The Critics Say...: 57 Theater Reviewers in New York and Beyond Discuss Their Craft and Its Future (23 page)

Peter Marks:
It becomes a crutch for some reviewers because if you have the star system, you don’t have to be as precise in your review about how you felt. Let’s say you give a show three stars, but your review is all praise. How is that different from a four-star review? I guess I could live with it if I had to, but it’s very hard to reduce plays into stars. People can also misinterpret it. Let’s say you give two and a half stars to a production of
Hamlet
. You don’t want someone to say, “You think
Hamlet
is only a two-and-a-half-star play?”

Rob Weinert-Kendt:
In San Francisco, they’ve got that image of the little guy on the seat. He is standing and applauding, sitting down and applauding, sitting and not applauding, or he’s gone. Those are the four rankings. People hate that guy.

Robert Hurwitt:
I am the latest in a long line of
San Francisco Chronicle
critics, extending back to the 1940s, that have objected to the poor “Little Man” system. The “Little Man” is in some ways more seductive than the star system because he’s an icon. He’s an identifiable human shape. It’s the first thing that people’s eyes go to.

The “Little Man” leaping out of his chair is an A. Sitting and applauding is a B. Sitting in the chair is a C or a D. An F is when the “Little Man” is not even in the chair. The “Little Man” just sitting in the chair and not applauding is read by many people as a negative review, but it’s not meant to be. It’s meant to read as average. People’s interpretation of what average means can range from not very good to average quality.

People read the review in the context of the “Little Man.” It places a burden on the critic because once you’ve picked the “Little Man” you’re going to use, you have to write to the “Little Man.” You think whether it was close to being the kind of show where you tell people to drop everything and see it, which is our top “Little Man” rating. If you give it the second rating, you write to explain why you’re giving it the second rating. It’s a hassle.

MATT WINDMAN
: Do you feel any guilt when writing a very negative review?

Michael Dale:
No, but I’m much more careful with the way I write negative things.

Zachary Stewart:
I do, but not as guilty as I would feel about lying.

Alexis Soloski:
There are two kinds of bad plays: plays that make you sad and plays that make you angry. A play is angry-making when you are furious that two hours of your life (not to mention commuting time) have been taken from you to see a play that’s poorly done or simply offensive. In those cases, there is no guilt. And then there are sad plays: plays where they just missed the mark. They were really trying to do something, and they just couldn’t get there. You feel compassion for that.

Ben Brantley:
I don’t love writing pans, but I realized early on it was something I would have to make my peace with. I always hope that whoever I write about doesn’t read the review—whether it’s a good or bad review. I don’t think it would do them any good. Plus, that’s not who I’m writing for. No matter how it’s perceived, it’s never a personal attack on the person.

David Cote:
I feel guiltier about writing a mixed review of a show that, after the fact, I feel deserved more enthusiasm. Generally, my negative reviews are for big fish in the sea: Broadway turkeys, plays that are just vanity projects, or mediocre living-room dramas by not-for-profit institutions that should be taking bigger risks.

Chris Jones:
I feel people’s pain. I recognize that they’re disappointed, and I dislike being the cause of that disappointment. I like theater people. I find it painful to say they’re not doing well. That doesn’t mean I don’t do it, but I do feel guilt, tempered by the fact that they’re taking people’s money as they do it.

Elisabeth Vincentelli:
Sometimes I feel bad, especially if there were some good intentions that just went horribly wrong. But then there are some cynical enterprises that are just about moneymaking, total offensive stuff that has to be put in its place. People think it’s so much fun to write a pan. It’s actually not fun at all, yet sometimes it has to be done.

Christine Dolen:
It would be different if I were a movie critic. The people who make a film get reactions from thousands of people all over the country. If I’m writing an extremely negative review of a production in Florida, chances are that the artists involved will read it. Even though they’re professionals, it can’t be easy to read a negative review. And it can have economic consequences. But all that being said, it’s part of the critic’s job.

Frank Scheck:
You try to write a pan in the same way you break up with someone you’ve been dating. You try to do it without being mean. You point out what’s wrong with the show without being cheap about it. There’s no point in being kind for kindness’ sake, but there is a way to be negative without being nasty. Of course, some critics enjoy being nasty, and their publications like having a nasty critic, and that’s fine.

Roma Torre:
I always feel guilty. I empathize because I’ve been there. I worked as a director. I worked as an actress. I know how it feels. It hurts terribly. At NY1, we have artists come in for interviews. The green room for the guests is directly across from the anchor desk. It’s all glass. They can stand there and look at me. I just dread when somebody I panned comes in to do an interview. I don’t literally hide, but I try to stay as far away as I can. I feel terrible, you know? I know how it is. And yet, we’re all mature enough to know that we can’t hit a home run every time we’re at bat. I hope they understand that if I panned the person or the show, maybe it wasn’t all that good. So yes, I do feel guilty, and it hurts, but it’s never stopped me.

John Simon:
I feel that it is my duty to tell the truth. There is a teacher-critic who once introduced me at a party to a bunch of people as “a critic who never wrote anything he didn’t believe,” and that is apparently an achievement. It’s hard for me to conceive, but a lot of critics write things that they do not believe. I, on the other hand, am totally sincere. I may be wrong. In fact, I may be totally wrong, but I firmly and honestly believe what I write. And if it’s something truly negative, then that’s it. I can’t make it out to be anything else.

If you write a negative review that is also witty, that somehow cuts deeper than a review that is not witty, and you thereby become a nasty critic. But I don’t care about that. If people are going to hate me, let them. That’s their privilege. And if that actor is going to be upset, that’s too bad. Once you’re on the stage, you are exposed, and whatever comes your way comes. You must not expect anything less than that or anything more than that. And if it’s negative, if it hurts, that’s too bad. Everyone is under such criticism. My own criticism gets criticized by other critics, and sometimes it’s very tough, and I accept that. We must have tough skin. I’m always surprised when critics like Stanley Kauffmann (whom I thought well of) get upset by something negative that someone else writes about them. If you dish it out, you should be able to put up with it when it comes your way.

Rob Weinert-Kendt:
I think you’d have to be a sociopath not to feel bad in some way, to not feel a little bit of the pain that you’re inflicting on the people who might read it. But sometimes you’ve already felt the pain because they brought it. Sometimes you’re striking back at something that was really a painful experience because it was so bad.

Perez Hilton:
I don’t feel guilt because I always give very specific examples to explain why I didn’t like something.

Richard Ouzounian:
I got past that very early on. There are people who feel like they have to be nice, but that leads to what I call “boy who cried sheep syndrome.” If you go around too often saying, “It was a pretty good show that had a lot of nice things in it,” people will stop listening to you. If you lead them to too many stiffs because you didn’t want to hurt the lead actor’s feelings, you’re ultimately hurting the art form. That doesn’t mean you have to turn into John Simon and slash and burn until nothing’s left, but you have to call it like you see it, and that’s ultimately what I do. And if I really hated something, I really say that.

Terry Teachout:
I don’t feel guilty when I write a stinker about a Hollywood star. If he gives a bad performance, he deserves what he’s getting. But in circumstances less clear cut than that, I am very aware of the fact that I can do damage to people’s lives. If I wasn’t aware of that, I wouldn’t be any good at this. There’s nothing more terrible than a critic who enjoys writing a bad review.

Steven Suskin:
There are some shows that are just really bad. There are other shows where people tried hard to do something difficult that didn’t quite succeed. I don’t feel guilt that I didn’t like the show. I try to be as kind as possible. I say, “This didn’t work, and it’s a shame, and this is why it didn’t work.”

Hilton Als:
I’m always reluctant to review small companies in a big context unless it’s positive. You never want to hit a small company that hard because it’ll lose its funding.

Michael Riedel:
Theater people, when they’re in their self-pitying mode, say, “It’s so hard to get a play on. It costs so much money, and the risks are so great, that you really should support us.” But if you feel guilt, you can’t be a critic.

Peter Filichia:
I remember Clive Barnes was asked this question on a panel that we were on. He talked about a review he wrote of a musical called
Smile, Smile, Smile
. It ran one night, partly because of his review. In response to the title
Smile, Smile, Smile
, he wrote, “I didn’t, I didn’t, I didn’t.” That was the entire review. He said that he really regretted that review because the people who did the show were entitled to know how they failed.

Peter Marks:
I feel bad, but I don’t ever regret it. It’s like when I taught. Some of my favorite students weren’t getting the best grades. They were wonderful kids, but I had to evaluate them as objectively as I could, and it killed me.

Jason Zinoman:
To do this job, you can’t be somebody who hates being disliked. You should be able to stand by whatever you write.

Adam Feldman:
I feel guilty sometimes, which is not the same thing as guilt. Unless I acted in bad faith, I don’t feel guilt. I’ve exercised my professional duty. I’ve tried to write as fairly as I can. I know that sometimes it hurts people’s feelings. I know that it has the potential to hurt people’s careers. But when shows are really trashed, there tends to be a reason. Someone’s got to say it, and it might as well be me. I take that as a responsibility.

It’s important that good work, instead of bad work, gets promoted. That’s how the cream rises to the top. It helps push the entire artistic process forward. It helps good actors, writers, and directors be seen, and it helps audiences find them. The world doesn’t have unlimited time and resources. People can’t see everything. You want to help them find the best and avoid the worst.

Jesse Green:
I try to not let all of my meanness (and all my lifetime aggression toward and envy of theater people) out, except on the few occasions when I think it’s permissible. When a show is merely bad, I don’t do it. When a show is good but cynical, I don’t do it. But when it’s both bad and cynical, then I feel justified, and I’ll let myself be mean. Mostly, though, shows are not both bad and cynical. They’re one or the other, so I resist the knockout pan, or I at least feel sorry for it. In any case, I will almost never pan actors. If they’re miscast, it’s not their fault. If they’re in a play in which the character doesn’t make any sense, that’s not their fault. I’m much more likely to pan the play itself or the direction.

John Lahr:
I’ve taken a show down once or twice. I’m thinking of a terrible production of
The Glass Menagerie
directed by Gordon Edelstein, which originated at the Long Wharf Theatre and transferred Off-Broadway in 2010. Edelstein essentially co-wrote the play. He put things into the play that weren’t there. He had Tom walking around with a notepad, writing down things being said by Amanda and Laura. Also, there was a terrible production of Tennessee Williams’
Camino Real
that I saw at the Goodman Theatre in Chicago in 2012. It was billed as Williams’ play, but none of his work was in it. I was astonished and appalled. I remember sticking around afterwards to listen to the audience feedback with the dramaturg. I asked the audience if they thought they had actually seen Williams’ play.

Matthew Murray:
I’m not sure I feel guilt. My responsibility as a reviewer is to tell people about a show—good or bad. I don’t want people to waste their time and money on bad theater, so I don’t really have any compunction against telling them not to. You’re there to call it as you see it, and you have to be ready to take artists to task when you don’t think their work is successful. If you’re not, you have no business being a reviewer.

That being said, I hate writing pans. I love the theater, and I want every artist and every production to succeed. I’ve heard plenty of stories of critics who relish writing negative reviews and really pull out all the stops to show what they’re capable of in terms of wordsmithing or just overall nastiness, but pans are really hard for me because I don’t want to have to say a show is bad. I know I have to, but it’s just not my thing. I try to write them as sensibly and as measured as I can, which can sometimes be tough if a show is really bad, and explain all the ways the show doesn’t work to my satisfaction. I much prefer writing an incredibly positive review that expresses the joy I feel at seeing truly great theater

MATT WINDMAN
: Is there a particular review that you are proudest of?

Ben Brantley:
I’m probably proudest of the mixed reviews, which are the reviews that get the least attention, because they’re the hardest to write. When you have a very strong response to something, it’s not that hard to translate it into words. When something works on one level but not on another level, that’s a more complex process. You’re taking it apart and putting it back together, and trying to figure out what works and what doesn’t work, but without boring people. Most readers today want an extreme response. They aren’t really interested in the middle ground, but the middle ground is what’s hardest to plow. When I actually write a mixed review in which I said what I wanted to say, that’s when I’m proudest.