Critics v. Civilians

This profile of Graceland playwright Ellen Fairey has gotten me thinking. My ambivalence on the show has been well documented here, as has the show's continued success. I'm not here to dump on the show more but rather to discuss the thoughts that it has provoked.

To briefly summarize: what I liked in Graceland were the dialogue, the acting, the staging, and the design. I had three major problems with the script: some of the plot developments weren't credible, I could usually guess what was going to happen in a scene shortly after it began, and the whole production felt like something I'd seen before.

But this leads to an important point: I see a lot more plays than most theatregoers. My guess for last year is 60-75 shows. (I could probably figure it out if I tried, but I don't keep records. Maybe I should.) During the period of January 13th to February 10th of this year, I saw 11 productions--12 if you count both parts of The Brother/Sister Plays separately. There are others who see more than me, certainly (I'm looking at you, Kris Vire), but it's a fair bet that most of them are other critics, industry people, or members of the Saints or the Jeff Committee.

It's not a big leap to conclude that seeing this many shows has an impact on how I watch theatre. Even when not on the job, I can't help but watch with a double consciousness--both reacting instinctively to what I see and analyzing my reactions and the craft onstage. I'm also probably more aware of how stories are told onstage, and certainly keep up with the tricks and trends in theatre. (I think this piece would not have happened if I hadn't seen and read so many plays using dead relatives onstage, for instance.) As a result, I probably get tired of certain devices, techniques, and plays before most theatregoers would. If I accept that it's a matter of taste whether Graceland's plot developments were credible (and I do), the other flaws I saw could easily not matter to someone who sees only 10 plays in a year. Quite possibly the large audience that saw and enjoyed Graceland didn't feel like they'd seen it all before because they hadn't.

I've certainly noticed that phenomenon with my friends who are aficionados of other arts. I've been to choir concerts with my boyfriend Adam (a choir teacher who knows way more about the art than I could ever hope to) and practically seen a different concert than he did. Tim Brayton's negative review of Star Trek was based to a large extent on problems he had with the cinematography and composition that I simply didn't notice when seeing it. (I like movies, but I don't think I could tell you after seeing most movies whether they had more close-ups, medium shots, or long shots, and whether those shots were unusually long or short.) I can articulate what I did or didn't like about a concert or movie and why, but I can't say it in the same way that someone educated and experienced in the workings of choir or cinema can.

So what does it mean that a critic's experience of his or her art is fundamentally different from that of the vast majority of the people reading it?

Some would argue that the critic has a responsibility to review like an average audience member would: those are the people who always comment on the audience that was having a great time when watching a show that a critic panned. (Another manifestation are those who will protest that the show was "just a good time, not a deep drama" or "made for kids, not grouchy grownups," as if either of those meant it didn't still need to be good.) This is ridiculous. A critic can't review from a perspective other than his or her own. It's tough enough for me to figure out my own reactions to a show, much less everybody else's. (This is particularly true because openings are frequently filled with those who worked on the show and their friends, who tend to react much more positively.) It would be dishonest to react with anything other than my own feelings.

But it would be just as silly to say that audiences' tastes need to catch up to critics. I don't love movies enough to become an expert in them, and most audiences could never afford to see as many plays as I do. (Ah, press seats, how I love thee.) Everyone has the right to like what they like. Tastes evolve with time and experience, certainly, but criticizing someone for what they enjoy or don't is a waste of time.

In the end, I think it comes down to the essential contract between critic and reader, which I've discussed previously: It is the critic's job to honestly and articulately describe his or her experience with the artwork and the reader's job to read the review with an understanding of his or her own tastes and the critical thinking to make a guess at the critic's tastes and interests. (Having read the critic for a while and reading multiple reviews for the production helps a whole lot.) No two people have the same tastes and reactions, but you can learn a lot with someone whose tastes are different from yours.

Any additions, disagreements, or clarifications? Comment away.

Thoughts on Criticism

I've had a very complex, productive relationship with arts criticism my entire life. I loved reading reviews as a kid, even for plays or movies I'd never see. My parents gave me Frank Rich's Hot Seat, an anthology of his work as chief theatre critic at the New York Times, when I was 13, and I read it cover to cover at least three times. I loved Pauline Kael's film criticism and Kenneth Tynan and Walter Kerr's theatre writing, and still enjoy reading collections of criticism--I recently spent great couple of weeks arguing with Richard Gilman in my head as I read Common and Uncommon Masks. I love the sheer good writing found in much criticism in raves, pans, and even mixed reviews. I love watching a mind grappling with a work of art and struggling to both convey the experience to someone who hasn't seen it and add to the experience of someone who has.

So in other words, I believe in criticism--in its necessity and its art--and I think I would even if I didn't also write it. Which is what makes this so troubling.

In brief, Chris Jones, lead critic at the Tribune (and a man whom I've had differences and agreements in the past) reviewed High Fidelity. It's the musical version of the 2000 movie, set in Chicago, and the earlier British novel. It was a swift failure on Broadway a few years ago (13 performances), and the Chicago staging represents the first production since, as well as a significant rewrite: the setting has been moved back to Chicago and the cast members also play the music. Jones' review was mixed--he enumerated the things he liked and the things he didn't, and did a good job at describing enough of the show's qualities to help the audience figure out if they would like it or not.

But maybe not for everyone. Someone going by "allison," in a blistering comment, included this phrase:

chris, theatre in this country is suffering right now. you are a chicago theatre critic. by your own words "america's hottest theatre city." you are supposed to support and encourage theatre in this town.

Kris Vire, in a very intelligent piece on his blog, responded, in short, "Bullshit." And I couldn't agree more. As he said, it is the job of critics to support good theatre. Being soft on a show that isn't very good does nobody any favors. I've been guilty of that myself. A few shows from the past year that shall remain nameless (unless you ask) had me leaving the theatre fuming--they weren't just bad, they were offensively bad. I gave them negative reviews, yes, but I soft-pedaled it. There's a difference between constructive criticism and lacking the courage of your convictions.

But I think another point has been lost, or mentioned too little: people need to use critical thinking when reading criticism. By this I mean: don't just take what the critic says for granted. Whether or not a critic thinks you should see a show is only one element of the review. Get to know that critic's work, and read several reviews for that production. Think about your own tastes--what things often turn you off? What will make you overlook flaws? If the critic is good and you are aware of your own tastes, you might come to a different conclusion from the critic. And that's a good thing--the writer is only human, their work only a guide, not an edict. I've often read positive reviews and decided to skip a play or movie, or been intrigued by mixed or negative ones. Critics can do their best, but it's the job of the reader to be informed and involved.

Is there something I'm missing? Are there other thoughts here? I always get worried when people seem to have fundamental misconceptions as to the job of the critic, or to see the act of criticism as unnecessary or harmful, critics as people getting off on their power rather than trying to inform. Is this the accepted view? Is there a way to get critics and practitioners on the same page?

Debate on Ruined

Well, as tends to happen, people have all sorts of things to say about Ruined, and its Pulitzer win. The most interesting conversation is happening over at Kris Vire's blog. Kris didn't manage to see Ruined, but based on his colleagues' positive but far from rave take on it, he didn't think it worth chasing down. He speculates, however, that it may have won its Pulitzer more due to the subject (the war in the Congo and the ways that women are abused there) than the quality. I, among others, disagree with his assessment--I think Ruined is anything but a dutiful, dull issues play--but it's turned into a really thought-provoking discussion. Read it and leave comments with Kris or me. Does anyone else who has seen it (or even who hasn't) have a take on it? Any reactions to the conversation?