three hours long -- entirely because of hearty ovations at the end of virtually every number.  Favorite lines inspired eruptions of applause and screams, and there were entire scenes in which the audience didn't sit down.  We were all breathless during the famous hayloft scene, but even through the silence, I felt an electricity that surged through the entire crowd.  And when the final number began (“Song of Purple Summer”), there were tears streaming down faces both onstage and in the audience.  It was an emotional love-fest, the kind of send-off of which I imagine every actor dreams.  The orginal cast joined their brethren for bows, along with the show's creators and lead producers; there were speeches and accolades all around, partnered with loud and hearty ovation from cast, crew, orchestra and fans.  The vibe, instead of being sad, was exultant. It didn't hurt that book-writer & lyricist Stephen Sater announced after the curtain call that the show would be going on tour and launch in several international cities.  In his words, "this beautiful, loving, passionate, transformative show may in fact, run forever."  This, of course, brought down the house.

 

The other closing night performance I attended was also for a show I loved dearly -- another for which I felt "ownership" in the sense that it spoke to me in a personal, emotional way -- and that was [title of show], which closed on October 12, 2008 after 115 previews & performances.  [tos] had a much shorter run than Spring Awakening, but it had the benefit of an incredibly dedicated fan-base -- the same base that brought it to Broadway in the first place, after celebrated runs at the NYMF and the Vineyard, and a spin-off web series called The [title of show] Show.  Because of the grassroots campaigning that helped make [tos]'s Broadway dream a reality, the fans felt responsible for its success -- and, when it did close, we hurt as if it was in fact our own creation.  Add to that the storyline in the show itself that discusses "dreading the day they post the closing notice," and it was impossible not to get emotionally involved.

 

As with Spring Awakening, [title of show]'s final performance was a huge commemoration of the production as a whole.  But along with the resounding applause that erupts at every Broadway closing, it is the audience’s audible sobs that I remember most, as they echoed through the Lyceum.  Yes, we were all sad -- but mostly we were in awe of this incredible piece of art that made us all feel like "part of it all," and it was just too soon to say goodbye.  When the last number finally ended, it seemed as if there wasn't a single person who wasn't doubled over in tears, as if saying one last goodbye to a beloved family member or a dear friend. 

 

Enron, unfortunately, didn't have the staying power to grow a fanbase that would give it a sendoff anywhere near the adoring tributes made by the fans of Spring Awakening, [title of show], and other longer-lasting productions (musicals seem to have more rabid fans than plays do in general, I should note).  But the love projected from the audience to the cast on Sunday night was genuine, and it was reciprocated during the curtain call as the entire company applauded right back at us.

 

The best part of any show's final performance is knowing how engaged the company is with the audience.  While Broadway actors almost always bring their A-game, it's an absolute guarantee on closing night.  A performer will never "phone it in" during that last show, because it is his or her last chance to experience the magical chemistry the work requires.  It has been clear, every time I've attended a closing performance, that the actors are completely present, really hear each other, and connect with the material as if it is completely fresh.

 

I encourage you, by which I mean all theatre-goers, to attend the final performance of any show you love. For beloved plays and musicals, it's one last chance to connect not only with the cast, but with other members of the theatre community who share your show-specific love.  For short-run productions, like Enron, it's an opportunity to glimpse a show that few will have a chance to see.  In both cases, the acting will be first-rate and you can be assured that the cast & crew will remember the event long into the future, just like you will.

 

Our hearts may ache, but closing night is really just an acknowledgement of what makes live theatre so wonderful in the first place: No matter how perfect, your favorite show is temporary, it's vital, and it's real. So enjoy it while it lasts, and when the time comes, sob or smile, but wave goodbye with love.