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?
Theatre and Culture from Scotland, starring The List's Theatre Editor, his performance persona and occasional guest stars. Experimental writings, cod-academic critiques and all his opinions, stolen or original.
Showing posts with label bad critical questions. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bad critical questions. Show all posts
Wednesday, 11 May 2016
Quick, Before the Conversation moves on!
Wednesday, 30 December 2015
Tuesday, 3 February 2015
I am the most important person in theatre.
I am not. But that I am not is a reflection of a fundamental failure within the artistic communities.
Don't get me wrong. When I say 'I', I don't mean Gareth K. Vile, Mad Cyril or even Criticulous. The 'I' in question is the critical cohort - the diverse group of people who write about performance and offer it up to the public. The 'I' is a network of writers, sometimes in agreement, more often in conflict. The critic is the most important person in theatre, if that theatre culture is healthy.
Of course, there is a counter-argument that holds considerable sway. The most important person is the artist. That is the basis of most programming (this artist will attract audiences, reflect well on a venue's identity et c, et c) and funding philosophies. Cash gets handed to the makers, so they can make stuff. Without the art, there is no theatre community.
A more interesting take might be to recognise the audience as the most important aspect, but that's another essay.
The critic, however, stands at the point of contact between artist and audience: previews are supposed to attract the audience into an event, reviews document and quality assess a particular production. The public discussion about art, although not determined by critical opinion, is at least guided by it. And if a play, a ballet, a puppet show or circus is to have any impact, the conversations that it provokes need to be developed.
Sadly, criticism is frequently stuck in an old fashioned model: star ratings, quality assessment, predictable praise and negative critique. It is reduced by companies into an advert (here's our show: it got five stars!) which both encourages the idea of critical objectivity and distracts from a more thoughtful use of criticism - as a place for public discussion which isn't a mere series of tweets in response to Stephen Fry's latest video lecture.
As it stands, criticism as an art form is not even recognised by funding bodies, which is why I live in abject poverty. It is marginalised by the newspapers, who can always find money for a supplement on the football but rarely for ongoing analysis of artistic events. To be fair, a second division football match can attract a bigger audience than even a major ballet show at the Edinburgh Festival Theatre. But it does not offer the same opportunities for the discussion of various political and social themes.
This is an appeal, a rhetorical polemic that rejects my usual standards of dull dialectic for a more direct message. Until funding bodies, private enterprise and theatre companies recognise the importance of the critical cohort, theatre will remain a minority interest. Not quite sure how it is going to happen, but a start would be retweeting me indiscriminately.
Don't get me wrong. When I say 'I', I don't mean Gareth K. Vile, Mad Cyril or even Criticulous. The 'I' in question is the critical cohort - the diverse group of people who write about performance and offer it up to the public. The 'I' is a network of writers, sometimes in agreement, more often in conflict. The critic is the most important person in theatre, if that theatre culture is healthy.
Of course, there is a counter-argument that holds considerable sway. The most important person is the artist. That is the basis of most programming (this artist will attract audiences, reflect well on a venue's identity et c, et c) and funding philosophies. Cash gets handed to the makers, so they can make stuff. Without the art, there is no theatre community.
A more interesting take might be to recognise the audience as the most important aspect, but that's another essay.
The critic, however, stands at the point of contact between artist and audience: previews are supposed to attract the audience into an event, reviews document and quality assess a particular production. The public discussion about art, although not determined by critical opinion, is at least guided by it. And if a play, a ballet, a puppet show or circus is to have any impact, the conversations that it provokes need to be developed.
Sadly, criticism is frequently stuck in an old fashioned model: star ratings, quality assessment, predictable praise and negative critique. It is reduced by companies into an advert (here's our show: it got five stars!) which both encourages the idea of critical objectivity and distracts from a more thoughtful use of criticism - as a place for public discussion which isn't a mere series of tweets in response to Stephen Fry's latest video lecture.
As it stands, criticism as an art form is not even recognised by funding bodies, which is why I live in abject poverty. It is marginalised by the newspapers, who can always find money for a supplement on the football but rarely for ongoing analysis of artistic events. To be fair, a second division football match can attract a bigger audience than even a major ballet show at the Edinburgh Festival Theatre. But it does not offer the same opportunities for the discussion of various political and social themes.
This is an appeal, a rhetorical polemic that rejects my usual standards of dull dialectic for a more direct message. Until funding bodies, private enterprise and theatre companies recognise the importance of the critical cohort, theatre will remain a minority interest. Not quite sure how it is going to happen, but a start would be retweeting me indiscriminately.
Friday, 30 January 2015
Another Example of Brilliant Criticism... sigh
Andrea Miltner's Dance of the Magnetic Ballerina is one of the most anticipated shows in this year's manipulate. I sent over a few questions and in my first, manage to miss the point... Read on....Reading your biography, I noticed that it mentioned 'the baroque': do you have a special interest in the baroque - and what inspired this?
I would say I have a passion for baroque dance, music and sculpture, which was inspired over ten years ago by a very enriching experience dancing in an authentic production of Rameau's Castor and Pollux at the National Theatre in Prague. I was very privileged to work on this production - the creative team was French, all of whom were both experts and enthusiasts of the baroque and their love of their particular field of knowledge was contagious.
Living in Prague this fascination is nourished on a daily basis, since much of the old town is baroque and the wonderful spirals of baroque statuary are everywhere. What fascinates me about the dance style is its deep association with the music (interestingly the dancing master accompanied rehearsals on a 'pochette', a small violin, which is indicative of the musical intelligence of the dancers at the time), its complex rhythms and its use of space. It is these aspects that influence my own creations when working in the baroque style.
However Dance of the Magnetic Ballerina is a different genre altogether and has nothing to do with the baroque!
Andrea Miltnerova
Rooted to the spot on a platform surrounded by light, the magnetic ballerina flutters, shivers and shimmers for her audience. Stark and intensely beautiful, this is the UK premiere of Czech artist Andrea Miltnerova’s striking dance solo.
Alone in a darkened auditorium, the magnetic ballerina will dance her way into our subconscious.
“Obsessive discipline, obsessive symmetry, authoritative geometry of movement annihilate her magnetic ballerina, from which there is no other way out than self destruction. It is, of course, ravishingly beautiful and a thrilling self-destruction through movement” (Nina Vangeli, Dance Zone, Czech Republic)
I would say I have a passion for baroque dance, music and sculpture, which was inspired over ten years ago by a very enriching experience dancing in an authentic production of Rameau's Castor and Pollux at the National Theatre in Prague. I was very privileged to work on this production - the creative team was French, all of whom were both experts and enthusiasts of the baroque and their love of their particular field of knowledge was contagious.
Living in Prague this fascination is nourished on a daily basis, since much of the old town is baroque and the wonderful spirals of baroque statuary are everywhere. What fascinates me about the dance style is its deep association with the music (interestingly the dancing master accompanied rehearsals on a 'pochette', a small violin, which is indicative of the musical intelligence of the dancers at the time), its complex rhythms and its use of space. It is these aspects that influence my own creations when working in the baroque style.
However Dance of the Magnetic Ballerina is a different genre altogether and has nothing to do with the baroque!
Andrea Miltnerova
Rooted to the spot on a platform surrounded by light, the magnetic ballerina flutters, shivers and shimmers for her audience. Stark and intensely beautiful, this is the UK premiere of Czech artist Andrea Miltnerova’s striking dance solo.
Alone in a darkened auditorium, the magnetic ballerina will dance her way into our subconscious.
“Obsessive discipline, obsessive symmetry, authoritative geometry of movement annihilate her magnetic ballerina, from which there is no other way out than self destruction. It is, of course, ravishingly beautiful and a thrilling self-destruction through movement” (Nina Vangeli, Dance Zone, Czech Republic)
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