The bleak truth of how fragile our arts industry is has been laid bare in recent months. COVID-19 has mercilessly rocked a cultural endavour already known to be financially unstable. Many arts organisations – especially at the grass-roots level – were barely surviving as it was.
Lockdown then reopened wounds that never really closed. The multi-million pound rescue package announced by the government will take off a lot of the strain, for sure- but this will not save every venue nor every job. Furthermore, the way it took so much outcry for both the central and devolved governments of the UK to take meaningful action can confirm what many suspect; the arts are simply not a priority for our leaders.
Many performers and theatre companies have taken to the online realm to keep creating, but (as commendable as their efforts are) they will be the first to admit that it is simply not the same. Theatre, art, cinema and TV are being forced into a kind of change unprecedented before now. As the world is ripped up beneath performers’ feet, I can’t help but wonder: what is the point of a critic?
On paper, a critic exerts minimal effort to achieve a minimal end product. The pay is, at best, a pittance, but compared to those involved in the shows we barely lift a finger. It’s an incredible position of privilege to judge the work of others from up on our high horse, often being wooed with free tickets and drinks receptions in exchange for our trouble. Except then we have to send our writing to an editor we rarely see, to be published somewhere at god knows when, and with no idea as to how many people actually care what you think. For me, the enthusiasm of throwing myself into the rich culture of theatre and live entertainment can be matched by the disheartening baggage of wondering why I bother.
So why do I do it? What difference do I make? Why is it important? I believe it is, and this significance rears its head not when reviewing the latest broadway production, but when using my platform to support up-and-coming performers. The ones who maybe pieced together a script with their friends and then performed it in a bar during a festival. The ones who have no idea where they are going or what lies in store. This delirium in the uncertain face of what’s yet to come is what fuels my passion in the arts. New performers care deeply about what people say because it has a much more direct impact on their future and their perceptions of their own work. Performers have told me this to my face. Critics are one of the most valuable allies new talent can have. Supporting what is new or different, and what treads off the beaten path, is one of the most adventurous things a critic can do. Not to mention one of the most meaningful.
That’s not to say I am ever uncritical. It is part of the job, after all, a job that would lose its meaning if I merely declared my love equally for every piece of theatre. Critics and writers are not another branch of PR for shows and venues – actual PR companies get paid a lot more money to do that for them. But criticism should always be constructive. Most critics quickly develop an intuition for what does and doesn’t work. This sense should be translated into words and accompanied by what could be done differently. Tearing down fresh-faced performers and their work doesn’t help anybody, especially now. I have always felt it more worthwhile to offer alternative suggestions and ideas. Most shows are as new as the people putting them on. At the beginning of someone’s career, you are unlikely to see a fully evolved production, because a career in performing arts is about growth. What I say can influence the creative decisions that bring productions to life and how performers modify their approaches.
The point of a critic, above all else, is to support those creative types who deserve it. COVID-19 risks snuffing out bright sparks of creative thinking in the world of theatre and elsewhere. So many brilliant minds who put every ounce of their being into the next scene change are suddenly seeing their ingenuity put on ice, forced to look for new means to make themselves heard. As a critic, I feel a responsibility to help. Right now, audiences across the world are consuming theatre in new ways. Critics should be seeking out these new mediums of culture, appraising and applauding them in the way I and others are expected to do. Asides my own modest and infrequent donations, I can offer very little asides the end result of putting pen to paper. So every word counts.
A critic is among the most stalwart supporters of theatre, so they should act like one by seeking out new ideas and performers who are crying out for coverage, and for a critical opinion of their work. When the arts eventully open their arms to the public again, critics will be the first to rush through the heavy theatre doors. We live to revel in the wondrous work of others, to be dazzled by some of the finest entertainment venues in the world, and to just occasionally feel like we are making a difference. Yet this passion comes inscribed with duty- a duty to preserve theatre and the hundreds of thousands of jobs, aspirations and ideas that flourish within it. We cannot depend on those we elect to save the arts, but we should be able to depend on critics. And this starts at the bottom rung of the ladder. Nowhere has this idea been better articulated than in the below quote – which comes from the Pixar animated film Ratatouille, of all places:
“In many ways, the work of a critic is easy. We risk very little, yet enjoy a position over those who offer up their work and their selves to our judgment. We thrive on negative criticism, which is fun to write and to read. But the bitter truth we critics must face, is that in the grand scheme of things, the average piece of junk is probably more meaningful than our criticism designating it so. But there are times when a critic truly risks something, and that is in the discovery and defense of the new. The world is often unkind to new talent, new creations. The new needs friends.”
Words by James Hanton.