A few weeks ago, I saw the new Disney/Pixar film Ratatouille, in which of the leading characters is a pompous, slightly sinister restaurant critic, Anton Ego, who professes to love food but hardly ever enjoys it, and doesn’t seem to love life much, either (he reminded me inadvertently of one of my more senior theatre critical colleagues). Towards the end of the film he delivers a speech (voiced by Peter O’Toole) about the fundamental worthlessness of his calling: “In many ways, the work of a critic is easy. We risk very little yet enjoy a position over those who offer up their work and their selves to our judgment. We thrive on negative criticism, which is fun to write and to read. But the bitter truth we critics must face is that, in the grand scheme of things, the average piece of junk is more meaningful than our criticism designating it so.”
It’s a popular view to dismiss the work critics do in this way, but critical opinion is still courted by chefs just as much as by theatre or film directors.
There’s obviously the publicity value of favourable reviews, but even more importantly, somehow,most of them still crave independent critical validation for their work. In the age of the blogosphere and bulletin boards, where everyone’s a critic (even if unpaid), the role of professional critics may be even more important to provide something to judge all the opinions flying around against. In yesterday’s Standard, the Londoner’s Diary reprinted part of a letter that food critic Richard Johnson wrote to the Waitrose house magazine, Waitrose Food Illustrated: “I’m all for restaurant review websites and, without getting too Leninist about it, the democratisation of food. But amateur critics aren’t accountable for what they write. They aren’t going to be hauled up in front of the editor if another of their hot tips closes in a month. I’m good at eating – I do it better than any mman alive. It’s taken me years of practice. I know when food is correct, and I know when it’s inspired. So please, trust me, not ‘Billy Belly’, ‘Louise Cheese’, or ‘Frank N Furter’.”
He’s clearly feeling threatened. But even if he is, by his own account at any rate, so well qualified to do what he does, who is reviewing the reviewers? A few months ago, AA Gill took the current crop of theatre critics to task, calling us “a moribund, joyless, detached bunch”, and suggesting, by comparison, that “The incremental improvement in the quality and sophistication and enjoyment of eating, cooking and buying food has coincided with the rise of good, angry, witty, opinionated writing.”
Just how good is that writing, though? Charles Spencer, theatre critic of the Telegraph, took a judicious look at Gill and his foodie colleagues, in a recent issue of the British Journalism Review, but first put in a spirited defence of his own tribe against Gill’s previous attack: “I would argue that most drama critics care passionately about theatre, bring a wealth of knowledge to their reviews, and also enjoy rich and varied lives beyond their seat in the stalls. I’ve been hob-nobbing with my colleagues for almost 30 years, and still find they are capable of surprising me with their range of wit, wisdom and endearing eccentricities. I’d also argue that when a bunch of critics excite such animus from such varied sources, we must be doing something right. Getting up people’s noses is part of the job as is, pace Stoppard, letting people know whether it is worth spending more than a hundred quid on a pair of tickets.”
He even takes a neat sideways swipe at his own commissioning editor on the British Journalism Review, Bill Hagerty, in explaining how he came to rise to this task: “The editor of this august publication, who has a secret life as The Sun’s theatre critic (a job title that sounds almost as improbable as striptease correspondent of the TLS), had the mischievous idea of commissioning a review of the restaurant critics, of whom, I suspect, AA Gill may secretly regard himself as the doyen.” When he reviews AA Gill, however, he is forced to admit that “damn it, he’s both readable and enjoyably infuriating in his restaurant columns, with the foodie stuff coming after stimulating riffs on such subjects as the power of smell, the art (or is it?) of tap-dancing and the dangers of self-Googling. He’s irritatingly pleased with himself to be sure…” And he concludes, in a judgement worthy of Ratatouille’s Mr Ego, that “Gill is not the first critic to discover that knocking copy is far easier to write than interesting praise.”
In reviewing the Evening Standard’s veteran restaurant critic Fay Maschler, he says, “She also tends to get in first with her reviews of the big new openings, which are almost as hyped as West End theatre first nights, and is regarded as the one restaurant writer who really puts bums on seats.” It’s fascinating, in the light of this, to see in her review yesterday of a hyped new restaurant, Hibiscus from Michelin rated chef Claude Bosi, that that is precisely how she regards it – and suggesting that restaurants have reduced price “preview periods” before they unveil themselves to the full-price public. That, of course, has long been an established practice in the theatre, though preview prices there are rarely nowadays the bargains they used to be. As she writes, “Restaurant reviewers are criticised by the catering industry for visiting new establishments ‘too early’. A means of addressing this state of affairs – critics are journalists, after all – which works for both parties is a preview period during which prices are ameliorated. This gives the kitchen running-in time when they are dealing with punters who have been made to feel loving and forgiving in advance by the notion of a relative bargain.”
After enduring long delays in the delivery of her meal, she concludes, “I obviously did go ‘too early’ and so maybe I’ll go back”. In the days when I used to buy my tickets more often than I do now, I would often avail myself of the reduced price preview, and would often find that I had to go back post-opening to see the finished product; nowadays, I usually wait until invited to see a show, but sometimes it happens, as it did on my recent visit to New York, that I try to catch a show before it opens officially, partly so I can avoid the hype that may drown it later, but also because I’m not there every month (though it sometimes seems so!). I duly did so with Young Frankenstein last week, but star Roger Bart was out – so I will be going again when I’m back in New York again later this month.
From critics competing to be disliked to one who is almost universally loved: Blanche Marvin is founder of the Empty Space Peter Brook Awards that honour fringe studio theatres for excellence and helps to support work in them financially with prizes that include a rent subsidy award to allow companies to actually pay their way. She’s not just a critic who still sees everything, at the tender age of 82, but also puts her own money literally where her mouth is by funding the awards herself. At yesterday’s awards – for which I am one of the judges – held at the Young Vic for the first time since the closure of the ceremony’s former home at the Theatre Museum, artistic director David Lan welcomed Blanche and the awards to his theatre in a public speech in which he said, “If there was an award for Best Loved Woman in British Theatre, Blanche would be the winner.”
Coincidentally, the Young Vic was a winner, too — of the Empty Space Award for Up-and-coming venue. As I said in my speech, “It’s difficult to believe that its been just a year since the Young Vic re-opened its doors: it aleady feels like it has never been away. It may therefore seem odd to be talking about the Young Vic in an up-and-coming category. There’s been no insider trading, however, that led to its inclusion here today. Though its superb, versatile studios, the Maria and Clare, are new kinds on this particular theatre block, they have already proved their distinctive worth.”
The other big winner was Plymouth’s Drum Theatre, which won the Studio Theatre of the year award. Announcing their nomination, fellow judge Lyn Gardner spoke of how happily she travelled there whenever she did. It is refreshing that, out of the six nominees in contention for yesterday’s two awards, half of them were for venues outside London. I personally wish I was able to get to them myself as often as Lyn and fellow panellists Dominic Cavendish, Sam Marlowe and Fiona Mountford do, but its good that, like the bigger TMA Awards presented the weekend before last, we reflect a truly national theatrical landscape.
