I'm Uneasy... Not Like Sunday Mornings...

Never let it be said that I can let things go. After the generous response to my article in which I bemoaned my inability to enjoy populist theatre, I've come up with more self-indulgent and pompous thoughts.

Can we blame media structures?

It was probably inevitable that I would blame other critics for my failures - I suggested that reviewing was becoming a synopsis with adjectives, with a lack of detailed argument.

To be fair, this isn't all criticism, and it is not just print criticism that does this. I ripped off a piece by Catherine Love last week, and it had plenty of detail, historical knowledge and sharp analysis. While I am sympathetic to the idea that the minimal space given to theatre criticism in newspapers can encourage 'potted reviews' (and that the pressure of on-line immediacy discourages expansive writing (TL;DR)), it does not necessarily mean that reviews are always cursory. I generalised from a specific instance because I have a vague idea that reviews are getting briefer.

So, the structures of the media are a factor, but not the whole story. What is regarded as acceptable as a review might be, though.

This might have been an attempt to address the moaning about critics and their role which kicked off after that Stage article. 

Who the hell are you to judge?

I admit that I have been guilty of lazy reviewing. If I wanted to, I could present a list of 'bad practices' taken from my own work. So, yeah, I'm a hypocrite. However, I do suffer from regular and painful abscesses, which can be regarded as a punishment. It's no excuse, but feel free to relish the thought of Mr Academic Big Shot here whining like a baby.

What's wrong with populism?

Nothing. Please don't apologise for liking something just because I don't find Diderot's theories in it. Part of my conflict comes from the disjuncture between my opinion and the majority response. I'm working out how to recognise that difference without surrendering my opinions or being patronising. 

I could point to my long and tedious history of criticism, and mention that I have very... distinctive tastes. For those who follow criticism, that's a bonus.  For those who don't, who surf onto my opinions, I'm a guy with a stick up his ass (see previous point).

No, what's wrong with populism?

It permits weak productions to get away with shoddy theatricality. I approve Our Ladies for not over-sexualising the young women (the costumes never went Britney, for example). But I also worry that the presentation of working class lives - and frankly, given that the play ends with one girl still in conflict over her sexual desire and another pregnant, pretty difficult lives - for entertainment is problematic. 

I'll wind myself into a knot here. I struggle with political theatre, and the self-awareness of Our Ladies' heroines is admirable... but I couldn't help but think: this is a play about young women who are being fucked over by an economic system that limits their options and aspiration. Yet, at the end, they sing some Bob Marley and every little thing's gonna be alright. 

These particular anxieties - theatre as valve for frustrations, the working class as a vaudeville routine - applies to serious agit-prop, too. And, like my relationship to 27 and Iphigenia in Splott, it is unresolved. 

Unlike populist theatre, I'm uneasy.

Moore, Mimesis and Documented Truth

Michael Moore is a Big Fat Stupid White Man reads as ugly as its title sounds. Between repeating the same points about Michael Moore's duplicity - yes, he did wrong by his writers, by his subjects, by the notion of truth, but developing an argument is, like, a thing - authors Hardy and Clarke betray their obvious frustration at his success. Sure, the book was written before Moore lost his credibility, so their resentment at Moore's hypocrisy had currency back then. 

But being spiteful about his weight and wealth does get in the way of their thesis that Moore's documentaries are dishonest. Judicious editing, and reconstructions of events, allow Moore to play loose with the facts. His general arguments, that 'Merica is bad, okay, and that individual acts of violence are expressions of wider cultural values, are supported by half-truths and melodramatic posturing. In particular, the manipulation of chronology, and a conversation with Charlton Heston are called out again and again.

Moore defends his slap-dash approach by pointing out that he makes entertaining, popular film. To bring in Aristotle, he is not making history, but poetry, which is more about the universal than the particular. In other words, so what if the facts are mangled? There is a bigger picture.

It's the same problem that verbatim theatre has: the use of real life

people and events lends an aura of authenticity to the work, but then makes inaccuracies less forgivable. Poetry, as Aristotle explained, is better than history because it does not rely on specifics, tending towards broader ideals. 

For Aristole, mimesis was the thing. Roughly translated as imitation, it is the process whereby nature becomes art. Poetry has particular aesthetics and epistemologies (got it in!). The problem with Moore is that he fakes historical aesthetics. 

He's pretty much like most journalists, then. Hardly fair to pick on just him. Is it because he's fat?

Quick, Before the Conversation moves on!

Excuse me while I slip out of my suit and put on my running gear. I've heard a band wagon approaching - it plays a clockwork version of Greensleeves like an ice-cream van - and I have to chase it...

It's a massive generalisation but artists often respond to critics in one of two ways. They either regard individual critics as poets, inspired geniuses who really understand, or as miserable hacks who fail to pay attention, following a personal agenda. 

Can you guess what factor determines which response a critic receives?

HULK SMASH

I'm sorry, but this is going to be one of those posts... you know, like
the guys on the manosphere do, when they totally lose it and go through a video in detail, howling in outrage at the slightest perceived insult to their intelligence.

It concerns an article about criticism. Never mind who thinks Michael Billington makes a good candidate to discuss on-line criticism (at his best, he plays a solid old school game; at his worst, he gets nostalgic for an era of 'proper scripts' and predictable political theatre). There's a call for online magazines to pay their writers (good for me, yep), and a worry that many bloggers lacks an intellectual grounding in the subject (not so good by me).

Okay, let me limit myself to one comment by Danielle Tarento.

“This is a massive generalisation, but a lot of people are not ‘proper writers’. They do not have the intellectual background or historical background or time to know what they are writing about. What they are writing about is did they like it or not, which is not what I think a review should be.”

I imagine that the context of this statement alleviates its harshness, but the article didn't give much. The leading clause - 'this is a massive generalisation' - does, however, have the subtext 'I am talking bullshit'. Massive generalisations don't impress me.

Dear God: where to start? 

What they are writing about is did they like it or not, which is not what I think a review should be.

Put aside my distrust of 'is' (see posts about the 'is of identity') and 'should'. I had a quick look at Tarento's website. She has produced a huge number of shows, and a quick glance at the impressive archive reveals... every single show's page has a quotation from a review at the head of the page. And each quotation makes it clear that the writer liked the show. 

If you don't think reviewing should be about stars and soundbites, stop using the stars and soundbites. It couldn't be the case that criticism has degenerated to its current level because theatre companies treat reviews as marketing tools, could it?

I am also intrigued by 'proper writers'. Tarento does define these but... I don't buy into her definition. I love freedom of expression, and the magic of the web lies in the potential to hear other points of view. We all love Billington, we all love The Guardian, but I enjoy reading writers who come at things from an unexpected position.

The wonderful thing about improper writers remains their ability not to get bogged down in the correct historical wisdom. 

Besides, I am totally a proper writer. I can tell you all about Aristotle, dramaturgy, Brecht, whatever... but my informed opinion means fuck all to most people. Those improper writers are more likely to communicate with other people, those outside of the loop of 'theatre communities'. You know, the people whom theatre needs to attract. 

Scenes from a Scotch Classroom No. XXXIV

Hands up who's done the reading?

No, well, I would have been foolish to expect anymore than that.

Still, today, it's Aristotle's Poetics, again. Yes, I know, we've been studying for two thousand years now but until we get it right, I'm not moving onto Nietzsche, even if he is more fun, with the BDSM and the breakdown and the syphilis. 

Can anyone tell me what the biggest problem is with The Poetics? No, not it is boring, thank you. What? Hanartia? No, that's pretty clear... it means 'sin', for fuck sake...

Good to see that a bit of swearing can wake up you at the back. 

Yes, it's the irony. A thinker who really retooled philosophy as a practical study, making it not about the abstract search for truth but practical application... has left us with a book that nobody knows what it is for. Best guesses include an answer to Plato's worries about acting, a handbook for dramatists, a theory of literary criticism... but since the bloody thing is clearly unfinished...

Because he says he is going to discuss comedy and define catharsis and he doesn't. I don't know, maybe they lost part two down the back of an Ottoman sofa. 

Or a mad blind monk ate it during a fire. Obviously.

You are lucky this isn't a classics lesson. You ought to see the reading I have to do for this. Nearly every article and book on The Poetics ends up with a long argument about how every other explanation of catharsis is wrong followed by another barely indistinguishable definition. Questions?

Okay, it's pronounced catharsis, not catheter. But the reason it matters is simple. Experiencing theatre, at least if it is any good, involves an emotional response. Catharsis might be a description of that moment. 

I know, it's funny how they use other examples of the word in Aristotle to find out what he means. Purgation, exactly - or having a period.

Stop giggling. The thing is, they never actually describe an experience that might be catharsis in their own lives. 

Okay. Let's remember. Meaning happens at that moment when the audience - or reader, or whatever - connects with the work of art. Bearing that in mind, your homework is to describe a moment when you connected with a piece of theatre.

It's in the exam at the Pearly Fucking Gates, son.

I want some, too

On the one hand, I haven't listened to the Beyonce album yet. On the other, I've read all about it. On the one hand, I am intrigued by such a major pop personality banging on about dirty stuff in an explicit manner - it seems to challenge the repressive puritanism that has silenced queer voices throughout the past century. On the other, I am not sure that songs about blow-jobs are necessarily appropriate for younger listeners. 

I am still trying to work out the meaning of her Superbowl show. It might be a celebration of black radical politics, or the equivalent of those tasteless sexy Halloween costumes.

But the usual questions about pop music - does it have a good beat? how does it relate to her previous work?- have been subsumed in wider discussions. Some of these reflect the obsession with celebrity (a variation on the belief that pop and rock singers are actually singing about their lives, not performing). Others worry about her social impact (most of the people who call her a role model are trying to get on the cool bandwagon). Lemonade is not a collection of tunes, it is a sociological document, which embodies conflicts around gender, race, desire, fame, money, exploitation...

This has been going on for a while: Madonna and Prince in the 1980s, even the hysteria around Elvis and his pelvis in the 1950s. Rock (masculine, serious) used to get the heavy duty analysis and the fun, wild critique. Pop (feminine, playful) can get you a PhD in sociology these days.

And it depresses me, because theatre criticism is so beige, by comparison. I've divided theatre criticism into two, before (for convenience rather than accuracy): popular and academic. But there is a gap: conversations about theatre in the manner of Beyonce. The diverse, the playful, the worried, the ecstatic, the witty. 

I like a good authority to make my claims look academic. In this case, it is Habermas and the public sphere. He says that the public sphere is a notional space where ideas are debated. Theatre seems to be sitting in the seats at the edge of the piazza, frightened to speak out and whispering opinions to itself. It's not getting in and about the matter. 

Maybe I still want to be Lester Bangs, but theatre criticism is timid, soft-spoken and irrelevant. Maybe it's like my inability to leave a bad relationship, as theatre criticism clings to print even as print, made stupid by illness, treats it as badly as the beloved in an old blues. 

I want to be rolling around in the mud, wrestling members of the manosphere. I want to get kicked in by a group of feminists who resent my assumption that I understand female oppression. I don't what to be writing for the special edition of Which Theatre Production.

Theatre is so much, has so much to add. And until it gets the kind of analysis Beyonce gets (maybe not as much, I suppose - no-one cares that much), it is going to remain the wall-flower at the prom.

Hold on: Beyonce is theatre.

Let's go. Let's go.

Anyone can be a critic...

People often ask me, do I have any words of advice for young people...

Listen up sunshine, and I'll tell you what a real critic is. Of course, if you are a real critic, you'll be taking the words 'real' and 'is' with a pinch of salt, because the first quality a critic needs is suspicion. A quick glance at the history of 'real' reveals a weasel word, used to confuse and make it look like the speaker knows what they are talking about. As for the verb 'to be': I'll not be opening that can of existential mind-worms here. 

I think it was Hitler who said that he couldn't tell you what he wanted, but he could, sure as hell, tell you what he didn't want. I hate to go full Goodwin so early, but it's easier to say what a critic isn't. Let's go listicle...

A critic is not a consumer consultant
Don't read a review to decide whether a particular show is worth a punt. You could use them like this, as if the purchase of a theatre ticket is the same as buying a sex toy. Do the research, read several different reviews, weigh up the advantages, access each review's bias. But the opinions of one person are a poor guide to quality. Think about that sex toy. What might be one person's night of ecstasy might be another's trip to Accident and Emergency. 

I admit that it is unlikely that a trip down the Tron will lead to a visit to the doctor to get a foreign body removed, and a subsequent anecdote told by nurses about 'this bloke who came in claiming he happened to be doing the housework naked and he fell over, honest'. But a review does not provide any grounds for attending or not attending. You see that show that drove you bloody mad? That's the one you remember. 

However, you can totally trust my reviews.

A critic is not a funding application
The failure of Creative Scotland to employ me or Robert Dawson Scott as roaming critics ought to have made this clear: a lifetime of popular, public reviewing is no qualification for being part of the funding process. I've heard rumours that a two star review can damage the chances of a company getting the green from the state. But that more of an indictment of Creative Scotland, if it is true, than anything helpful.

Criticism is not usually written to encourage the state to splash the cash. It's a subjective, often quick-fire, response to an event. It isn't that the world wouldn't be a better place if Creative Scotland was run by critics - it would be, obviously. But, again, it's a subjective opinion, informed by knowledge, that does not close the door on other interpretations. That two star play might need some support to develop. 

A critic is not objective
Let me tell you about power. I edit the work of other critics. And if they use a phrase like 'one might think', they get edited hard. 

You see, a critic is not the queen of England, and 'one might think' is an affectation. It also assumes that there is a common body of opinion, that the critic speaks for many... 'one' replaces 'I', replaces subjectivity with objectivity. Regular offenders, I am ready to admit, get laughed at behind their backs by me and my mates. I do that thing where I put my hands under my chin and speak in a posh whine. 

'Ohhhh, one might think, might one?'

My obsession with this particular phrase is petty, but it reflects a

deeper problem: criticism that pretends to be the absolute truth. Critics pay lip-service to being subjective, but rarely recognise it in their writing. Even their knowledge of theatre is a subjectivity. I've seen Iona Kewney, and all dance that I review is seen within that context. That's one of my subjectivities. 

Hell, I don't mind being wrong. But if you don't have an art-crush on Kewney, you'll find my reviews come from a particular perspective that you might not share. 

Okay, if you got this far, I guess I owe you. 

A critic uses critical thinking
Interesting, huh? Soon as I get positive, I'm using definitions that are self-referential and I'm talking about behaviour, not essences. Dig? Critical thinking is anything that is more than an opinion: it's an argument. It can be historical, it can be dialectical, it can be Aristotlean. It is opinion formed by transparent engagement with the event.

This is bullshit is an opinion.

This is bullshit because is the start of criticism. 

A critic guides conversation
Think of the critic like the chair of a meeting, only with more opinions. They suggest an agenda, sketch out the context, comment wryly and let the ideas that the artist spent so much time exploring get out into the public sphere. 

Laters. I'm bored now.

Five Rules Towards A Manifesto for Criticism

While you enjoy that contradiction, let me elaborate. To say 'should' is not just to suggest that there is an ideal, platonic reality, in which the object under consideration exists in a pure, perfected form. It is to insist that this reality is appreciable by the critical eye.

This reality is imaginary. It is a film in the mind of the beholder and, as such, not subject to the friction of existing. 'There is no hair in the lens of the mind's camera. 

The role of the critic is to observe, and comment on the observation, not to speculate on a possible, better performance and offer advice. 

Nor is there an 'audience'. The critic may comment on an audience's response, but cannot explain why that response happened. 

For example: 'the audience laughed' is acceptable. 'The audience found it witty' is not. 

The critic writes of their own experience, not on behalf of anyone else. There are those who agree with my assessments, those who do not. While I like the first group, both opinions are valid and there is no reason to assume that anyone is wrong.

There is nothing wrong with an artist commenting on another artist's work. However, this opinion is not the same as a critical opinion: artists and critics have different subjectivities. 

The artist observes a work and thinks: if I had the same budget and the same intention and the same resources... I would create the work that exists in my head. Refer to rule one for the problems inherent within this approach.

It can be fun to hear what artists think of each other, especially if that opinion is preceded by the words 'this is off the record, right?'

It just happens that their medium is critique, which roves across forms and disguises itself as journalism or reportage. 

See rule three for a dialectic tension.

But, like shit, they have to be done. However, the individual who spends time talking about either subject is unwelcome in polite society, and they are both unlikely to provide an answer in matters of purpose or value.

Not so much Occam's razor as Occam's Stanley Knife