With all the passions running high over the termination of three (or is it four?) of LA’s theatre critics, those critics must be feeling more love than they have over the course of their careers. Poor critics. And while I too lament their leaving, I think this is a great opportunity for our theatre community to have a discussion about what theatrical criticism is in the first place. Because I think most people don’t actually know. I don’t mean you, of course, but, you know, other people.

What does good criticism look like?

I hear and read a lot about “the conversation,” which is certainly a term I use when discussing the role of critics, but I don’t know that this term is fully understood by us all to mean the same thing. In order to demonstrate my interpretation, I went through several reviews of my favorite and not-so-favorite critics, and diagrammed them. First and foremost, what was important to me to show was that a “conversation” does not consist of a one-way set of opinions.

For example, here’s a diagram of a Charles Isherwood piece in the New York Times, which ran last year – one with which I thoroughly disagreed, but that’s another conversation.

It was basically a review of three adaptations of novels for the stage, with the overriding premise that Isherwood hates adaptations of novels for the stage. (This, to me, is like sending a political reporter to cover an experimental stage piece, which, oddly enough is something the LA Weekly did to one of my shows several years ago.) The first paragraph of Isherwood’s diatribe consists of two sentences, and within those two mere sentences are three references to Himself. In fact, it isn’t until the fifth paragraph that Isherwood completes a thought without referring to Himself. I’m just saying.

So, the diagram goes like this (Isherwood = “me”):

<!–[if !supportLists]–>- <!–[endif]–>About “me.”

<!–[if !supportLists]–>- <!–[endif]–>More about “me.”

<!–[if !supportLists]–>- <!–[endif]–>Adaptations “I’ve” seen.

<!–[if !supportLists]–>- <!–[endif]–>“My” almost categorical disappoint with said adaptations (with some backhanded praise thrown in for one).

<!–[if !supportLists]–>- <!–[endif]–>“My” thoughts on the unavoidable failure despite extreme effort of any adaptation.

<!–[if !supportLists]–>- <!–[endif]–>General description of one of the books adapted, with no specifics given.

<!–[if !supportLists]–>- <!–[endif]–>A description of the production of said adapted book, using the verb “scuttled” to describe actors’ movements on stage.

<!–[if !supportLists]–>- <!–[endif]–>“My” opinion of their failure.

<!–[if !supportLists]–>- <!–[endif]–>Telling us what we, the readers, think and how we therefore prove his point.

<!–[if !supportLists]–>- <!–[endif]–>The absolute impossibility of success in adaptation.

<!–[if !supportLists]–>- <!–[endif]–>Pointing out of a common flaw, leading to…

<!–[if !supportLists]–>- <!–[endif]–>Why the production failed.

<!–[if !supportLists]–>- <!–[endif]–>Here’s another failure.

<!–[if !supportLists]–>- <!–[endif]–>“My” opinion.

<!–[if !supportLists]–>- <!–[endif]–>Here’s another flaw.

<!–[if !supportLists]–>- <!–[endif]–>Turn of the knife.

<!–[if !supportLists]–>- <!–[endif]–>Demonstration of how only literal interpretation can serve an adaptation.

(http://www.nytimes.com/2008/11/23/theater/23ishe.html?_r=1&scp=4&sq=isherwood%20adaptation&st=cse)

I know this may come back to me one day, but I think it needs to be said. Isherwood might tear me apart, should I be lucky enough to be reviewed by the New York Times. But if he does, I hope he backs it up and contextualizes it. If people are going to critique my work – as I hope they’ll continue to do – I want to take it standing up. In this case, that means standing up for what I believe in. As artists we are continually giving our power to other people. There is a sense that we can’t publicly bemoan reviews, because we’ll make enemies of the critics. But we should be critiquing the critics. Whether or not a critic speaks truth (which is always subjective) there is a way of participating in the “conversation” that engages rather than enervates.

I diagrammed reviews by two critics, from either of whom I would be happy to get a bad review. Okay, maybe not happy, but a bad review from them would be more meaningful than an unsupported, opinionated review from…someone else. John Lahr and Joan Acocella, the theatre and dance critic respectively from The New Yorker, are neither overly disparaging nor forgiving. One of the reasons they are such praiseworthy critics in my book is that they evoke the feeling of the piece they are reviewing, so that even if their words aren’t glowing, my interest is often piqued enough to want to see the production. And this is important. Our theatre audiences shouldn’t be trained to only see the flawless and superb. There’s validity to witnessing the growth of an artist or company, whose career endures slips and foibles and a learning curve. There’s validity, in fact, to increasing the range of one’s palette by seeing work that doesn’t just span style or period, but also quality and budget. In a review of Edgar Sawtelle, an uneven but effective and emotional novel, one critic asks: “Is it not, after all, the blemish in beauty that most enchants us?”

So first, here’s my broad strokes diagram of John Lahr’s recent review of Pal Joey, a musical whose book is often described as “flawed” from the outset.

<!–[if !supportLists]–>- <!–[endif]–>Contextualization, consisting of: history of short stories that inspired the play; chronology of artistic forces coming together; recap of original opening night reviews and run of show.

<!–[if !supportLists]–>- <!–[endif]–>Introduction of the new concepts, i.e., book, characters, songs, lyrics and choreography. (As a personal thrill, he uses the word “jejune” to describe one of the characters. It doesn’t get much better than that.)

<!–[if !supportLists]–>- <!–[endif]–>A comparison of what’s gained and lost.

<!–[if !supportLists]–>- <!–[endif]–>The (many) pros and (few) cons of the actors’ performances.

<!–[if !supportLists]–>- <!–[endif]–>The last line as an invitation to experience it for ourselves:

Love doesn’t find a way, but narcissism does. “What the hell am I doin’?” he asks, in the revival’s final line. But he is incapable of answering his own question. For all the glory of the score and the prowess of the stagecraft on display, it is this resounding silence that announces the musical’s enduring accomplishment.

I want to hear that silence.

In describing Stockard Channing’s performance, Lahr says she “…makes… hauteur and hunger sensational,” “understands the loss and ennui…and she nails them,” is “swift and smart with a deep, droll voice.” He never writes, “Stockard Channing is…” or “I like her because…” He has the confidence to describe her performance in a way that seems less full of opinion, and more of feeling. I can hear a “deep, droll voice.” His description carries the poetry of her performance.

What I particularly appreciate about his review of Pal Joey is that it isn’t one note. This production has its strengths and weaknesses, and Lahr comments on both without passing judgment. See for yourself:

http://www.newyorker.com/arts/critics/theatre/2009/01/05/090105crth_theatre_lahr?currentPage=1

Joan Acocella’s review of a Mark Morris dance goes even further toward the literal notion of “conversation.” It is a marvelously complex review:

<!–[if !supportLists]–>- <!–[endif]–>Contextualization of presentation, introducing where it was done and who was involved.

<!–[if !supportLists]–>- <!–[endif]–>A simplified explanation of Morris’ work in general.

<!–[if !supportLists]–>- <!–[endif]–>A description, including the set, the costumes, the dancers, their gestures, as well as the music. Also, the introduction of the story. Here’s the set-up: “…it is he who now introduces the ‘danger’ motif. He does it as if it were merely a step, with no content, nothing to worry about. Wait.”

<!–[if !supportLists]–>- <!–[endif]–>Continuing description with interpretation: “Soon some of them are falling to the floor. Should we worry about that? Not yet.”

<!–[if !supportLists]–>- <!–[endif]–>Introduction of Morris’ point of view.

<!–[if !supportLists]–>- <!–[endif]–>Comparison of dance to the music that accompanies it.

<!–[if !supportLists]–>- <!–[endif]–>Conversation with Morris. Yes, that’s right. Acocella spoke to Morris about the dance, and he told her that she interpreted it wrong. So Acocella went back to see it again.

<!–[if !supportLists]–>- <!–[endif]–>Comment on her interpretation versus Morris’. She doesn’t say that Morris is wrong, but she does say that she sees what he wanted her to see, and doesn’t agree about the effect. Commenting on the end, she says: “I’m not complaining. A lot of great art is stronger in the middle than at the end.” That’s not a backstabbing statement; it’s a truth.

<!–[if !supportLists]–>- <!–[endif]–>History of the company as well as critical reaction.

<!–[if !supportLists]–>- <!–[endif]–>Introduction of newer dancers.

<!–[if !supportLists]–>- <!–[endif]–>Another conversation with Morris.

<!–[if !supportLists]–>- <!–[endif]–>Closing with the notion of “dancing against the grain.”

(http://www.newyorker.com/arts/critics/dancing/2007/08/20/070820crda_dancing_acocella)

There is so much that’s wonderful about this review, including the suspense that she creates with the “Wait” and “Not yet.” By the time I read the review I had already seen the dance, and she made me both want to see it again and feel like I had.

The key to all of this is contextualization. It’s far more important to me to have a sense of an artist’s general style, the history of their work, the mood that was set on stage, etc., than to get an earful of someone’s personal opinion, at least, in a publication in which criticism is treated as a profession. Though, apparently we won’t have to worry about that too much longer with critics being let go, and publications being thinned out.

The unfortunate loss of the LA critics has less to do with a loss of “the conversation” here, or the use of reviews as a marketing tool, than it does with the de-legitimization of theatre as an artistic form. If our major papers feel that it’s okay to do away with the critics, then that becomes a comment on not only the present state of professionalism, but also the future interest of audiences and artists alike. You can’t make theatre in a bubble, and without the outside eye, that’s where we are. And we can’t rely on the bloggers who are taking up the slack. Until there’s an Internet site that has credibility in its knowledge of the arts, bloggers simply offer random opinions. I wouldn’t ask a critic to review an amateur production, nor should I give weight to an amateur critic. And when I say amateur, I’m not necessarily just talking about the amateurs…

Here’s a challenge. Below is a diagram of a recent review from an LA critic of a production in one of our larger houses. Ten cents and a dance to anyone who can name it:

<!–[if !supportLists]–>- <!–[endif]–>Description of plot.

<!–[if !supportLists]–>- <!–[endif]–>Abstract interpretation of plot.

<!–[if !supportLists]–>- <!–[endif]–>Praise for one of the actors.

<!–[if !supportLists]–>- <!–[endif]–>Description of plot.

<!–[if !supportLists]–>- <!–[endif]–>More description of plot.

<!–[if !supportLists]–>- <!–[endif]–>More description of plot.

<!–[if !supportLists]–>- <!–[endif]–>“ “ “ “

<!–[if !supportLists]–>- <!–[endif]–>Quote from play with no contextualization.

<!–[if !supportLists]–>- <!–[endif]–>More description of plot, with slight praise for actors.

<!–[if !supportLists]–>- <!–[endif]–>Vague assumption of playwright’s intentions.

<!–[if !supportLists]–>- <!–[endif]–>Unsupported opinion.

<!–[if !supportLists]–>- <!–[endif]–>More unsupported opinion.

<!–[if !supportLists]–>- <!–[endif]–>Comments on acting.

<!–[if !supportLists]–>- <!–[endif]–>More praise for that one really great actor.

It’s up to us to demand a more thorough and nuanced approach to criticism. If we can’t find it outside of our ranks, perhaps peer review – as has been suggested by some – is the way to go. Though even as I write that, I cringe at how little honest feedback I get from many of my peers. There’s a thin skin that settles on us here. Instead of hashing things out over a beer, we say, “That was great. Really.” And rush to our cars. So I wonder how brave my colleagues would be, not in criticizing, but in offering a critique. Those are different.

I came across a line near the end of Edgar Sawtelle, that, though taken out of context, is a beautiful description of art: “A gesture that put meaning into the world where there was none.” The role of the critic is to help us interpret those gestures. It is not to hang us by our feet and whip us, like some grand inquisitor. The critics should not sit in judgment. Rather, they run alongside us, the artists, as we leap into the unknown and try to make sense of it.

And if you don’t agree with me, you’re welcome to jump into the conversation.