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Thursday 20 November 2008

Critical condition

Lloyd Evans on the perils of being both playwright and critic

Working in the theatre had given me a fascinating insight into the minds of producers and directors and the misconceptions they entertain about the press. A lot of them just don’t get journalism. The writer–director Simon Gray, to take one example, talks in his memoirs of critics gathering at press night to agree on a unified response to his play. The Critics’ Circle, a conspiracy? He’s by no means alone in this bizarre belief but why on earth would critics collaborate? We’re in competition with each other, and the press barons we work for are mortal enemies. Of course critics meet and chat on press nights but they never reveal their opinions to colleagues. That would be professional suicide. The critic’s sole aim, believe it or not, is to give the most vivid and searching account of the play that he can. And the notion that we might be induced to adopt a preordained opinion is a fantasy. However, speaking as a playwright, I can well understand where the fantasy comes from. A writer faced with 20 reviews, all of which tell him his play stinks, is likely to console himself with a bit of Gothic paranoia. ‘They’re ganging up on me.’ But they’re not ganging up on him. The reason 20 noses went poo was that 20 noses sensed something rotten.

There’s no reason for this atmosphere of suspicion to exist between journalists and the theatre. A spot of cross-fertilisation would help. Newspapers should consider recruiting theatre critics from the theatre rather than from the newsroom. And actors and directors should receive some instruction in the mechanics of showbiz journalism. This might eradicate some of the more basic misunderstandings. During the previews of Who’s the Daddy? Toby and I had trouble with journalists sneaking into the theatre and writing stories about the play that were effectively reviews. Technically this breached the gentlemen’s agreement that precludes newspapers from reviewing plays before press night, but the subject matter, the Blunkett sex scandal, was so juicy that news editors couldn’t resist it. The cast were furious. And one of them came up with a brilliant ruse to stop the hacks in their tracks. ‘We’ll make an announcement before curtain-up asking all journalists to identify themselves and make their way quietly to the exit. Simple.’ Toby and I fell about laughing. The average hack, we had to explain, would sooner confess to being a Serb war criminal than publicly admit to being a journalist.

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