This is a list of the most built-up yet oddly unfulfilling moments in theater—the anticlimax. They are also some of my favorite moments in plays and musicals, because it is often in these instances that the rawest form of reality sneaks its way onto the stage. It is in these moments that the goal of theater is truly fulfilled: the characters finally cross over from the realm of fiction and become human for the audience.

5. Act III of “Our Town,” by Thornton Wilder, when the main character dies and returns to Earth to learn that many of her close family and friends have already passed away. She tries to relive a day in her past, but finds it too painful, ultimately returning to death and lamenting that humans do not seem to enjoy life while they have it.

4. The moment in “Annie” when she found out that her real parents, the ones who gave her the locket, died in a car accident when she was a baby. I don’t know about you, but I totally thought “Daddy” Warbucks was going to end up being her biological father, with Grace as her mother.

3. The end of the first act of “Hair,” when the Tribe strips naked on stage. It’s a bold undertaking even with dim lighting, but what’s anticlimactic about this scene is that the members of the Tribe stand, singing “Let the Sun Shine In,” as if they were wearing clothing. Nakedness becomes the new normal, and the audience begins to feel silly and trapped in their ridiculous clothing.

2. The very end of “Ragtime,” after Father convinces Coalhouse to surrender peacefully and exit the library that Coalhouse is threatening to blow to pieces. The police shoot and kill the former rabble-rouser, and he is dead before his peaceful intentions can be made known. The fight to combat race violence is robbed of an angry but powerful voice. Still, Coalhouse’s song “Make them Hear You” echoes after the smoke from the gunshot clears.

1. The ending of “Pippin,” when the Leading Player tears down the set and leaves Pippin to face the bare stage and blinking exit sign. He must then live the rest of his life without the fluff, feathers, or frippery of the theater and with only the promise of a loving and meaningful human relationship with his lover Catherine.

—Staff writer Virginia R. Marshall is the outgoing Theater Exec. Yes, she has red hair. She can be reached virginia.marshall@thecrimson.com.