Some time ago at a party, I heard a Very Big Star explaining (with great regrets) that he'd stopped attending live theater and concerts. He'd had a number of bad experiences where fans and autograph seekers had paid way too much attention to him to the extent of ruining the event for him, his family and others around them. Getting in, he said, was a problem. Getting out, he said, was a bigger problem. Being in his seat at Intermission or just before the show commenced was, he said, the biggest problem. At one play, he'd made the mistake of signing one autograph for someone. That had triggered a hundred more requests and the theater had actually had to delay the start of Act Two because so many folks were in the aisle, thrusting their Playbills and scraps of paper at him for a signature.
He'd tried, he explained, the "presidential" way of attendance. He'd arranged with the venue to have guards get him and his family to their seats just after the lights went down and get the party out just before they went up. "I felt stupid," he said, "like we thought we were the Royal Family or something." What's more, it didn't work. The sneaky entrances and exits had just made the audience more aware that Someone Important was in the house. So he'd stopped going, he explained…with real regret.
I thought of that last night during Wicked. I was sitting in the aisle seat in the center section of Row J. Sitting in the seat across the aisle in Row I was Harrison Ford and he was with about seven people, mostly young children. I noticed he made a point of taking the aisle seat so (I'm guessing this was his reason) he could protect his group from fans who'd try to crawl across them to get to him. Everyone else in his entourage was either too young or too old to play bodyguard.
But I also didn't see anyone bother him. A lot of folks recognized him and some nodded and smiled and waved to acknowledge they liked him…and he'd nod and smile and wave back to acknowledge their acknowledgement. Not one of them, insofar as I could see, trampled on his or his group's theater-going experience.
Until they got outside. Waiting right outside the Pantages Theater were two limousines — one, a long white stretch that I think was for someone else; the other, a big black SUV-model that seated eight, I think. Mr. Ford steered his party towards that one which meant braving about six photographers who were snapping picture after picture, sometimes right in their faces, preventing them from getting to the vehicle.
He did not respond like Indiana Jones barrelling through a phalanx of ninjas, though I suspect the thought crossed his mind. He just made his way through, ignoring the cameras as much as possible and looking rather pained. He also ignored about a half-dozen folks waving Star Wars-related posters and pens…and these were clearly not loyal fans looking for treasured keepsakes. It was pretty obvious that Ford was being expected to sign stuff they could sell on eBay or wherever.
I'm still trying to figure that out. Presumably, Mr. Ford did not tweet earlier in the day, "Heading for Pantages Theater in Hollywood tonight." How did those folks who had the posters know he'd be there? They probably don't carry pictures of Han Solo with them everywhere they go. I'm guessing one or more of them had staked out the theater for any celebrities, saw him enter and then rushed off to buy the posters from a nearby memorabilia shop, of which there are many down that boulevard. All the posters looked like they were from the same source. I'm guessing one person bought them all, then passed them out to folks loitering outside the Pantages and said, "I'll pay you ten bucks if you get him to sign it." Ford, of course, signed not a one of them.
None of this is to suggest that anyone should feel sorry for poor Harrison Ford. No one becomes that big a star against his will and this kind of thing is a pretty small trade-off for fame 'n' fortune…and hey, you know, I didn't have a limo waiting for me in front of the theater. I was just impressed with how little fuss was made by anyone apart from the paparazzi at the curb. Everyone inside who recognized him respected a little zone of privacy. I'm sure there were loads of people who would have wanted a signature or a handshake or to just be able to tell the man they loved all his movies. But they didn't. They left him and his folks alone to enjoy the play. I liked that almost as much as I liked Wicked.