Recently I’ve filed a couple of reports from the International Theatre Critics’ Conference in Anchorage.
And several people have had the temerity to suggest that no such event is actually occurring.
You can imagine my indignation. (In fact, you’ll have to, as I’m not going to waste a moment describing it.)
As incontrovertible proof, I offer the following:
Firstly, this photo
I’m holding the camera. The subject is a pine tree covered with snow. (Annoyingly, Paul Gilchrist, from subtlenuance, has bombed the shot; another example of a playwright getting in the way of the creation of a perfectly good piece of art.)
Secondly, I offer this, the transcript of Paul’s address to the conference:
Truth in the Theatre Foyer
“Recently a friend asked ‘What do you say in the foyer on opening night when the play you’ve just seen is horrible?’
Say it’s wonderful and drink more champagne.
Why does it matter what you think? (The exception is if the play is promoting something evil. In that case, drink even more champagne – then confront the people responsible.)
Otherwise, you have no moral responsibility to be ‘honest’.
In fact, one might question why you feel the need to be ‘honest’ at all.
Annoyingly, I keep suggesting ‘honest’ should be in inverted commas. Why? Because I believe it’s a word used to hide a multitude of sins. Bullies, for example, are always ‘just being honest’.
Before you are ‘honest’ with anyone else, you should be ‘honest’ with yourself.
If you hated the work, ask yourself why. What criteria of yours hasn’t it fulfilled? (You might even remind yourself that it’s unlikely the work was produced in order to satisfy your criteria.) And then, as you reflect, (and this is the serious part) you might ask yourself why you hold those particular criteria? (Perhaps you’ll realize that you have no criteria you can actually articulate. Maybe you respond to a play merely according to whether you want to sleep with the lead actor, or whether your last play was rejected by the literary manager.)
It takes courage to acknowledge that our ‘honesty’ is often just self serving.
I’m not suggesting you shouldn’t have an opinion. And I’m not suggesting you don’t have the right to evaluate the work. (Indeed, if you’re a reviewer, that might be the very reason you were invited.) And, regardless of who you are, if the artist asks you what you think, there’s no need to lie or to hide behind equivocation.
But every evaluation is a political act.
Let me be clear, I’m not suggesting you have to like everything. You can think plays are poorly executed. You can think they’re downright incompetent.
But remember, artists are not offering themselves up for assessment. Or only the worst are.
In a society that rightly prides itself on its pluralism, we should be asking ‘What is this trying to say?’ Or, perhaps more importantly, ‘What is this trying to give?’
(You don’t even need to ask ‘What is this trying to do?’, thinking this is the fairest way to judge the play on its own terms. It’s not asking to be judged at all.)
Let’s not turn art into a competency test. Let’s not have our basic response be ‘Is this good enough?’ Good enough for what?
A work of art is a sharing. Don’t ask merely ’Was this presented well enough?’ Don’t even ask ‘Is it true?’
Ask ‘In what ways is this true as well?’
Because it is.
Accept the gift, and become richer.” *
Veronica Kaye
*I’d like to thank Paul Gilchrist for this transcript, but not for ruining my photo.
Theatre Red 