When Wally talks about how he went to the stationery store, toss envelopes into the air.

Whenever there is a reaction shot of Wally looking perplexed or skeptical, shout, “Huh?”

Leaf through your issue of the surrealist magazine Minotaur whenever there is a discussion of uncanny coincidences.

When André tells the story of his attempt to workshop a production of The Little Prince, and how he found himself eating sand in the Sahara desert with a Buddhist monk, eat some sand.

Throw a banana at the screen every time André mentions his wife Chiquita.

When the conversation turns to the anaesthetizing effects of the comforts of modern life and how they prevent us from engaging with reality, switch on an electric blanket and get cozy.

Cast a disgusted glance at your flag emblazoned with a Tibetan swastika as often as you see fit.

When André and Wally discuss the lamentable state of the theater and wonder if it’s possible to create a theatrical experience that would shake people out of their complacency, ask yourself: Is attending this screening/performance of My Dinner With André making you less complacent, or does it allow you to wrap yourself in yet another protective layer of ironic detachment? Is endlessly reenacting My Dinner With André a way for members of The MDWA Midnight Madness Troupe to hide behind a mask of performance and avoid exposing who we really are? Are we really saying anything with this show, or is it just an excuse for people to get drunk and dress up on a Friday night?

Treat yourself to a nice amaretto when Wally orders an after-dinner drink.

When André says, “The closer you come to another human being, the more completely mysterious and unreachable that person becomes,” turn to other members of the audience and ponder whether it is possible to truly know another human being. Then spray the people around you with silly string and glitter.