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.
My name is Gareth K Vile, and I am a critic. I am also a student at
Mr Balme
the University of Glasgow. There is this language idea... it's called e-prime. I am sure it is more complicated than I am about to claim, but it seems basically to be about not using the verb to be to make statements about objects. So let's try that first paragraph again. I call myself Gareth K Vile, and I work as a critic, both for The List and on my own blog. I study dramaturgy at the University of Glasgow. See the difference: I make no claims about my identity, only about my behaviour. I only mention this because I experience a contradiction between my two sets of behaviour. I want to work out the tensions these roles create in my sense of self. Let's try that last sentence again. I want to work out the tensions that arise when I write about performance. I mean, who cares about 'my sense of self'? Can I offer empirical evidence that either 'sense' or 'self' exists? I can gaze at my navel all day - there's plenty of it to see. But who cares? My writing, however, places itself in the public domain, a performance. And let's get to the idiocy that runs through it like the mould on fancy cheese. I read this sentence earlier, from Balme'sThe Theatrical Public Sphere. Dennis Kennedy has adumbrated this scholarly paradox which oscillates between an empirical psychological or social entity on the one hand, that most scholars in the humanities have neither the training nor inclination to investigate, and a theatrical construct, 'a pale hypothetical inference of the commentator's imagination', on the other. Hold it right there, skipper. If I wrote like that on my blog, or for The List, I would be called not Gareth K Vile but a pretentious wanker. But if I wrote that in an essay, I might get a tick and a 'good point!!!!' pencilled in the margin. Just so I appear to understand Balme's contention, I'd like to add that he pinpoints the problems in the way that scholars discuss 'the audience' - they sometimes mean one thing, sometimes something else. When I ponce about performing the role of 'teacher of criticism', I often attack critics who use 'we' in reviews. I have a catch-phrase: 'the only we that I recognise is the one I need if the show goes on over ninety minutes.' I don't believe that a critic can speak on behalf of an audience: say 'I', not 'we' (and definitely not 'one', unless the Queen wrote the review). I quite like the Rastafarian use of 'I and I', though, denoting the individual self and its bond with God.
I think that Balme and I agree that 'we' represents 'a pale hypothetical inference of the commentator's imagination'. So the academic formulation does support my critical attitudes... My alleged crisis takes on a familiar form: I perform different identities, depending on the context. The relationship between academic reading and critical writing, however, looks healthy. Well, it has given me a rambling article, at least...
1. Oh, please, stop it. I am not sure why Hilary Benn's speech is being lauded this morning, but since I fear rhetoric, became bored with the cult of personality around Tony Benn after reading Nick Cohen's What's Left and have a strong aversion to bombing countries both strategically and morally, I'm getting off this bandwagon right now. I don't understand. The Guardian has published an opinion piece that seems to see his speech as an Oedipal victory for Benn Jnr. My Facebook feed is full of anti-bombing posts that pay respect to Hilary's style. Even my hero Cohen is as pleased to hear a Labour politician stand up against fascists. Hasn't anyone noticed he reverts to comparing ISIL to Hitler, a rhetorical trick so disingenious it has its own trope, Goodwin's Law? Hasn't anyone studied Classics, which reveals both the emptiness of Cicero's celebrated rhetoric and the way Athenian democracy was led to disaster by a series of demagogues? Doesn't anyone remember that rhetoric is a tactic of patriarchal oppression, making the weaker argument seem stronger? 2. Speaking of weak arguments, I'll begin with mine. When John Crace praises Hilary, he mentions his Dad, Tony. There is even further analysis of the family dynamic, which tries to reconcile the political positions and dynamism of Tony and Hilary. The article notes that Hilary is the fourth generation of Benns to work in politics. He's part of a political dynasty, an establishment figure (not mentioned in Owen Jones' book, because that would undermine his argument that the establishment is right wing).
Aside from their association with royalty, political dynasties are dubious. The Bushes, the Nehru-Ghandis in India, The Pitts in the UK: not only does their proliferation suggest representative democracy is controlled by an oligarchy, they are professional politicians, living in a bubble of power and influence. When, for example, a government goes to war against the wishes of at least a large proportion of the governed (hello, Tony Blair), the disconnect between state and population could be the result of career politicians simply not knowing what the people think. I think this is the echo-chamber effect. Owen Jones does a good job of listing those politicians who are married to other politicians or business and media people. He worries about this web, suggesting that it concentrates power in certain areas, thereby corrupting democracy.
I am not sure how fair it is to claim that Hilary has a degree of respect due to his family heritage - he is, after all, opposing his father's line. But the veneration for Tony Benn is wide and refuses to recognise that Benn was a great speaker (remember that thing about power he said?) and a poor activist (remember what he said to Saddam Hussein?). Although he went to a prep school, Hilary has a socialist heritage and credibility gifted by his father's legacy. Does this help him, rather like when Nixon went to China, to appear an unlikely, and therefore moderate, voice for his political stance?
The reanimated philosopher ran a finger over the parchment, flaking skin and dripping blood on its rumpled surface. His left eye-ball slipped slightly from the socket as he swivelled to face his tormentor. "What the hell are these circles supposed to represent? All the elegance has gone out of psychic cartography," he moaned. "It is a Venn Diagram representing the overlap of criticism, journalism and reviewing," I replied. "It reveals that the three disciplines are not exclusive domains." "You might as well draw any three placements of the circles, make 'em concentric, air bubbles in a body of water, three parallel lines that intersect. If we're making shit up..." "I wouldn't have sacrificed a goat to you if I'd known you wouldn't help." "Drawing nice pictures and pretending that they map reality isn't my business," Aristotle snarled. "That is the stock in trade of the charlatan Plato. Big statements and no evidence." "He's busy working as Russell Brand's ghost-writer." I snapped. "I wanted to continue my thoughts on the difference between critics and reviewers." "That's bloody simple, sunshine. A reviewer reviews: they look at an event, and comment on it. A critic uses a broader frame of reference, maybe context, maybe some half-baked idea he stole from the pocket of a corpse." "Isn't it a question of naming activity, rather than ascribing functions to already established categories?" "Along with most of your readership, I have no idea what that means. Hang on, is this a dialogue?" "I thought it was the best dramatic format to engage you..." "Dialogues are Platonic. Send me back to hell, right now." "Nay, thou shalt stay within thy circle and enumerate for me the qualities and nature of the critic."
