The Secret Reviewer #43: Front and Centre

Every month our clandestine critic reveals the murky truths behind that infamous trade, and live comedy generally. This month: Should we all rise up against the seat police?

How do you feel when you hear the phrase 'front row'? If it's something akin to a sharp pang of low-key PTSD then you've probably had a bad experience at a comedy gig, as comedy is pretty much the only place where that row is such a horror show, apart from those death metal gigs where they sacrifice stuff and shower the audience with blood. And at least they don't make you get up and join in.

I'm sure I've said it in this slot before, but it's not just nervous punters who fear the front row. There's a whole different level of turmoil when you're in the business and end up there, but for almost the opposite reason. The industry around comedy is still small enough, and our egos huge enough, we assume that our familiar faces up there will throw the comedian and fuck up the gig.

Now you may be thinking 'just sit somewhere else' but it's not always that easy. Obviously if you turn up late and only front row seats are left - very common - then that's your own fault. But in recent years I've found myself on the wrong end of some seriously passive-aggressive ushers who won't be swayed, without an awkward row, about rows.

So, you turn up at a venue fairly early, and the staff basically force you to start filling up the front rows, kettling you in with the clear subtext that any dissension would cause the end of civil society, or at least ruin the gig. When actually it's a lot better for the show if people go where they want to.

The thing is, the sort of sensible people who turn up nice and early for a gig might not always be the most entertaining characters for a comic to bounce off, when you think about it, as opposed to the mavericks who leave it later. Worse, for non-ticketed shows, some of them might be reviewers who've arrived early to make sure of a seat, and no-one wants them near the front; definitely not the comic.

A lot of venue staff seem increasingly intent on doing this nowadays though, even when people make it manifestly clear that they hate being there. I don't know where that push comes from - the venues, comics, or the staff themselves - but it's different to just needing to get people in quickly; they're treating people like sheep (no offence to free-thinking sheep). If you've bought a ticket surely you should be able to sit where you like? I mean, obviously I don't actually buy tickets, but the ushers don't know that.

I can understand why it happens: as comedy people we're a bit obsessed by the geography of a room. I was at a funeral last week and found myself hoping that someone would fill up a row to balance it out a bit beforehand, like the guy we were there for gave a shit. But comics should care about who's being shoved up the front of their gigs. They will invariably fixate on the grumpy bastard, and wonder why they sat right up front. This is probably why, and probably why they're grumpy.

I bumped into a comic at this year's Edinburgh Fringe who was miserable after a show, because he'd had a reviewer in and couldn't figure out why the crowd interactions didn't work. Having been in that room before, I had a good idea: because of the venue bloke forcefully shouting 'fill up the front three rows!' as you went in. It being a free show, that comic was quite likely to end up with a bunch of baffled people sat there, every other night. Not ideal.

Another venue at this year's Fringe was particularly hot on this: even on the hottest day of the year, with Covid still floating about, they insisted on everyone cramming together in the front few rows, despite the discomfort. Crazy scenes, so I climbed out and stood next to the usher while those rows filled, giving off some 'hot innit!' vibes to make a point.

Did it make them suddenly realise the folly of packing people in like a Ryanair suitcase, in record temperatures, with lots of empty seats available? Nah, they just thought I was old. But having finally taken my seat - seats, in fact; loads free up the back! - I then got a tap on the shoulder.

Obviously I fully expected a dressing down, so turned around gingerly - and a steward handed me a nice cold pint of water. So that's a lesson. Rebel politely against the row police and not only will the show not be ruined, you might wind up with a refreshing beverage.

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