If you’ve never gone to the theatre as a blind person, imagine this…
You’re sitting in a plush red seat, you can smell at least three varieties of fancy perfume, someone five rows back has a packet of crisps so loud that the rustling makes your eardrums tingle, and the show is about to begin. The lights go down. The audience hushes.
And I think to myself, “Brilliant! My moment has finally arrived. Everyone else is now experiencing the show at my level. Visually baffled.”
Of course, five seconds later, the stage lights come back up and everyone around me returns to watching the set, the costumes and the actors’ expressions – while I sit there thinking, “Well, that was a lovely bit of short-lived democracy.”
Still, I adore the theatre. It’s the atmosphere, the storytelling, the live mistakes no one is supposed to notice – but everyone definitely notices! These things are universal. But there are also a few ways theatres can make the whole experience far more welcoming for blind or visually impaired guests.
So, with the hot theatre lights blazing and ice creams at the ready for the interval, here’s the scoop!
Firstly, please don’t treat me like some lost, Victorian child, who has strayed in accidentally.
If I walk in with a cane, don’t usher me around using the “gentle elbow nudge” technique normally reserved for shepherding wayward goats. I know you probably mean well and all, but now, as well as being blind, I also feel like a barnyard animal, when I’d tried so very hard to appear sophisticated in your fancy establishment. Instead, just speak to me. “Would you like assistance?” Sometimes I will, sometimes I’m fine. Sometimes I’ve already memorised your foyer because I got there early and accidentally addressed a statue thinking it was a member of staff. True story – more than once!
Knowing the difference between assistance and insistence will set you apart. You’re not being patronising by offering help, and equally, it’s nothing personal if I politely decline. I still appreciate the gesture and make a mental note that you are someone lovely who would hopefully be willing to help me out should I need it later on. And, while we’re on the subject, introducing yourself before touching my arm is even better. That way, I don’t assume I’m being mugged for my programme!
Next up, it has to be my friendly, faithful audio description.
Now, a good audio describer tells me what’s happening on stage. A great audio describer understands that I don’t need a three-minute dissertation on the “thematic symbolism” of the curtains! Be discerning. Tell me what I want to know, what I long to know, what I need to know. Give me an outline of the colours, the expressions, the props where applicable – but most importantly, cut to the chase!
Clear, concise descriptions include me, without flooding me with information. The more comically you can detail the visual jokes, the more bonus points you’ll get from me. I love it when a describer tailors their tone to the show. If it’s passionate, help me feel it. If it’s haunting, echo that in your delivery. My favourite is when it’s playful and the describer genuinely sounds like they are having fun!
Description can get really creative in theatre settings, sometimes being performed by the cast themselves in character. This makes it feel like a bonus feature, instead of an accessibility tool.
Touch tours also compliment audio description perfectly, by inviting me onto the set before the rest of the audience have arrived. I had this experience at Harry Potter and The Cursed Child and, when the characters mentioned certain props and scenery that I had felt against my fingertips, a kind of magic happened in me. I could picture each of the items in my mind’s eye in a way I’d never been able to before.
Staff who know the building are absolute heroes. I can find my seat independently if the route is logical. I struggle if the journey resembles a hedge maze designed by someone who hates straight lines! Train your staff in guiding techniques and, as much as possible, make navigation routes consistent. If there are tactile or audio cues, that makes me feel like I have subtle superpowers, as independence and autonomy become a breeze. It might sound silly, but to someone like me, this can mean everything!
Next, when it comes to accessibility, (as the old saying goes) if you’ve got it, flaunt it! Why is accessible booking often hidden behind four dropdown menus, a secret phone number and a small riddle?
You know I can’t see, so please give me clear access booking links, and an option to easily select an “audio described performance” and a free or discounted companion ticket. Let me choose seats that make sense for my personal access needs. I may be partial to a mystery-solving ensemble, but your booking system really shouldn’t require me to crack the De Vinci Code before deeming me worthy of admission!
For a wider audience, you can also consider things like Large Print or Easy Read, for example.
Lastly, celebrate accessibility – rather than apologising for it! Nothing is more joyful than a theatre that treats accessibility as part of the show’s creative life, not as an awkward bolt-on hidden in the corner. Publicise access services confidently. Invite blind audiences to feedback sessions. Consider what will make me feel as included as possible. Collaborate with disabled artists and consultants.
The bottom line is accessibility isn’t a favour. It’s good business, good culture and makes the whole theatre experience richer for everyone.
Going to the theatre as a blind person can be joyful, chaotic, funny, tender and occasionally baffling! The choices you make as theatre professionals have a massive impact on my experience and on how I walk away feeling.
If you make your venue welcoming, accessible and full of friendly people, I guarantee you’ll gain loyal audiences who feel genuinely valued and seen – even when they can’t see you back!
– Hey, I’m Fern, and I’m a blind broadcaster, audio describer and guest blogger for VoiceBox. I love to share my experiences of media accessibility, audio description, events, festivals and more here. Oh, and you may see me refer to ‘Nancy’, my partner in crime and guide dog – adding her to my life was the best thing I ever did.