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Confessions of a Theatre Reviewer

9 Jan

I have a confession to make: my title will probably be the most interesting thing about this article.

Deliberately titillating, that provocative word confessions is really no more than a sad attempt to disguise the fact that this will be just one more article written by me about me.

I usually write theatre reviews and, as everyone knows, reviews tell you more about the reviewer than the show. (After all, no matter what show I go to see, I’m always there. It’s this inevitability – rather than the quality of the work – that explains why so many reviewers become jaded.)

So, if this is just another article about me, why write it at all?

It recently occurred to me, that as of last year, I’ve written as many reviews about other people’s shows as I’ve had reviews written about my own shows. So, I guess, I’m in a weirdly privileged position.

Dear Theatre-maker, I know your love-hate relationship with reviewers, and I think I can offer some insight. (Or, if not, at least I’ve harnessed another opportunity to write about myself.)

Dear Theatre-maker, these are the things I must confess:

  • I’m excited every single time you send me an invitation to a show.
  • I don’t especially like to go to your opening night.
  • I like to bring a plus one.
  • I know what I write is not very important, certainly not as important as what you write.
  • I’m aware that everything I write is sloppy. I’d like to take more time and write for posterity, but I know that posterity doesn’t buy tickets. (What I write is mere fish wrap, hence the above image.)
  • I’m not trying to market your show, but I know you are. So, if I like your show, I’ll include a line or two you can use as a pull-out quote.
  • I dislike the idea of grading or comparing productions.
  • I’m not trying to make you famous. (I’m not trying to make me famous. It’s with great reluctance that my reviews have a byline. I’d prefer not to include my name at the conclusion of what I write, but I believe the obligation of accountability outweighs the pleasures of anonymity.) And, if fame is what you are trying to achieve, I think you should carefully consider why. I think you should also consider what that desire suggests about your attitude to other people. I’m not saying you shouldn’t seek financial gain from your art – but because I believe artists shouldn’t starve, I’d also rather they remain in good psychological health.  
  • I want people to read what I write. So, if you like my review, share it on your socials.
  • Personally, I don’t read reviews. I think a fair percentage of reviewers write terribly. It’s sometimes said that we reviewers are failed artists, but that’s not the whole story: many of us are failed reviewers as well.
  • I read your program only so as not to misspell the names of your creative team (though sometimes I’ll still get them wrong anyway.) Apart from that, I studiously avoid everything you write about your show: marketing, advertising, director and writer’s notes … everything. In fact, reading your program notes afterwards can feel like a type of gaslighting; I saw the show, and now you’re telling me, in such authoritative tones, that my interpretation of the show is wrong? (But I understand why you write these notes. Many of the notes I’ve written as a playwright have simply been repeated back at me by reviewers and, as a result, the reviews have been a delight to read.) 
  • I know you won’t like everything I write, and I’m OK with that.
  • I give your show much more thought than you probably imagine.
  • I find the spoiler-rule frustrating, but I’ll abide by it. I don’t like it when you act as though I’ve broken the rule when I’ve merely outlined the scenario. I have to be able to say what your show is about; I can’t just gush hyperbolic platitudes.
  • I don’t like it when you suggest I’ve misunderstood your play. You’ve shared it, and now it’s ours.
  • I know what I write is subjective. I know I have personal preferences and interests, and I know they’ll inform what I write. I don’t believe there’s an objective viewpoint, and I think those who assert there is are either naïve or lying.
  • I’m not interested in your politics. Or, more to the point, I’m interested in them in a way you might find surprising. To be honest, your piece of theatre is extremely unlikely to change my political outlook – but I do love to learn what political perspectives are being held by other people, artists included. When you behave as though your art will change hearts and minds, I think it’s a little odd. I’m not saying it won’t, or it can’t, but to have that as your driving purpose is to assume your audience is less sophisticated than you.
  • I like to be thanked for my review. Even a one-word message will suffice. Here’s one you can cut and paste for future use: Thanks.

And to end this article, I’ll take my own advice.

I’m absolutely thrilled about the upcoming year of theatre, and so, in advance, to all Theatre-makers, an enormous THANKS.

Paul Gilchrist

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Thoughts on the year in theatre 2024

27 Nov

I’ve had the enormous good fortune to see 81 shows in 2024. Yes, a lot – but other reviewers see more.

This year, in response to productions, I’ve written 46,000 words. (To give some perspective, Hamlet is 30,000 words, The Great Gatsby is 47,000, and some random monkey banging away at his keyboard for 12 months is 46,000.)

I don’t get paid for my writing (though if someone wants, I can easily supply my banking details.) And I don’t do it for the tickets. I do it so I can write about theatre. (Would I have wanted to see so many plays without writing about them? No. I enjoyed seeing most of them, but I enjoyed writing about all of them.)

If you’re reading this article for my “Best of 2024 List”, you’ll be dissatisfied. I don’t see art as a competition, so I won’t be ranking productions. (I have become Disappointment, the Destroyer of Dreams.)

I’m writing this reflection simply to share some observations of Sydney’s theatrical world – because I believe sharing not competing is the essence of art. My observations will be, unavoidably, limited and subjective.

FIRSTLY, TRIVIALITIES: THE WORLD OF REVIEWING.

It appears there are more people writing about theatre than ever before. My current publicity list includes over 40 Sydney-based sites or publications. Despite this (or because of this) there’s still a tendency for many reviewers to write in marketing language. I’m not sure if this is a result of inexperience or cynicism. But there are some really interesting new voices, as well great material written by some old hands.

Despite the large number of reviewers, theatre companies are increasingly using “audience responses” in their marketing.

Despite the large number of reviewers, indie companies can still struggle to get critics to come along to their shows.

The trend to grade productions out of 5 has become almost universal. And it feels like an arms race. Not many shows are awarded 2 stars; if you want to garner attention for your site, you give a show 5 stars. I’m waiting for someone to award 6. (Give 1 star and you’ll also get noticed, but the invitations might soon dry up.) I’ve resisted the trend because I don’t feel productions are comparable in any sense that’s interesting. And, fortunately, I don’t have an editor demanding I follow the fashion.

I’ve noted theatre-makers expressing dissatisfaction with reviewers. (I’ve also noted the sun still rises in the east. Nothing gets past me.) Considering the nature of the relationship between artists and critics, some animosity is probably inevitable. I’ve heard complaints that too many reviewers are not experienced enough. I’ve heard complaints that reviews are not harsh enough. I’ve heard complaints that reviewers evaluate productions according to their politics rather than the artistry of the creatives. There also appears to be some moral discomfort when someone who produces art also writes about it (like myself). Obviously, I’m either trying to feather my own nest or piss on someone else’s. Sycophancy and vindictiveness, it seems, are more believable motivations than a genuine interest in the artform.

Reviews used to be referred to as fish-wrap, alluding to the fact that today’s newspaper becomes tomorrow’s rubbish liner. Now, with most reviews online, they’re less like fish-wrap and more like nuclear waste – a poisonous, unwanted byproduct that just never goes away.  Personally, I’d like to see more reviews written in a manner that would make them interesting to read even if you were never going to see the show. I’d like reviews to invite readers to think more about the dramatic form and more about the ideas that the shows explore. I don’t expect all reviews to be like this, but I think there’s space for something more than glib, thought-free, idiosyncratic evaluations.

NOW THE IMPORTANT STUFF, THE PRODUCTIONS THEMSELVES.

It’s an absurd generalisation, but the overall standard in Sydney theatre seems higher than previously. Perhaps this is because the number of venues remains low and so access to them is more competitive. Or maybe it’s just a result of more discerning programming. Or maybe there’s something in the water. Whatever the case, I’ve been privileged to see many superb productions.

I’ve really enjoyed the sheer amount of new work presented this year; over 50% of what I’ve seen. I want to thank the season programmers for this, and all the indie producers who took a chance on the untested. (I will point out that there’s a tendency for some new work to be longer than needed. I think a good rule of thumb is that 90 minutes is as long as you should ask an audience to sit without an intermission. Yes, intermissions have gone out of fashion, so if it’s new work, and you’re in charge, please consider closely the show’s running time. Many pieces would gain from a tighter edit. In fact, few phrases in the theatre vernacular are repeated with more glee than A short show is a good show!)

As well as new work, there’s also been an enjoyable variety of old classics, the return of some Australian soon-to-be classics, and some thrilling contemporary work from overseas. A healthy theatre scene should be a mix, and at least for me, this year of theatre in Sydney got that mix just right.

To praise our directors in particular, the use of space has often been magnificent. In this regard, I’ve seen absolutely brilliant work at Belvoir, Ensemble, Sydney Opera House, Seymour, KXT, Old Fitz, New Theatre, Flight Path, Riverside, Qtopia, Carriageworks, Flow Studios and the Fringe. It’s been a joy to see directors embrace the potential of a space rather than merely attempt to minimise what they think are its limitations. To praise our designers, there’s been some terrific shows with a minimalist aesthetic. There are productions playing with technology, and doing so in an exciting way, but it feels as though our fascination with gadgets is waning.

I’ve never been a fan of theatre that’s little more than sitcom, and there appears to be less of it.

There’s a continuing interest in theatre that purportedly is Telling our Stories. I’ve written elsewhere how this phrase has morphed into the odd assumption that theatre is fundamentally a type of non-fiction. However, though the phrase Telling our Stories has been used this year, it hasn’t dominate the description of productions as much as previously. For example, in the last few years, it almost became the default position that any one-person show was a sharing of actual lived experience, but in 2024 I’ve seen some great one-actor shows that had no pretence of autobiography. We need diversity on our stages, but the fictional form doesn’t need to be sacrificed for this to be achieved.  

I’m reluctant to make a judgement as to where we actually are in regard to diversity. The majority of companies claim to be committed to the concept, and the difference between now and, say, 15 years ago is substantial. But I’ve spoken to artists who are dissatisfied with what’s been achieved, and who feel that though the language of inclusion is spoken, it’s not always sincere. Diversity will remain a live issue, partly because theatre that doesn’t reflect the society in which it’s created is doomed to irrelevance, but also because the philosophical assumptions that drive our desire to achieve it are still muddy and require further discussion. Expect me to write more about this next year.

The standing ovation has become common. Does that mean audiences are more appreciative of what’s happening on our stages? I hope so. A cynical friend has suggested that the standing ovation is just a way of reclaiming the experience from the performers, or simply an automatic response from individuals frustrated by the requirement to sit still and relatively quietly for such a long time. Or, says my friend, it’s a way of shaking off the art, like frantically removing a spiderweb into which you’ve accidently stumbled. (I wonder if it’s perhaps more the shower you might take after a visit to the dentist; you’ve submitted to the necessary drill, and your smile might now be healthier, but only because blood and bone have been splattered everywhere.) I’m not one for standing ovations; I have enough trouble putting my socks on in the morning, let alone leaping instantaneously to my feet. But perhaps it’s also about what I value in the art. To respond so physically, so completely, to a piece of theatre means I haven’t had time to savour its subtlety or to be threatened by its thorniness.

But, most likely, most people are just quicker than me.

So I’ll give my standing ovation now, at the end of the year.

Thank you Sydney theatre-makers, you have shaped things of Beauty and shared dreams of Truth. We have asked for bread and you have not given us stones, and we are richer for it.

Paul Gilchrist

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Reflections on Writing about Theatre; or Making a Splash!

16 Jan

In every production, the least convincing performance is the one by the critic attempting the role of Teller-of-the-Truth.

But it’s nothing new to assert that evaluations of productions are subjective. (Though, in my defence, theatre is not particularly interested in novelty. It’s been quipped that Jane Austen wrote not six novels, rather the same novel six times – but the accusation that Austen endlessly returned to the same material loses any sting when compared to an artform in which practitioners routinely present plays that have been produced 100’s of times before. Theatre is an artform in love with repetition. Do that to me one more time, Once is never enough….)

But back to my earlier point: my reluctance to accept a role in which my performance (as Teller-of-the-Truth) will undoubtedly be graded somewhere on the spectrum between foolishly naïve and laughably arrogant.

Of course, I’m happy to double, briefly appearing in that small role of self-important judge. (“Small role!” I hear publicists declare imperiously, “There are no small roles, only small reviewers!”)

But I’ll double that small role of evaluator with a more important one: facilitator of what the artwork offers.

A good play is like a stone thrown into a stagnant pond. When I write about theatre, I’m not especially interested in judging how the stone was thrown; I’m hoping to perpetuate the ripples.

Paul Gilchrist

Image by aceebee from Camberley, UK, CC BY-SA 2.0 creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0, via Wikimedia Commons

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Thoughts on the Year in Theatre 2023

19 Dec

In 2016, I wrote an Open Letter to Sydney’s Theatre Critics. It was read by more people than anything else I’ve ever written for this site. (And my second highest readership ever? An article entitled Truth in the Theatre Foyer.)

In my Open Letter, I asked if it was possible, at the end of a year, to do more than simply rank the productions that had been seen.

I’ve no great issue with ranking performances – especially if anything I’ve written is on anyone’s Best of List – but I was hoping that the people who had seen so much theatre might make some further observations. I ended my Open Letter with the exhortation “Make some generalisations – you’ve earnt it!”

This year, the first full year I’ve returned to serious reviewing for quite a while, I’ve decided to take my own advice. 

However, there are a couple of caveats:

Firstly, I won’t be offering my own list of the “Best of”. Quite simply, who cares about my opinion? I could, of course, entitle the list “My Favourites”. That would acknowledge the issue of the unavoidable subjectivity (but still not address the issue of relevance or value.)

Secondly, I’ve seen and written responses to only 64 shows this year. That’s a lot of theatre most normal people would say, but my reviewing colleagues and I are not of that demographic. (Some of them have seen twice as many shows as me.) And to add a little more perspective, of the 50 shows nominated for this year’s Sydney Theatre Awards, I saw only 7. I do try to get along to most things I’m invited to. However, I avoid amateur theatre – not because of the quality, but because my pretentious approach is not a good fit with their mission statements – and I’m also currently not on the publicity list of several companies (STC, Old Fitz, Hayes, and Eternity.)

So, with these two caveats in mind, here are my outrageous generalisations. I’ll start with the most trivial.

  1. There are more reviewers than ever before. My personal publicity list currently has 37 review sites. And, every time a new show opens, I see on social media quotes from reviewers I’ve never heard of. I guess it’s a bit like those infinite number of monkeys banging away on an infinite number of typewriters: one of them will eventually write something worthwhile.
  2. Reviews now come with stars. When I started Theatre Red in 2011, a small number of publications rated shows out of 5 stars. Now most do. (I don’t. I’m uncomfortable about the implied comparison between shows. And I’m also keen that what I write about a show isn’t entirely abbreviated to something even a monkey can read.) One site even grades productions to the first decimal point, awarding scores such as 4.9 or 4.8 stars. (I’m keen to get a copy of that marking criteria.)
  3. Reviews are increasingly more generous-spirited. If you put on a show, someone will give it 5 stars. Perhaps this is not an ideal situation, but it’s preferable to the critical culture of several years ago, in which so many reviews were written with the subtext Who, exactly, do you think you are to write or direct or perform in a play? But, the overly effusive language of many reviews now makes it feel as though it’s marketing copy that’s being written rather than theatre criticism. (Of course, if you want exposure for your publication, if you want your site mentioned in an ad on the side of a bus, it’s good strategy to be extremely positive.)
  4. Instagram has changed the way that shows are marketed. On Facebook, producers generally put links to the review. On Insta, using a program like Canva, anyone can now take one of their production shots, bang on it the stars they’ve been awarded and the ticket booking details, and the whole thing seems extremely professional. As a producer of theatre, I’ve done it myself. As a writer of reviews, I would really like people to actually read the reviews.
  5. The number of independent theatre venues continues to decrease. And this is at a time when there seem to be more artists wanting to make theatre than ever. On the upside, it’s great to see little companies finding eclectic spaces to weave their magic.
  6. There is a continuing focus in our theatre on what the Right calls identity politics. We must have diversity on our stages and in our storytelling. (And one great consequence of this trend is that over half of the shows I saw this year were new works.) But I’d like to offer an observation; consider the oft-repeated slogan Our stories must be told. It posits an interesting question: is the role of the playwright to document society? And, if so, what technical and moral attributes would be required of them to do this effectively? And what sort of awareness, both in terms of aesthetics and epistemology, would the audience of such a work need? Watching a play that purports to bear witness to the lived experience of a particular demographic group, do I say “Well, that’s the Such and Such community!” or should I count this play as merely the equivalent of a single anecdote from a single individual who undoubtedly has personal biases? (I’ve got a lot to say about this idea – but it will have to wait until a later time).  
  7. Despite the above comment about identity theatre, a lot of indie work is still showcase theatre. By showcase theatre I mean indie theatre in which it appears the artists’ goal is to showcase their ability so they’ll be discovered and no longer need to do indie theatre. This is natural, and not something I can criticise – but it’s always great to see work that’s being shared primarily because of the beauty and truth it offers.
  8. This is how I ended my Open Letter in 2016: “And what isn’t happening in the scene that you really think should? After all, a good critic recognises what’s happening, and a great critic knows what is not.” So what do I think should be happening? Who asks questions like that? If I have an answer, it’ll probably be expressed in my own own theatre, rather than in theatre criticism.  

But I’m looking forward to 2024 and all the brilliant work I’m sure to see.

In the meantime, an enormous thank you to Sydney’s theatre makers!

Paul Gilchrist

A Manifesto; or Reflections on Writing about Theatre over a Decade

28 Jan

“Manifestos are written by revolutionaries as they wait for the next shipment of bullets. Oh, and by reviewers waiting for the next play.”

When I began this site in 2011, writing as the character Veronica Kaye, I wrote the above, and then continued:

“Not that this will be a manifesto. But, then, I’m not a reviewer.

Which in two sentences [sort of] sums up my attitude.

I’m not in the slightest interested in judging plays. I’m interested in responding to them. I intend to write about what plays make me feel and what they make me think. I don’t intend to label them as failures or successes. Other writers can do that. And they will. And I don’t think it’s enough.

I hope to encourage the appreciation of plays as what I believe they are – sharings of our visions of the world.  They are not tricks that are done either well or not. Theatre is not Olympic diving.

Of course, theatre can be done horribly. But I’m not going to write about that. It’s tempting to be all Oscar Wilde for a moment and say that task can be left in far less capable hands than mine. But, it’s actually just a choice.

Theatre is not space flight. When you get it wrong, no-one dies. We just don’t get to visit new worlds.

[So I suppose it is like space flight.]”

Looking back, almost a decade on, I agree with most of what Veronica wrote (and she did write beautifully.)

But she was a young pup and, in her exuberance, I feel she was guilty of …. exuberance.

Now older, I find I differ with her attitude to both reviewers and artists. These differences are only subtle, but when we trip, it is not over Mt Everest but rather a mere crack in the pavement.

Veronica criticised how others wrote about theatre. I’m not much interested in this anymore. We must all work out our own salvation (and there is more than enough to be done on mine.)

Veronica also gave the impression she would talk about herself.  She did not (though her focus on the meaning of plays did surprise some people – especially if you didn’t think your play meant anything at all. Or didn’t want it to.)

I’ll continue with the same focus as Veronica, but I want to make clear that I’ll be analysing and discussing what the artist is doing, not using the production as a hook to hang my erudition.

I’m still not particularly interested in evaluating theatre. But I know some people like it. And I know it slips in anyway, unbidden, a sort of reflex action. After all, judgement is a natural response to Life  (“This coffee is awful!” and “What a beautiful day!”) and also a necessary one (“This society is unjust.”)

And, following Veronica, I’ll continue to write about artists with respect.

And her space flight analogy is charming (didn’t we all want to be astronauts when we were young?) but I’m going to rejig it, and make it something more down to earth.

I will consider a play as a gift.

And I’ll unwrap it.

And share it around.

Paul Gilchrist

Theatre Red is Re-Open for Business

10 Jan

About two and a half years ago I decided I didn’t have enough time to write about theatre anymore.

Well, things have changed.

Recently, as I was ferreting around the dark and dusty corners of my subconscious, hidden behind boxes labelled Bad Habits and Dis-organisation, I discovered this big bucket of extra Time.

I’ve decided to use this extra Time writing about theatre, because I enjoy it so much.

My contact details can be found on the page inventively entitled About/Contact.

Why I don’t write about theatre anymore

9 Jun

Everyone loves a rant, don’t they? So perhaps I should begin with a complaint about disorganized publicists who never had my name at the door, a whine about painful productions by hopeless incompetents, a whinge about competent productions by cynical CV-fillers, and a despairing howl about my inane colleagues who wrote only fluent cliche.

Unfortunately, I have no such rant in me. I’ve enjoyed writing about theatre and I have met some truly wonderful people.

But, before I explain why I no longer write about theatre, I’d like to explain why I began in the first place. Over the years, some people have responded as though there was something inappropriate about me doing so, suggesting it was either wrong or unwise for a working dramatist to comment on other dramatist’s work. But surely artists should be able to talk about Art? The moral discomfort seemed based on the assumption that if I wrote about theatre my aim must be to criticize. I don’t think this is the only way we can respond to Art.

Paul and Croc

I wrote about other artists’ theatre in the way I wished my own theatre was written about. I wrote about theatre in an attempt to acknowledge and appreciate the gift being given. Evaluation is the default position in most critical writing and, of course, it has its place. But I don’t write as a dramatist to be judged. I write to share.

As a playwright, I write to share my vision of Life. I use the theatrical form because it allows complexity and contradiction. (Dramatists who say they’re writing the Truth are simply substituting that word for an expression I believe more humble and honest.)

My vision of Life is joyful and hopeful – I hope. But if it were sad and miserable I would share it anyway, because you have to bring to the table what you have. (Occasionally as an artist I’ve come up against the view ‘Who are you to do that?’ and my response is ‘Who are you to not?’ Sharing is not arrogance. Deliberate isolation is.)

There are many qualities required in order to write about theatre well. One of them is time. I find I have increasingly less of that, and so I can no longer write about theatre, not when there are plays to write.

However, I have enormous admiration for those who do write about theatre (whether they’re driven by the need to evaluate or not). It’s not an easy task, as I’ve discovered. But I believe it is vital. If we don’t discuss our Art, it’s as though we are spitting Life in the face.

Paul Gilchrist

Open Letter to Sydney’s Theatre Critics

14 Dec

Firstly, thanks so much. The job you have chosen is not an easy one, but it is important.

About this time, some of you will publish your “Best of the Year” list.

This is not something that usually interests me, unless subtlenuance is on your list – and then I’ll social-media-the-shit-out-of-it.

What I would love is if you’d spend some time discussing what is happening in the scene overall. After all, you see so much theatre, much more than the rest of us. Some of you, I know, will have seen over 150 shows this year!

keep-off-the-stage

An interest in quality control is what many of you have in common, so by all means tell us what shows you enjoyed the most. But there are many other things I’m also keen to know.

These include:

  • As a culture, what sort of things do we produce theatre about? Are there any themes we seem obsessed with? Or are there important issues not being explored? What conversations are we having with our audiences?
  • How much new writing is there? And what’s it about? And how does it compare to overseas work? Is there a distinctively Australian voice? And is this new work reactive, attempting to take part in existing contemporary conversations, or does it ambitiously address issues explored nowhere else?
  • How much work is actually genuine art? (Now, that’s a term to start a conversation.) How much of it is simply pure fun? And how much is merely produced as a showcase for the talents of the actors and directors?
  • When non-original work is produced, where is it from? Is it predominantly classics or is it recently imported material from theatrical hot spots like the UK and the US? Having seen the productions, why do you think these choices are being made?
  • How does the indie scene differ from the main stage?
  • There is a vital push for more diversity in programming and on stage. What impact is this having on the actual work?
  • What is the house style of particular theatres?
  • And what isn’t happening in the scene that you really think should? After all, a good critic recognises what’s happening, and a great critic knows what is not.

Go on, make outrageously broad generalizations. You’ve earned it!

And thanks again.

Paul Gilchrist

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The Wit and Wisdom of Veronica Kaye

26 Oct

The trouble with reviewers is that, ultimately, they’re always writing about themselves. Every evaluation is simply their world view writ large. The more sophisticated critic will acknowledge this, but rarely in a review (usually in a bar).

I, however, will not hide behind any pretense of objectivity.

If it’s going to be all about me ULTIMATELY, then it may as well be all about me INITIALLY.

So, while other theatre writers might present lists of the best they have seen, I prefer to present the best of what I have written.

 

The Wit and Wisdom of Me

“Theatre is not space flight. When you get it wrong, no-one dies. We just don’t get to visit new worlds. (So, I suppose, it is like space flight.)” By Way of a Manifesto

“We judge art so it does not judge us.” To the Death, 2011

“Don’t give me that crap about theatre being the most natural thing in the world. ‘All the world’s a stage’ is just professional myopia. To footballers, all the world’s a game. To risk assessors, all the world’s an accident waiting to happen. To fishermen, all the world smells of fish.” StoryLines, 2012

“We should be wary when too many of our conversations about theatre sound like demarcation disputes, performance reviews, price negotiations, quality control panels, courts of petty session and magistrate’s verdicts. Only one conversation is vital. And it happens in the desert, when the artist battles with the devil – alone, naked and true – and in that battle forfeits her ego to win her soul. And tired but free, she returns to the city, and scratched in the dirt if necessary, she offers a vision of the kingdom of heaven.” Let the children keep their paint boxes

 “‘I’m only being honest,’ says the bully……It is naïve to think we communicate primarily to tell the truth. ‘Pass the salt’ is far more typical, and meaningful, than ‘That is the salt’. Truth maybe crucial but it is always secondary. We speak, we write, to impact on the world.” A Hoax, 2012

 “The obsession with acting in the drama theatre is like an obsession with anesthetic in the surgical theatre. Of course, you have to get it right, but it’s hardly the point of the process.” Masterclass, 2015

“There have been times and places where drama has been entirely banned. If you can’t see why, you haven’t seen it done well.” The Venetian Twins, 2012

“Reviews are our revenge on theatre. (And not just when we dislike it; after all, even 5 stars is rather parsimonious, considering how many stars there actually are.) In answer to the beautiful multiplicity of theatre, reviews offer a stern monotone. Which is why no-one takes them too seriously. Which is why I don’t write them. (They’re like trying to catch starlight in a jar.) When the Rain Stops Falling, 2012

Rochester

Now, where are those pigeons?

“To be honest, I find it difficult to be overly interested in judging the technical details of a production.  Maybe I lack something. But I want a play to give me more than the satisfaction that I am superior to it and its creators. No-one survives this life, but I intend to go down fighting. I want a play to arm me for that fight. I want to leave the theatre with more than I entered. And that “more” is not disdain – or even admiration – for the artists. The plays I need are fuel for life; logs to feed our open fire. They give warmth. They give light.  So we’ll gather, in silent fascination, and watch. And as one flickers out, we’ll throw on another, and no two will burn the same. And so we’ll pass this night, the dark and the cold all around us, and know that no dawn comes, except of our own making.” But What’s It All About?

“If a piece of theatre doesn’t appear truthful, maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s original.” Conservatism in Theatre 2

“Whenever someone begins a comment with ‘I see a lot of theatre’ I’m left wondering whether it’s a claim to expertise, or just a cry for help.” The Small Poppies, 2013

“People go to the theatre for all sorts of reasons. For me, one of the greatest attractions is the insight it offers into how the world is viewed by others. If we’re asked our values we’re often lost for words. It’s hard to sum up our worldview in a few pithy sentences. It’s like asking a fish to describe the ocean. (Feel free to test the truth of this analogy.)” Shopping Centres and Gutters, 2011

“The problem with the pursuit of excellence is not that you’ll never catch it. The problem is you miss so much else. Doing something without fault is a secondary virtue. The crucial issue is what you’re trying to do, not how well you do it. Surely, it’s better to fail at something worthwhile than succeed at something worthless. Do you really want to be remembered for producing the play that most effectively keeps the world small and cold?”  The Pursuit of Excellence

“I’ve come to accept that people will attempt to inoculate themselves from art. In terms of theatre, most people do this by not going. Those of us forced to go – because of career, or the pursuit of career – adopt other methods. Most of us don’t want to be changed. We don’t want to be challenged. And, considering the lives of unparalleled privilege that most of us enjoy, that’s perfectly understandable.” Theatre as Just a Trick

“Only God knows the complete Truth. And She’s not sharing…What we call the Truth is simply the point at which we cease asking questions.” Dangerous Corner, 2013

“Remember when the most important question was ‘What is to be done?’, rather than ‘Who am I?’” Indian Embrace, 2013

“We reviewers need to keep in mind that if the artist really valued our opinion, they’d ask us to read the script before the production, or at least get us along to a couple of rehearsals. As it is, they ask us in when they’re finished. Obviously, they don’t intend taking what we say that seriously. (Analogy: We think we’re specialists, yet we’re only ever called in for the autopsy.) What are reviews for?

“It’s difficult to see you as serious writer if you won’t help mount a production of your play that could be truly awful. Worthwhile writing challenges established values, so a writer seeking status is as absurd as a spy wanting recognition. ‘But if it was any good wouldn’t someone pay me for it?’ That attitude is loud and clear in our society, and perfectly designed to silence dissent.” Natural Born Producers

“In a capitalist society, co-operation is not encouraged. Competition is. Careerists – people interested primarily in personal advancement – are held up as model citizens. To support this world view, it’s expected that writers about theatre will focus on evaluating performers and productions, as against discussing ideas. And so the prevailing economic structure influences everything; even trivialities like theatre criticism.” His Mother’s Voice,  2014

“Theatre’s particular oddness is that it is not first person. Theatre presents Life from the outside, which is decidedly not how Life is experienced.” Tell Me Again, 2014

“Every evaluation is a political act.” Truth in the Theatre Foyer

Veronica Kaye

Reviewers say the darndest things

14 Oct

Over the last 8 years I’ve been reviewed as a writer and director over 200 times. The vast majority of responses to my work have been very generous-spirited, and some of them have even been intelligent.

There have been exceptions. At times, I’ve been described as unimaginative, mean-spirited and self-indulgent. And I’ve been branded a coward, a racist, a misogynist and a homophobe.

(The last three accusations all came in a single review. Admittedly, it was the work that was so labeled, not me; but when you’re the writer and director of the production such a distinction seems somewhat irrelevant.)

So what do you do when you get a review like that?

I complain.

Of the derogatory reviews listed above, only once did I fail to take the reviewer to task – the time I was accused of cowardice. Insert own joke here.

Each of my complaints was successful, in that the reviewer was willing to discuss the issue in a public forum, or in the case of the alleged racism, misogyny and homophobia, the review was withdrawn.

I want to make clear that I haven’t complained every time I received a less than glowing review. Who’s got the time?

What I do want to suggest is, that every time I elicited the type of response I’m discussing here (that is, a personal moral attack), it was perfectly obvious to me that the play had hit home. It had angered someone. That was never all that happened in the audience; each of those plays received glowing reviews from other critics.

But that anger? Was I pleased about it?

No.

And yes.

Paul Gilchrist

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