The Wolf is just crazy for representations of himself...*

Mixed Bag

As you will have noticed, following the over-productive splurge last weekend, posting rather dropped off this week on account of going back to my week-on/week-off day job. I shan’t bore you with details, suffice it to say that it involves some pretty anti-social hours which largely prohibit theatre-going (except matinees – see: The Emperor Jones). It also involves reading a lot of newspapers, summaries of newspapers, and some very odd magazines (both consumer and trade). As a result, I wind up better-informed but often depressed about: the state of the country, the state of its economy, health issues, or, most usually, the appalling rubbish in some of our nation’s newspapers...

Standards (double)

The snippet which caught my eye today comes from page 11 of the Daily Star:
“Model Danielle Lloyd and Big Brother bitch Charley Uchea compete for the title of Dumb and Dumber on tonight's charity edition of the Weakest Link.”

To fully appreciate this slight, if jaw-dropping, item, one must know that Danielle Lloyd is a regular on the pages of the Daily Star through her “glamour modelling” work. One must then remember that Danielle Lloyd was one the three young women involved in the Celebrity Big Brother racism farrago. Those with an eye for detail may also wish to recall that, in spite of the relish with which the Daily Star roundly traduced Danielle’s co-CBB housemate Jade Goody, the paper dismissed any charges against Lloyd herself almost out of hand. Fact fans might also like to note that “Big Brother bitch Charley Uchea” herself was on the receiving end of a racial epithet during the series that has just finished.

Tactless or pointed?

Meanwhile, over at the Daily Telegraph grumpy opinion-former Simon Heffer is fulminating over the newest ravages of modernity in his Saturday round-up. Under the unambiguous heading “Don't hire anyone who is on Facebook” (scroll down) the incorrigible Tory pumpkin rages against the “overgrown children” who are wasting a reported 233 million hours a month by looking at Facebook while they are at work instead of working. His solution is strong medicine indeed. Employers are urged to “see whether prospective employees are signed up to this service, and not even to ask them for an interview if they are.”

It is tempting to wonder what has prompted this outburst. It is also interesting to ponder what would happen were the policy to be applied retrospectively; perhaps in Simon’s own workplace. After all, the Telegraph would be a very different creature without Matthew D’ancona, Sam Leith, Harry Mount, Bryony Gordon, and Damian Thompson – all of whom have Facebook accounts. The question is, is Simon trying to tell everyone something?

Pointeder and Pointeder

Staying with the Telegraph, David Cameron - trailing a live online interview session with readers of the paper on Tuesday – has the following to say:

“I know, that many Daily Telegraph readers want answers to some simple questions - about what our party stands for today, and about what Britain will look like after five years of a Cameron government... I have campaigned on new and - for some, unfamiliar - issues such as the environment and our quality of life, the NHS and the causes of crime; because I have said that gay people who make a commitment to each other should be valued in the way we value other couples who commit to each other; because I have argued that businesses should take their social responsibilities seriously; because I have tried to create opportunities for women and black people to get on in our party, many of you think that I'm not really a Conservative at all.”

Pretty damning stuff. I wonder if he’s thinking of anyone in particular; possibly someone without a Facebook account...

And on to The Wolf*

Firstly, thanks to everyone who made comments under my recent post on critical distance. I’m still thinking about it, and I’m not sure I’ve got any closer to working out what I think.

Alison, Australia sounds like a crazy place. All the critics are women? And they have relationships with artists, you say? Inconceivable! Actually, it was really refreshing to hear you say that. It at least demonstrates that another model is not only possible, but up-and-running somewhere. I have to confess Lyn's piece on critic/artist relations did provoke further soul-searching.

One of the things I think I ought to clarify is what I meant by “friends” or “know”. Or whatever. Happily, this also bleeds into a new topic that seems to have bubbled up on the blogs this week.

Let me start by saying, there’s nothing so wretched as trying to define how well you know someone, or to quantify how good a friend you are in someone else’s eyes - so bear with me when I sound especially awkward in the forthcoming couple of paragraphs. Another pair of similarly awful things is name-dropping and the idea of “fame” and/or “success”. I mention this as a plea of mitigation before launching into something that I really hope won’t turn into an article which should be called...

My Famous Friends

Bugger.

Part of the reason I was interested in what critics should do with artists who were their friends (or acquaintances, or whatever – I don’t want anyone to feel I’m staking claims on them here), is that at this year’s Festival a lot of people I know seemed to be doing spectacularly well. People with whom I was at University, or knew through the NSDF, or through friends were starting to appear on critical A-lists: Third Angel (featuring Lucy Ellinson, who was the first person I ever directed in a play, way back in 1998) were part of the British Council showcase season; Unlimited Theatre (who I’ve also known since Leeds) were much-garlanded for their show The Ethics of Progress; Richard Hurst (who I was introduced to a decade ago in Edinburgh) achieved West End transfers for two of the five Edinburgh shows he directed this year ( ); and Tom Basden (who –deep breath – I first met when he was in my friend Sarah Punshon’s 2001 Edinburgh ADC production of Agatha Christie’s The Secret Adversary); fellow blogger and erstwhile theatre critic Dan Bye (who incidentally is Sarah Punshon’s husband, and even before that was my friend at Leeds University)’s longstanding company Silver Tongue also gathered warm reviews for The Man Across The Way (currently running at Theatre 503).

Actually, a lot of other critics do have the same problem - not whether to avoid meeting new artists whose work interests and excites you, but what to do about longstanding friends or acquaintances whose work you can’t ignore. After all, these are longer-standing friends and acquaintances. When I was researching Raw Talent I was continually surprised by the number of critics who had appeared in productions which were selected to appear at the festival: Michael Billington (as director), Nicholas de Jongh (actor), Jane Edwardes (actor) and Dominic Cavendish (actor) all made appearances. I was even more surprised by who had appeared alongside them. Michael Billington has blogged before about acting with famous Oxford contemporaries. But how many people [unless the photograph was completely inaccurately labeled – which is entirely possible] knew that Jane Edwardes was at university (Manchester) with Anthony Sher and Bernard Hill and appeared in a production of ___ with them at the NSDF? Or that Dominic Cavendish played Claudius in a post-modern version of Hamlet directed by David Farr alongside a young Ben Miller (Armstrong and Miller, etc.) as The Dane? Ian Shuttleworth has certainly written before on the subject of being directed both by Sam Mendes and Roxanna Silbert, and on the legions of Cambridge actors with whom he appeared during his seven years there.

As I concluded last time, it needs must boil down to honesty. One gets a renewed sense of how hard that must sometimes be reading a very young (i.e. younger than me now) Ian Shuttleworth being honest about a production of Troilus and Cressida directed by his Cambridge contemporary Sam Mendes.

I want to be “typical”

Moving on a bit, to some of the questions that the responses to that Critical Distance argument for me, I’d like to start by noting two contrasting pieces on criticism. The first, by Lyn Gardner, asks simply “What separates theatre critics from other theatregoers?” The second, by Ian Shuttleworth for Theatre Record in 2004 looks at “the strategic - why a reviewer adopts a particular voice or perspective that runs through their work - and the tactical - the motivation behind a particular piece, or even a particular phrase.”.
Lyn asks: “How do you balance knowledge and previous experience in a way that is useful and provides context, but which doesn't create a barrier between you and the actual piece of work you are watching?”

This is a beautifully weighted way of putting it. Following on from reading her piece on critical distance, in which she argued “knowing too much about a production can be as disadvantageous as knowing too little... I try to avoid programmes for the same reason. I want to review the show, not the talk; what the theatre-maker is doing, not what they've told me in great detail that they intend to do.” The question this threw up for me was: if you've already seen umpteen Hamlets, why *not* read the director’s notes in the programme for the umpteenth-plus-one? I’m not sure that knowing what a director intends is any greater or lesser obstacle to really *seeing* the play as having seen a million previous version. It’s different, and of course I completely understand the impulse not to read programme notes – at least until afterwards.

The question also relates to the point Statler raises about trying to represent a “typical theatre-goer” - who might well read a programme before the show starts as part of the experience. This “typical” standpoint relates in part to what Ian Shuttleworth is discussing in his piece, and to the brief misunderstanding in the comments section between what Alison was deploring and Statler was actually standing for as regards the position of critic as “ordinary member of the public/typical theatergoer”. As Shuttleworth suggests, in 2004 there were at least two critics writing regularly for national publications whose basic positions were various shades of philistine skepticism (my words, not Shuttleworth’s). Statler’s position is clearly not that.

Screw “pretentious”

I am a little wary of reviewers who claim that they have a better claim to represent “ordinary/typical” people than other reviewers. Although all those who actually buy tickets (and indeed, don’t go to the theatre every night of the week) do make their case several notches more effectively. My problem, I guess, is that ultimately, if one is being honest, it is hard to gainsay how universal your own experience of anything might be. Indeed, trying to do so can potentially lead to problems.

After all, there’s nothing more frustrating than a critic who suggests: “I loved this, but I’m not sure you proles will really get it” – unless it is a critic who says: “Well, I didn’t much like it, but I bet all you common folk will lap it up.”

Actually, worse than both is an intelligent critic who – at the very least – understands a work’s merits, quite possibly enjoys it, and then feigns ignorance and damns the whole things as “pretentious crap.” That, I think, is unforgivable. If one has understood and enjoyed some pretentious crap, then one should have the guts to admit it (and indeed drop the pretence that it is “pretentious”– probably the most over-used and irritating word in Arts criticism - or “crap”).

If you want an example of two wildly differing approaches, compare and contrast Chris Goode’s description of Apollo/Dionysus with Johann Hari’s from a year earlier.

It would be wrong for me to argue that I think Johann is being in the least bit disingenuous. I don’t doubt that he saw absolutely no merit in the piece whatsoever. But his article enjoys swallowing in a rather nasty brand of sneering philistinism, which I’m sure in other contexts he would utterly deplore. And I would suggest that the reason for this is because he is writing about himself as much as about the work, about his reaction to it, and with the purpose of being funny at the expense of the piece. I know it’s not a review but a personality piece, but it does rather illustrate exactly what no review should ever be.

Stop. Stop. Please stop

I think I should probably leave it there. It’s not like anyone else can possibly have read this far (my sincere apologies if you have).

Last word, as ever, to Ian Shuttleworth. Not quite on the subject – but from the same article as previously quoted:

“When younger, I used to joke that, in my own reviews, the adjective "astonishing" was code for "This is a performer into whose costume I should like to get". I've been trying to rehabilitate the word for some time now, but some friends and colleagues won't let me forget past sins.”

[source]

*The title of today’s mammoth post is taken from To a Wolf by Luke Kennard (another friend - sorry) from his first collection of poems The Solex Brothers. A fuller explanation can be found here. I intend it to allude toward and slightly ironise the apparent fact that theatre critics do sometimes seem to love talking about theatre criticism almost as much as actually talking about theatre.

[excerpt]
“The wolf is just crazy for representations of himself.
‘Here’s a picture of you, wolf.’
‘Great!’ cries the wolf.
‘Here’s a story about you.’
‘Give it here!’ cries the wolf.”

Quite right too. It is an imperfect art and who better to sit around and work out what it all means and how we might make it better.

Critical distance

An idea that has been bothering me since returning from this year’s Fringe is the notion of “critical distance”, or rather: what is the proper/correct position of theatre critics to their subjects (be they actors, directors, writers or whoever)? As well as reviewing theatre I have a lot of friends and acquaintances, who act, write, direct and make theatre. I also work for three theatres and one company as a script reader. In short, I enjoy the company of people who share my enthusiasm for theatre. As a result, these days I end up seeing a lot of shows, particularly in Edinburgh, which are made by people I know, and reviewing them. To an extent this makes perfect sense - what attracts people to one another is, in part, some sort of kindredness of spirit and/or appreciation of one anothers’ work/talent/etc. You take an interest in someone’s show; you chat to them afterwards about it; you see each other around; it turns out you have friends in common, and before long you are at the least friendly acquaintances. On the other hand, historically critics have avoided such close integration to avoid accusations of compromise.

For fellow theatre makers this is fine. Places like Edinburgh (and similarly the NSDF) provide a crucial trade fair-like environment where liked-minded artists can meet, see each other’s work, enthuse, exchange ideas and forge vital alliances that result in brilliant new work. For critics/reviewers it is a slightly different ball game. For a start, we’re not even meant to be in the same business - we are essentially journalists, not theatre-makers. Our first duty, so the received wisdom goes, is to our readers and not to the theatre. And that’s quite right. Readers shouldn’t have to second-guess how much any given critic’s punches might have been pulled due to a misguided sense of “support” for a play.

A lot of critics (pretty much all those working for the national papers) make it a matter of policy never to stay for drinks after a show on press night. Of course this is partially a matter of practicality. If you have to file overnight then cutting into your already scant write-up time and then trying to do the job half cut is plainly idiotic. But, like the aisle seats and imaginary rush for the lobby telephone booth, this policy is starting to feel like little more than a formalised tradition. A lot of papers no longer appear to insist on overnight reviews for anything but the most prominent, starry West End openings. Yet in the main “the critics” (how I hate this formulation, implying as it does some sort of non-existent commonality) still see it as “bad form” to stay on.*
There is, of course, a more glaringly obvious reason why they avoid entanglement with their subjects, though: for the pure and simple reason that it is never pleasant having to disagree with friends, or to put it more bluntly, because they feel they need to maintain an apparently crucial critical distance.

So, what happens if a critic - let’s call him X (and assume that he’s a man, because we and society are a sexist) - becomes friends with a writer or director - Y - and then goes to see their next show? There are a number possibilities concerning X’s response. He might dislike it, and risk ruining his friendship with Y by saying as much. It takes a pretty strong stomach to say, “I really didn’t enjoy your new play at all,” to a friend, but X does it. On the other hand, because of his friendship with Y, X might limit his criticisms, and by doing so, deprive the public of an honest account of the work (I should make clear, X does not deprive the public of an “objective” account - there is no such thing - but by not recording a full and honest account, he fails to supply precisely what he has been employed to provide). There is also the third option, that because of his friendship with Y, X might have gained additional insight into the work. It is this last possibility which interests me most.

Does a friendship, or even acquaintance, between a critic and an artist, which enriches the critic’s understanding of the artist’s intentions, make the critic a useful idiot for the artist, or a better informed observer/interpreter for the public? An excellent example is the relationship between Michael Billington and Harold Pinter. Billington has written pretty much the definitive biographical study of the man’s work, and is clearly a huge fan - I think I’m right in saying that they are on pretty good terms socially, too. Does this invalidate Billington’s reviews of Pinter’s plays, or does it augment them with a greater understanding? Both are possible options. The two options may even run concurrently. Perhaps insight can only be gained at the expense of some critical distance. After all, even reading a director’s programme notes changes one’s relationship to what one is seeing. The question is: where should the critic stand in relation to experiencing the work. It soon starts to sound like “critical distance” is a deliberate space employed by a reviewer enabling them to score points and disparage. I’m not suggesting that if every critic “understood” the work of every theatre-maker then everyone would get good reviews. It is perfectly possible to understand someone’s premises and wholly disagree with them. The fact remains, it is a lot harder to say that to someone you know.

However, these friendships with theatre-makers spring up because of some sense of a common purpose, or shared take on the world. Although I might personally like some of the people making the work that I’m enjoying, quite often the reason we’re friends in the first place sprung from an enjoyment of their earlier work (much earlier in many cases - some over a decade ago). It stands to reason that I might well continue to enjoy subsequent examples of their work, irrespective of any matey-ness which may have occurred in the intervening period. At the same time, I wouldn’t shrink from writing an honest review addressing or describing problems in a show by friends that I hadn’t enjoyed. That said, it does feel strange to get emails saying thanks for a review (or indeed some very sweet and wry blog posts either giving a heads up to the review with additional personality profiling, or references to the ongoing "global stomach-turning love-in" between myself and Chris Goode). At the same time, it is really nice.

Of course Edinburgh always blurs the boundaries a bit. Performers and critics can often be found drinking in the same venue bars. And it feels like quite a healthy exercise for all parties concerned. Artists get to remember that critics are not just monsters, and critics get to remember that artists are humans too. And everyone gets to remember that even though we’re nominally on "different sides" the only reason any of us do what we do is because we’re all deeply passionate about what theatre can be - even if no one fully agrees what that is.

That said I’m still not sure that I completely buy into this "opposition" between critic and theatre-maker. Yes, a critic is a journalist with a responsibility to their readers and, in a wider analysis, to informed, entertaining writing. But, as well as being a critic I also work for the literary departments of a few theatres. Similarly, some of the sharpest critical writing about theatre these days can be found in the blogs of theatre makers. And it’s by no means all positive, touchy-feely, supportive stuff. There is no less rigorous critical engagement simply because the writer is nominally on the "same side" as his or her subject. Indeed at times it sometimes feels like there might be more so as a direct result of the theoretical parity at play.

On blogs, however, there is a far greater degree of foregrounded subjectivity. This is an interesting dilemma for the critic. On one hand we all know that - no matter how deeply held our feelings on any given play - we aren’t owners of the Objective Truth. On the other hand, I was certainly taught (by Robert Hewison, Theatre Critic of the Sunday Times) that egotism and personality-based grandstanding was to be avoided at all costs. His simple formulation: ‘Don’t say "I think". God knows it should be apparent enough to everyone that it is what you think because you’re writing it. Remember that the play is the subject of the review, not you.’

It is quite possible the critics’ observation of this rule that leads many an enraged theatre maker to conclude that theatre critics think they Know It All, when what they are striving to do is simply demonstrate that they know their own mind. Another of Robert’s tips for writing authoritatively is the avoidance of weasel words (perhaps, quite, possibly, etc.). Certainly, the removal of all such equivocations can turn a slippery piece of ho-hummery into a pretty (ooh, look, there’s one) bold assertion. Again, whilst strengthening the writing, it perhaps (ha!) introduces an unintended note of inflexibility into the work. But then, one knows what one thinks, why flannel? Either one liked the play or one didn’t, right? However, despite being less assertive and technically worse writing, in the context of the blogsophere it does somehow feel more relaxed and open.

I’m not sure that “the critical establishment” (such as it isn’t and doesn’t see itself) is in the parlous state that its critics sometimes fear, though. Look at the extra-curricular activities of Aleks Sierz and Dominic Cavendish (and co.) on TheatreVoice - surely an excellent example if ever there was one of a breakdown in the distance between critic and theatre-maker into a sympathetic, interested, robust exchange. Consider Lyn Gardner’s excellent, honest and thought-provoking blogs on the Guardian website. Or Ian Shuttleworth’s open and frank use of the comment sections of numerous theatre makers’ blogs and engagement with “the critics” at large in his Theatre Record editorials. Or Brian Logan, who as well as sometimes staying for press night drinks, is also part of a theatre company himself. Or Kieron Quirke, who also writes radio and TV comedies (and who, I believe, has just been whisked off to L.A. to have a pilot made of one by some Americans). Greater integration, less mystique, and perhaps even a bit of involvement seem to be the watchwords here. This is a terrifically hopeful model for a future “critical establishment”. Of course there still needs to be a sense of authority in the writing. An exchange of views does not mean that the critic should exchange their views for some that their interlocutor would prefer. Plays will still get bad reviews. But I am optimistic that gradually a shift is taking place, and the positioning of critic and artist is evolving for the better. After all, the point of the critic is not to “criticise” but to critique. As Ian Shuttleworth recently put it: 'the most succinct description of the critic's function that I've ever heard is Michael Coveney's: "to explain culture to itself". You do what you can: you know it'll never be the last word... but it can be, uh, word.'


* I wish London theatres would adopt the model apparently favoured in New York whereby press can attend a choice of press nights, but are vetoed from filing before a specific date, allowing a bit of time for the writer to mull over what they’ve seen. Exam conditions are never going to be the best way of getting the most thoughtful considerations of theatre works into the public arena. On the other hand, at least the rigorous schedule does keep one up to date with what’s opening. With the theatres essentially collaborating to avoid press nights clashing, critics don’t need to spend hours with a spreadsheet and list of possible press nights trying to work out how to fit everything in.

Edit: Sod it. Having linked to Theatre Record's excellent editorials page, I then realised that I hadn't been keeping up to date with reading them and, lo and behold, there's an excellent piece about Theatre blogging to which I really should have refered in the above. Ho hum.

Szalwinska revisited, plus Edinburgh round-up

I haven't been well this week, which, coupled with being at work, has led to a bit of a slide in my productivity. Apologies. Anyway, here's a bunch of stuff. Edinburgh first, then some actual thoughts.

First up, from Andy Field’s excellent blog are the first two entries in his project to profile all the companies at Aurora Nova. As well as being brilliantly written, these offer a real insight into the companies discussed, far more than yer Fringe Programme 40-word blurbs can ever manage. Field has a real journalist’s eye for what makes an interesting story, so even if you’re not planning a visit to the Fringe, these make excellent reading. The first two are John Moran and Rotozaza.

Next, the welcome return of Chris Goode to his blog, offers the first (of many, one hopes) installment of his Edinburgh diaries. Typically uncompromising, he shares his thoughts on the first few shows that he’s seen on the Fringe.

Dan Bye gives characteristically well-crafted director’s-eye-view on Fringe foibles (my God, this is starting to read like Wogan or something) on his blog, while elsewhere, in the mainstream, Ian Shuttleworth's first few articles are up on the Financial Times site. I would especially recommend his review of Tim Crouch’s England, for is acute generosity (OK, I haven’t read it properly, because I want to come to the show fresh, so if that’s not strictly accurate, let me know, but the beginning and end seemed to point that way)

Also recommended is his trot through a worryingly large number of musicals on the Fringe – I hate to think how many hours of irrecoverable viewing time this represents. The article has the additional pleasure of an end gag which, it is hard to help suspecting, is better than any contained in the shows reviewed.

Back in the real world – of which I am still nominally a part, massive flu notwithstanding - Maxie Szalwinska takes a wider view (admittedly triggered by an Edinburgh show) wondering if theatres get too intimidated by big-name writers to ask for re-writes.

This is an interesting premise, and one which is as completely wrong as it is wholly right – that is to say, there are at least two other possible explanations to which she ought to give serious consideration, alongside her attractive thesis. She is right, that some theatres may suffer for having a literary manager who, in spite of many luminously positive qualities, may not have quite the temperament to front up to some of the biggest names in theatre and say: "Oi, Alan/Harold/Dave, rewrite please!" I am told that this was the conspicuous failing of one particular longstanding, high-profile literary manager of a major London theatre.

On the other hand, there are the two opposite positions to consider – rather than being too meek, a literary manager or department can equally be responsible for dramaturging a play to death. There is at least one London theatre with a terrible reputation for this - to the extent that writers now think at least twice before letting their scripts anywhere near it.

The other consideration is that is it hard to tell what any play is like until it is actually fully rehearsed and in front of an audience. If this weren’t so, why would all such elements be necessary for a play to properly exist? It is a cliché to observe that modern plays play better than they read – and indeed literary departments are often suspicious of the play that reads well. And this point leads on to the fact that taste is also deeply subjective. For all that Maxie didn’t seem to think much of Damascus (a pity, since I was looking forward to it), she might not be "right". Some people might think the last hour, which she didn’t go for, is terrific. I’m sure everyone can think of innumerable instances where if they’d listened to a critic, they’d have missed their favourite play of the last decade (Attempts on Her Life, anyone?), and probably a good few other examples of following someone’s recommendation to their eternal regret. Maybe Damascus is simply not cut out to be some people’s cup of tea. But, it is an interesting question to ask, nonetheless.

Finally, I notice that someone else has fallen into the trap of using the Guardian’s Right-to-Reply-type column. Having just blogged my disagreement with a critic, I’m not sure why I find this feature so questionable – probably because the real thing is only mainly used by/offered to(?) those who have been personally stung by a critical response, and so their arguments are not simply those of an interested bystander/co-commentator but of an injured party. That said, in this case, it does simply appear to be a case of an advanced withering of the writer's sense of irony. It is all very well to argue that "theatre can be instructive, challenging, empathetic and cathartic", but it does seem a bit grandiose to do so when your CV destroys your argument so thoroughly. Further down, the article continues:
"Many theatre companies, including ours, have been creating new productions, with new writing, which meet the demands of a modern audience: populist shows about contemporary issues, dealt with sensitively. The Naked Truth, for example, which is about to launch its third run in the provinces, centres on five normal women learning to pole dance; but its emotional core deals with subjects such as self-confidence, female sexuality and the social and psychological implications of breast cancer."

I really wish I thought this was satire.

Perhaps dignified silence is always the best way to respond to criticism. That said - I recently read a playwright's private email response to the reviews that his latest play had received. And his comments were as acute and as they were savage. They were also, crucially, private.

Edit: I notice that CV link has gone dead. Funny that.

Pining for the Fringe

Still another week before I get to Edinburgh, but there are advantages in this. Not least that I can keep an eye on the early coverage. Which looks like it could be a full-time occupation this year with the broadsheets' online features looking more fulsome than ever before.

The Guardian, as the natural paper of most Fringe performers, has an eviable variety of guest writers and contributors including an ongoing story written an episode at a time by various comics, a blog by Mark Ravenhill on his premiere-a-day show Ravenhill For Breakfast and a daily podcast from critic Brian Logan and comedienne (-ette?) Lucy Porter.

Interestingly, the Telegraph's coverage is easily comparable - and benefits from a slightly more user-friendly design with the features mixed in with the reviews, allowing for a slightly more potted read. Of course, being the Telegraph, it also offers some excellent examples of philistine harrumphing and a picture of Stewart Lee (accompanying a charming interview) labelled "Stewart Lee studied English Literature at Oxford University" like a justification to the paper's normal constituency for its inclusion ("Why's this chap here, eh? Studied at Oxford, did he? Capital fellow, then. Spendid. Carry on...").

The Times online's stuff, once the sodding page has loaded, isn't especially impressive (my own tiny contribution to the NSDF stuff notwithstanding). The news report on the international festival is standard journalism at its press conference-attending best, while the lead article is little more than a collection of half-minute phone interviews based on a handful of flyers and virtually no connection to its initial premise.

The Independent's coverage is a characteristically sloppy mess: badly laid out, uninspiring, and, in the case of a non-story report on Ricky Gervais charging a lot for tickets managing to make the schoolboy error of confusing the Fringe with the International Festival.

And of course the Fringe wouldn't be the Fringe without Ian Shuttleworth from the Financial Times seeing more shows than all the other critics put together in his frankly masochistic, Salo-like efforts to see every damn thing out there.

Writing what you know

If, as I’m starting to suspect, all blogging is a long game of follow my leader, then, following Mark Ravenhill’s recent Guardian Arts blog post, this week’s hot topic is biographical readings of writers’ work. The subject has already kicked off a heated exchange on David Eldridge’s blog between him and critic Ian Shuttleworth*. Ravenhill’s original post is as fair-minded and witty as it is light, but he raises an interesting point. The most striking passage for me is his admission ‘I'd bump into friends from university and see they were longing to ask: “How long were you actually a rent boy for?” In the end, I decided all this gave me a grungy glamour. Without ever actually lying, I never disabused them of the notion.’

Of course he did. We all wanted to look grungy and glamorous in ’96. But there’s something else going on here. It is David Eldridge who connects it to Max Stafford-Clark, to whom the quotation “all plays are either autobiography or journalism,” is attributed. The way this belief manifested itself in Stafford-Clark’s work with writers has cast an extremely long shadow in its legacy for the Court.

A writer friend of mine, who shall remain nameless – for reasons which shall become clear – once wrote a provocative (and immediately countered) article for Noises Off magazine arguing that Graham Whybrow’s claim that he could identify the work of any Royal Court writer on the strength of a single page of their work was probably predicated on the fact that within the given page there’d either be a character who was a one-legged black lesbian; so it was probably by the Court’s one-legged black lesbian writer, or... so on, and so on.

I wouldn’t go that far, but it seems fair to say that for a while a certain brand of identity politics was at the very least not-discouraged, particularly around the young writers programme. I shall give a biographical example: - a few years ago a (different) writer friend who I knew from university had a play staged as part of the Royal Court’s Young Writer’s festival. I had produced an earlier (first?) play of his at university – it was a Camus-esque, Big Themes play in which six people gradually discover that they are in a lift to hell during some sort of (presciently enough) Islamist holocaust. His piece staged for the young writers’ programme was about growing up in as a Persian (which he was), in Wolverhampton (as he had) and working in one’s father’s corner shop (which he did). Perhaps it is unfair to blame the Royal Court for this – and perhaps it was the stronger play for not being so ambitious – but you can see from where the idea that they didn’t discourage a certain type of biographical authenticity comes.

This idea has turned on Max Stafford-Clark and bitten him on the arse at least once. There is a passage in Hanif Kureshi’s The Buddha of Suburbia in which the young Karim (a thinly veiled, wish-fulfillment version of a young Hanif Kureshi, m’lud) is working as a writer (as Kureshi did) with a director of strong left-wing inclinations, who is widely thought to be a thinly veiled version of M S-C (with whom Kureshi did indeed work when he was a young Royal Court playwright). The book contains a scene in which the director, along with his wife, seduces Karim and his girlfriend with the aim of essentially stealing the girlfriend. So much for teaching people to write what they know. This story has an amusing – if wholly apocryphal coda: when filming the excellent BBC adaptation some years later, the set for this (enormously memorable – at least to this impressionable young thing) scene was dressed to exactly resemble M S-C’s house. Shortly after this has been televised – so the apocryphal story goes – M S-C had invited a couple of people back to his house. They arrived at the house, and entered the living room in question.

“So, this is where it all happened, then?” says one of the party, with a knowing look.

Awkward silence descends for the rest of a much-shortened rest-of-evening.

But I digress.

While Ravenhill suggests that it is a little odd to be confused with a character from your play, he then goes on to note the useful critical insights that such a school of criticism can sometimes offer. Eldridge, however, uses the occasion to take some issue with his work being read autobiographically –understandably, given the personal repercussions which he describes. What is fascinating is the fact that he does not comment on the fact that the play has also been reviewed autobiographically. He cites some initial comments from Ian Shuttleworth’s review, but omits to mention the end:

“I come from a similarly sacrificing working-class family, and I keenly feel similar debts to the departed. I could therefore be expected to connect profoundly with Eldridge's play. But not a sausage, I'm afraid.”

As a critic (ha!), not a writer, I find this sort of thing fascinating. Shuttleworth, after all, is giving explicit and personal grounds for the reason that he didn’t like the play. No pretence of objectivity or Olympian judgment here. This is explicitly a man with a history, sitting in a theatre, watching a play about another man with an apparently similar history. While on one hand it suggests it should have been a pushover for the play to have *got* him, it simultaneously admits the possibility that as someone so strongly identifying with the subject matter, he may not be the best judge.

Critics are often criticised for the dual, contradictory sins of both pretended objectivity and excessive of subjectivity. I find it interesting (not to mention brave) how readily Charles Spencer will talk about his position as a recovering alcoholic to contextualise his response to works dealing in similar themes of addiction. Similarly, if you can find a review of a play about Belfast by Ian Shuttleworth in which doesn’t mention his connection to that city, then you’re a better man than I am.

I guess the point of all this is that all writers, not to mention directors, actors, probably sound-designers and lighting designers, and other artists of any stripe you care to mention, will bring something of themselves to their work - both wittingly and unwittingly; and those watching their work, whether writing about it or not, will speculate over it, as much as they will appreciate other elements and the whole. But is it really, as David Eldridge says, “reductive” or “wrong-headed” to speculate? In much the same way as his play pricked the curiosity of his reviewers with its incidental spatial and temporal intersections with his own life, isn’t it precisely these same sorts of starting points that often ambush writers with ideas?

At the same time, I do hope we have gone beyond the era of identity politics into one where “write what you know” is only a helpful suggestion rather than an absolute and final restriction. I don’t want to be party to a culture, which, when faced with two plays on any given issue, will always pick the one written by the person who has the closest personal connection to the issue over the play that is best, irrespective of its author.

So, write what you know. Or don’t. Some part of you will creep in anyway and give your biographers and critics something to agonise over. But, if you are writing about what you know, please don’t do what John le Carré does and forget to tell everyone what it is you know before continuing the story; it makes it almost impossible to understand.

*In the interests of full biographical disclosure, Ian and I have a long personal history; I don’t know Mr Eldridge at all.