Within the confines of the work they see, the major critics are – in taste, if not so much in terms of cultural or ethnic diversity – a pretty varied bunch. OK, so the range could be far, far broader were there a greater reach beyond the most mainstream work, but their schedules are, inevitably, dictated by newsworthiness, as seen from a certain perspective. That said, I think it fair to say that, given those constrictions, it’s rare that an overwhelming consensus is reached about the quality (or otherwise) of a particular piece of theatre.
Sometimes, however, something uncanny happens. Sometimes, the reviews of a particular show will parrot one another almost exactly, as if the same lightbulb had pinged on in several heads at once. When a single phrase or twist of words recurs in this way, it becomes a bit of a curiosity. On the one hand, it gains the weight of authority that comes from agreement, i.e. if all these people are describing something thus, therefore it must be pretty appropriate/accurate. At the same time, however, it can also indicate imprecision, whereby a stock phrase has been selected as broadly representative and the review is hammered into shape accordingly. Personally, when it comes to writing styles, I’m a sucker for a good gag, but I also know that it undermines precision and specificity. It makes for entertaining writing, but – and I hold my hands up absolutely – it also signifies a element of ego, whereby one’s turn of phrase gets in the way of the most precise or honest response. (Tynan’s remarkable linguistic showboating, memorable though it is, so often feels contrived. One feels that he’s adopting a stance, brilliantly but forcedly. Perhaps, its just a mix of passion and self-assurance.) The critic’s treasure hunt, I suppose, involves seeking both at once.
Such a moment of critical synchronicity was sparked by Betty Blue Eyes, the Cameron Mackintosh-produced musical that opened at the Novello Theatre in the West End last Wednesday. What’s interesting in this instance is the specific choice of phrase. Consider, momentarily, the number of porcine puns that could have recurred. The star rating system itself could have run from ‘Pig’s Ear’ to ‘Crackling’ (or as the Daily Mail’s headline writer might have had it, from 'Porker' to 'Corker'). We could – quite justifiably, given the piece’s style – have had any number of versions of ‘hamming it up.’ All these crop up here and there and we did get a couple of variations on silk purses emerging from sow’s ears, but the main serialised offender was ‘Bringing Home the Bacon.’
Michael Billington, Mark Shenton and Charles Spencer all used it – for better or worse – as their closing remark, probably the strongest point in any piece of journalistic criticism, headlines excepted. The Evening Standard ran with it as a headline (it was, presumably, be the work of a subeditor, rather than Henry Hitchings).
The telling thing about this phrase is that it is not, in itself, an expression of quality. Its value judgement is monetary, rather than aesthetic. In fact, it is rather crudely fiscal. To bring home the bacon is the achievement of particular financial success. One imagines a family treated to a meaty breakfast, as opposed to cereal and toast. The children beaming as fat dribbles down their chins. Father smugly smiling as the proud provider.
For a phrase to recur, occurring to several different people simultaneously, it must have a certain obviousness about it. It must, in other words, mark the major story. So, I find it rather interesting that the central story of Betty Blue Eyes, is not its artistic merit, but its commercial chances. Implicit in ‘bringing home the bacon’ as a phrase is the hit-or-flop culture. The critic has presumed that the reader wants to know not just whether the musical holds up, but whether it will prove a popular success. Will it become a fixture of the West End, a la Les Mis?
Three things strike me about this. Firstly, that it rules out a middle ground. Either a show thrives or it flounders. There is no room for a show to simply survive, since survival must be deemed commercial success. The minute such a venture stops earning a profit, it will suffer the fate of closure. Rating a show’s financial prospects leaves one without the equivalent of a three-star review.
Second, that critics are wary of being deemed out of sync with popular opinion. Consider We Will Rock You or Les Mis, both of which received critical maulings on opening, but have proved longstanding commercial successes. That success is then held up as evidence against the critic, who is dubbed an unreliable guide for the audiences they are supposedly representing. In order to guard against such accusations, then, the critic pretty much suspends judgement (at least those based on personal taste) and judges a show according to its popularist credentials.
In turn, this can grow into a dishonest judgement of artistic merit, whereby the tagline affects the rest of the review. To denigrate a show and then grudgingly admit that it will likely prove popular feels like holding one’s readership in contempt. It is to say, “I think its dross, but you lot no doubt love that sort of thing.” The critic is admitting irrelevance and simultaneously inviting accusations of elitism. Instead, then, the rest of the review falls into line, often with a slight discomfort about the writing style. Artistic judgement thus falls into line with the financial judgement. To do otherwise, involves slaughtering the sacred cow (or, in this case, the sacred sow).
If judgement is suspended, then, criticism becomes mere reportage – albeit dressed up in the language of criticism. The critic attends like any other reporter: not to judge critically, but to bear witness and pass on information. The question to be answered is, ‘Has Cameron Mackintosh got another hit on his hands or not?’ In the case of Betty Blue Eyes, there is an interesting second side to this, namely the way the puff-press preview pieces focused on the same thing. This story was set up – rather cleverly – by Mackintosh’s PR team, who focused journalists attention on Mackintosh’s involvement as producer. We got interviews with Mackintosh and comment on the cost of the animatronic pig. Beyond one Daily Mail interview with Sarah Lancashire and an appearance on This Morning by Lancashire and Reece Shearsmith, all the publicity was about Mackintosh himself. What other show has so doggedly ignored its stars, writers and subject in its bid to entice audiences? With Betty Blue Eyes, the story was never the show’s content or form, but its fate. Betty Blue Eyes set itself up to be judged not aesthetically, but financially.
Thirdly, however, the critic does not simply report on a show’s chances of success from the outside. They are, themselves, a huge part of that story. In other words, a show’s reviews to some degree affect its fate. The review itself has performative elements. When a review pronounces a show a hit, in part, it brings about those circumstances itself. Accordingly, the critic is, in effect, declaring a show a hit or a flop, just as the Queen can declare a subject a Knight of the Realm or a B-list celebrity can declare a supermarket open. With such a commercial venture as Betty Blue Eyes, then, the critic is, in effect, writing their own story and, in some small way, bringing about the accuracy of their own statement.
As a further note, it’s worth pointing out that content, quality and good notices are not the only route to success. Audiences can be enticed by clever marketing and momentum, which can reach a terminal velocity, at which point the show becomes an ever-present. For this reason, it’s always safer for the critic to declare a show a hit. Should it fail to prove so – as in the case of The Drowsy Chaperone in 2007 – factors beyond quality can be blamed. To damn a show is to risk being at odds with public opinion, since when a show succeeds in spite of negative reviews, its will always be held against the critic, even if its subsequent survival is unrelated to its own intrinsic merits.
The question, then, is whether a major commercial venture can ever be judged artistically. If we are to judge popular entertainment on its own terms, we can ask only two things. First, is it entertaining? Second, will it prove popular? A legitimate critical judgement answers the first without reference to the second. To do so, however, is to miss the main story – something no journalist can afford to do. When it comes to determinedly commercial theatre, then, the journalistic critic is nothing but a pig in a poke.
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