Ay, yi yi yi.

Trevor Thomas | Apr 05, 2010 | Comments 8 |

A couple of weeks back, Bitter Lemons editor Colin Mitchell dropped a net into the blogosphere and fished out a stage review, reprinting UCLA graduate student Sarah Taylor Ellis’s critique of “Urinetown” at the Morgan-Wixxon Theater in Santa Monica.

Mitchell praised her work and then asked artfully if this were not an example of the “new criticism.” In this, I believe him guilty of a species of Heisenberg fallacy because the very operation of singling the piece out lifts it from the bogs of vanity publishing and up to a place normally reserved for professional criticism. The thing is changed by the act of observing it. He is a publisher, and if going forward he decides to feature her critiques next to those of Charles McNulty and Bob Verini, well there you are: it’s Higgins at the Embassy Ball all over again.

Yet in its current form, Ellis’s piece is no more proper criticism than one of Lucy and Ethel’s backyard shenanigans is a business venture. This by no means detracts from the overall pleasingness of her work. The writing is of good quality, the observations seem astute, but by making herself a visible character in her own review, talking about her personal experiences, her hopes for her own budding career, and indulging any number of subjective references, the author acts not as a critic but a diarist, penning in essence an extended tweet. That it contains many elements of theater criticism is immaterial, it fails the definition.

Contrary to appearances, there are no “I’s” in “critic,” there are only “eyes.” That is not as needle-pointy as it sounds. You don’t often see first person singular in professional copy. Its unbridled presence in Miss Ellis’ work is the surest indication that there is bloggery afoot.

A critic attends an event as a representative of the reader and keeps the hell out of sight. He’s on assignment, not an adventure. To interject oneself is to create competing lines of focus, one towards the stage and another back to the writer. There are several reasons someone might do this; none are legitimate.

For starters, employing the first person singular gives you an out. What if you suspect your poor opinion was simply an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese? By talking about yourself, you assert your humanity and excuse any failings that might therefore slip by. If that is the extent of your intestinal fortitude, this work is not for you. Nobody is reading you for errors in judgment. The reader asks not what did you, the writer, see, but what will I experience? It is the critic’s obligation to transcend his foibles and to bring to bear his education, experience, taste, and aesthetic to declare, through the persuasiveness of the writing, that this take on a production is true and fair.

Tagging yourself as one of the dramatis personae in your own review is self-indulgent. Miss Ellis boldly states that she plans to work with this theater in the future and then dances past this game-changing revelation with a jaunty, “it’s biased, to be sure – but what review isn’t?” That particular bias is in fact fatal, and a conscientious editor hearing of it would immediately reassign the piece. Absent such reassuring oversight, we spend the rest of her critique, fairly or not, wondering to what degree her opinions are bought and paid for in the coin of her own ambition.

As a published critic, you are not only constantly judged by your superiors – they are, after all, permitting yours to stand as the collective voice of the entire publication – but the circulation numbers are there to remind you how many eyes are focused on you, probing for weakness, asking over and over again if your judgment is qualified, reliable, and authentic. It is no mean feat to master the third person, nor is it meant to be. You demonstrate your bona fides in part by your ability to wield the power of the omniscient voice; in so doing you face full forward, ready to receive fire for any mistake. Without that kind of battlefield quickening, bloggers remain essentially hors de combat .

So, no, this was and is emphatically not the “new criticism.” It is one voice speaking for her own account. When you have survived the editorial gauntlet and been given the responsibility to speak, without cover, for many to the many, that is when you can be said to be writing criticism – new or old.

Filed Under: Featured • Ponderings • trevor thomas

About the Author: TREVOR THOMAS has reviewed theater for both Drama-Logue and the Los Angeles Times. He is currently a contributing editor for Edge Magazine.

Ay, yi yi yi.

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