Almost on cue, somebody’s phone rang. The audience laughed, thinking it part of the joke. But the look on the stage manager’s face suggested otherwise, as 100 theatergoers guiltily fumbled in handbags and coat pockets wondering if the offending instrument was theirs.
Such scenes may not be repeated too often on Broadway. In February the New York City Council decided to ban cellular telephones at public performances–plays, concerts, movies, lectures. New York Mayor Michael Bloomberg, who owes much of his personal fortune to the wonders of telecommunications, vetoed the measure. But the City Council, undeterred, voted 38-5 to overrule him. Now you can’t talk on a cell phone, dial one, listen quietly or accept a call, even if your phone’s on vibrate mode. Any of these infractions is punishable by a $50 fine. Museums, libraries and even art galleries are covered.
“It’s a real quality-of-life issue,” says the law’s principal sponsor, councilman Phil Reed. His outnumbered opponents were lobbied by the Cellular Telecommunications and Internet Association, an industry group whose president, Thomas Wheeler, pointed out that cell phones were no more a nuisance than people coughing or sneezing during a show, or for that matter unwrapping candy or cough drops. “No matter how laudable the goal,” he added, “the city cannot legislate courtesy and common sense.”
But it has, and I’m ambivalent about it. At the movies, I’ve often seen how a tender love scene can quickly be reduced to bathos by the insistent jangle of a cell phone. Nor have I forgotten being nearly trampled in my seat by a very large moviegoer whose cell phone issued him an urgent summons just as the plot was taking an alarming twist; his rush to the exit in the dark left me thinking more of my bruised toes than the heroine’s safety. Those are the occasions that leave you wishing the cell phone hadn’t been invented. On the other hand, I’ll miss the reassurance of knowing I can enjoy a movie or play aware that I can always be reached in the event of a genuine personal or professional emergency.
Or will I? Maybe the City Council has unwittingly given New Yorkers a release from the life we have all been sentenced to–a life of constantly being on call, at the ready, 24/7. The relentless pace of modern existence has taught us there is no escape from our responsibilities, no fleeing the “real world” even on vacation, as symbolized by those ads for a cell phone on the beach. Thanks to the New York York City Council, we can now find freedom in at least one place–at a “public performance.”
And yet, I can’t help thinking of nice old Mildred in my building. For decades she and her husband, George, would attend classical-music concerts together. That ended last month, when George finally became too old and infirm to go. So Mildred went alone–with a cell phone, which she turned on and pointed toward the orchestra the entire evening. George lay in bed and listened. By law, he won’t be able to do so again. But in fact, he probably will. Mildred says she’s going to break the law if she has to, and it’s highly unlikely anyone will actually stop her. Unless, of course, she’s unlucky enough to find Mr. Reed occupying the adjoining seat. Let’s hope there are no cops in the house.
