I do think reviews serve a purpose, nevertheless. They act as a record for a temporal artform: theatre isn’t like literature, where a book can be read 100 years after it’s written. Reading about Meyerhold not long ago, for example, the contemporary reviews of his shows permitted me to have some idea of what his work was, and what his shows were in the context in which they were made. For this reason, the more reviews there are, and the more diverse they are, the better. And I think interesting public responses to work make a theatre culture more dynamic: there’s a sense of engagement that goes beyond the makers, and that extends theatre as an art, rather than simply a product that is consumed. Lastly, reviews as much as anything else play a part in educating the expectations of audiences, for better or worse. A lively, informed theatre culture does make a difference; and I speak as someone who has lived in the absence of it.

I’m with Alison on the “comps” issue. Whether or not I pay for a ticket has absolutely no impact on what I write (or if I write) afterwards.

Nor, for the record, do the canapés, or the quality and availability of post-show wine. No does whether I like the actor/writer/producer “in real life”.

I’m in the, er … privileged position of being paid to write reviews. Unlike the old days (we’re talking a decade ago and more), reviewing is largely a freelance gig these days and not a well paid one. A part time wage for a full time job, I suppose.

I see about 200 shows a year, write up about 130 of them, usually for a deadline the following morning, sometimes (if it’s deemed a “big” show) for the 10.45pm last edition deadline on the night of the show.

And of course, when I’m not actually seeing a work or writing about it, I’m still That Critic Guy (Jane’s “other”) It’s a hat you’re stuck with for the duration. And more. Like Alison says, tough gig, but an endlessly rewarding and challenging one.

Who are reviews for? Anyone with the urge to read one. I write with the understanding that the majority of people reading it will never see the production regardless of what I think about it. As such, I don’t write “for” anyone, though in the back of my mind, I’m always trying to please my editor and deliver opinion in an entertaining(ish) way. That said, I have good days and not-so-good days. Sometimes, the opinion doesn’t gel in the limited time available. Sometimes, you struggle to even form an opinion, but do so anyway. It’s that or a blank space in the paper tomorrow.

What are my reviews worth to the theatre company I’m writing about? I can’t imagine? I only hear anecdotal evidence about the effects reviews (+ve or –ve) have on box office (though years ago, a furious producer of a major musical phoned me just to call me a “c*nt” for “closing down my f*cking show”).

Of course, a review may be important to a theatre maker. They’ll already have plenty of opinions from friends and supporters of course, but somehow, something written – be it on pulped tree or on a blog such as this – often seems more weighty.

It’s worth bearing in mind that what is written and what is understood from that review by someone being written about can be quite different.

I pay for more shows than I am comp’d tickets to, and almost all of the comps I get are when I write for publications other than my blog. I pay for these tickets because I love the theatre, and that’s how I got into writing about it in the first place (and under 30s in Adelaide typically get a pretty sweet deal). I sit in a place where people compliment me on my blog and where it sits on Adelaide, and yet I’m not on their press release lists, let alone their comp lists. I agree with you in that I think that arts writing is an important piece of recording a transient art form. To me, offering someone a comp to review is to say “we value your voice, this work won’t be around forever, we want to know you saw it.”

I think encouraging voices is important – as is having open conversations about quality so we don’t get bogged down in a culture of poorly written responses. I like to think I’m at least somewhat important precisely because I often write from a young/feminist perspective, but I’ve often been told I shouldn’t let these “feelings” get in the way of a review.

I wish that it wasn’t seen the only art which people deserve to get paid for is capital-A-Art: I wish people could see that the hours of work, the gnashing of teeth, the tears when the words won’t come, the fear that people won’t understand what you are saying, where you are coming from, how you don’t measure up to how good you want to be, happen when writing a response to an art just as easy as they come in making of Art. I wish critics weren’t so readily seen as “other”. I wish I could brush off the abuse, the snide remarks, and most of all, the invisibility, and stop questioning my place and how long it is until I quit. I wish people would at least reply to my emails.

This will last a few days. Then a new Good Thing will happen and I’ll feel better about Adelaide and the role that I play and the place that arts writing has here and everywhere. I look forward to the day the roller-coaster comes only from my own judgment of my craft; and not other’s judgment of my career.

Thanks for your perspective.

I think you can now see why writing in regards to someone’s creative practice is tricky and carries alot of responsibility – and yes, I do consider reviewing to be a creative act as something is made. And you can see how easily a question or perspective can be construed as an attack.

Now imagine if I had taken anything you had to say to heart and I gave up this blog forever? Would you not feel that responsibility? or would you be able to brush off the effect your words , or “midnight ramblings” had on a person who is just doing their best to contribute a voice?

it is then understandable that the responsibility of being a Ieviewer can manifest its stress in an ugly way – such as your anecdote. Reviewers can have bad behaviour too. And bad days. Everyone is human, and egos are an interesting thing.

If you are satified with your audience giving you feedback – than you are lucky. Sometimes I want more of an indepth analysis from people who have seen more theatre than I have – and on the whole that person is a reviewer.

I think it’s also a mistake to mix up the role of the reviewer with that of marketing copy/publicity. A critic is about the work.

As I like to quote my dear friend James Waites, “a reviewer is sometimes parish priest, sometimes a dentist”… and perhaps other reasons for why are best explained by Kevin Jackson responding to Niall about being “too harsh” on prodcutions: http://kjtheatrereviews.blogspot.com/2011/10/money-shots.html

Interesting that you met me as a lighting operator (at Sydney Uni in late 90s) – I had already been directing for 3 years by that time – and as a loyal SUDS member I came to the rescue for a show and that’s what you know me as.

But I have been directing for 10 years (and no, I don’t count the 3 years at SUDS) – only I know my body of work and I know the context in which the pieces you have seen sit. if there was a greater instance of more reviewers available to track everyone’s work – I’m sure my work would be seen differently – as it has not been – I track my own.

And Tom -like this discussion on Reviewing – I’m not afraid of it, I dont take offense (I find it a bit exhausting) but I still think it’s important for people to engage with – which is why I’ve shared it.

You know, I’ve actually never thought of you as primarily a reviewer, Gus. I first met you as a lighting operator in the 1990’s, then met you again as a director in the 2000’s. Sometime after that people told me you also wrote reviews. I suspect it’s the lighting operation that’s done it, anybody who takes tech jobs is eternally a maker in my world.

As for direction, ‘Basketcase’ was the best piece in Griffringe (though I am hanging out for ‘Alice’), ‘The Night We Lost Jenny’ was the best piece in ‘Women, Power & Culture – Then’ (most of the rest of it was really quite bad).

The thing is, I essentially agree with your position Gus. It just seems to rest on insufficiently examined assumptions (to satisfy me – they obviously satisfy you and that’s fine – you’re the one doing the reviewing work after all). I just really hate unexamined assumptions – go back to Socrates ‘unexamined life is not worth living’.

There’s a certain amount of irony here, as I’ve actually put in quite a lot of time fighting for more comps to be given out, and fighting to allow them to be used as flexibly as possible. I very much think reviewers should be given comps. I’d go further and say that in general the more comps you give out (whether to cast & crew, members of the theatre, via competitions etc), the more paying punters you’ll get in.

I just can’t seem to come up with a good underlying reason why this should be so, which bugs me because it seems to be a useful thing to know. So I keep poking at it like a loose tooth and sometimes accidentally cause tooth ache in an unintended target.

Take the argument that if reviewers had to pay to see everything they review they wouldn’t be able to afford it – that’s absolutely true I’m sure. But it assumes that reviews do add value to the production, rather than providing an answer to the question of whether or not they do, or how. It also remains a rather singular arrangement in that reviewers in most other industries proudly declaim they paid for the products they review (‘Choice’ magazine et al).

For myself I get my feedback from the audience. As an actor it’s the response of the audience during the show, that strange electric connection that links the stage and stalls and almost becomes a conversation between the actors and audience creating art together (never the curtain call, I personally find that excruciating). As a director it’s standing to one side in the foyer as the audience leave the theatre after a show, watching happy faces. I always think that for some of these people it’s the first play they have ever seen, for some of them it’s the last play they will ever see. And I am so very glad that they enjoyed it, I find it incredibly moving.

I could tell you any number of stories about reviewers: reviewers turning up at the door on the night demanding comps and becoming angry and almost violent when told the house was full (“I am PRESS!” said multiple times loudly with a bit of fist waving really not very endearing), reviewers changing their comp bookings multiple times and then not turning up, reviewers being tremendously fussy about where they sit and then not actually writing a review, and so on. But that’s not really getting us anywhere useful.

Basically, I agree with your thought that reviewers should be given comps – I just wish I knew why I agree. If I can use the basic essay structure somewhat metaphorically, I can see a strong intro and conclusion, can’t see a body.

I dunno, it’s probably not a very interesting discussion. As much as anything I’m arguing with myself, never a good look.

As an aside, people getting angry and abusive because a reviewer can’t make it at late notice… that’s just utterly wrong.

Thanks for writing in – I always love hearing your perspective and advice.

You are absolutely right about seeming graceless in having an online whinge – but I wanted to disppell a few myths that reviewing is an easy sport fuelled by canapes and moustache stroking…
It’s a very challenging (and very rewarding) pursuit, and I don’t for a second forget the reponsibility that one has when writing about someone elses work.

It’s not easy for the newspapers – shrinking column allowance – I think Cammeron Woodhead mentioned it’s down to 250 words in The Age for a review. THAT’s a tough gig. Utterly impossible to be transparent and honest.

I love the freedom of onlining – but as Rousseau said – “everywhere we are in chains.”

Reviewing while being a practising artist is complicated, but I think it’s worthwhile: artists have made distinguished critics for centuries, and bring particular perceptions that others might not have. I don’t see why things should be any different in 2011. But it does mean you have to be as scrupulous and transparent as possible. No matter how much you try to be that, there will always be those who will claim bad faith. Again, you just have to wear that, and make sure you’re square with your own conscience. Again, that can be hard work. I think blogs permit that transparency in ways that, say, newspapers don’t, which is why I resigned from the Oz once I found I was writing in the theatre again: it’s impossible to have that fluidity and flexibility as a print critic, and so too much remains undeclared. I guess it requires a constant process of self-interrogation, which isn’t a bad thing for a critic anyway.

Comps for shows seem to me to be utterly uncontroversial. It’s true: most reviewers, especially those unaffiliated with media organisations, couldn’t afford to go otherwise (I certainly couldn’t). It’s never stopped a reviewer from slashing a production they don’t like.