Responses to 'Sunken Garden': elitism, a generation gap or just a matter of taste?

Last Friday I made my first visit to the warren that is the Barbican to review the ENO's world première of Sunken Garden on behalf of A Younger Theatre. Marketed as an "enthralling multimedia 'occult mystery'", it was always going to be a little off-the-wall, combining 2D and 3D film, live performance, sung and spoken dialogue and a blend of musical styles - as well as a pretty zany storyline. Librettist David Mitchell himself described the project as "a bit bonkers" in an interview with Sameer Rahim - but hey, what's wrong with a bit of bonkers every now and then?

In fact, in the end I thought the whole thing was rather wonderful. Ok, so the plot was a little baffling and I wouldn't have always been able to follow it without the aid of the programme. Yet the way in which technology was used to create a new kind of operatic experience was thrilling to witness. The emphasis was no doubt on production rather than plot, but in this respect it certainly had the wow-factor and was an exciting vision of a road that opera and theatre could go down, with all this new wizardry to play with. So, I wrote my mostly positive review, revelling in the fascinating evening I'd just had. If you'd like to read my thoughts in full, have a look here. You may disagree - please do, and please tell me why! Anyway, it was therefore a bit of a surprise to see sweeping - and sometimes pretty vitriolic - negativity from other critics. Michael Church at The Independent (here) accused van der Aa of "remarkable arrogance" - mainly, it seems, for the lack of interval, which quite honestly seems a little trivial - while at The Telegraph Rupert Christiansen was positively fuming at having been put through such torture, as he saw it (the full rant can be found here). Phrases such as "dismal", "toxically flatulent", "this thing - I hesitate to grant it the honorific label of opera" and "unmitigated piffle" made the one-star rating unsurprising, and demonstrated a pretty hefty objection to what I saw as an imperfect but still impressive work of creativity.

Of course, that's the nature of criticism - and the nature of theatre. Audiences have opinions, instinctive responses; they disagree, we have debates. The violent negativity and apparent refusal to see any positives in the work do make me slightly uneasy (Although the wickeder side of me enjoyed reading it. I did laugh.) but I'd never be against a critic - indeed, an experienced expert - putting forward their opinion. What seems most disquieting about Christiansen's piece (and I'm sure he's not alone in these notions: this is a perfect example but certainly not a personal attack) are its more subtle implications: of what 'Opera' is, or should be, and of the value of a young audience's opinions - and, more worryingly, those of young creatives.

The reluctance to even call Sunken Garden by the "honorific label of opera" implies a definition of the genre as something of a certain standard; something elite, deserving of honour, respect and homage. On a basic level, an opera is actually defined as "A dramatic work in one or more acts, set to music for singers and instrumentalists". Well, unless Christiansen got lost in the Barbican and ended up in the wrong room, I'm pretty sure that's what we were both watching... Maybe I'm sounding petty and being over-literal with this review. Yet my point still stands. The implication is that Sunken Garden is a young new breed who isn't allowed to join this 'gentlemen's club' of opera; that this grandiose and magical thing called 'opera' has to be elite, to have rigorously high quality control, to earn respect and honour. Even the phrase "I hesitate to grant it" implies privilege and prestige. But why? There's an awful lot of experimental theatre out there - and some of it really is awful - but I don't think many people would stop calling it 'theatre' just because it doesn't succeed. Then again, some of it is truly spectacular; and the only way that writers, directors, performers, composers and indeed audiences can discover what works and what doesn't, is by experimenting and risk-taking. Van der Aa is doing just that, by creating a new vision: this does not divide it from the world of opera, but tests and stretches what opera can be. By all means productions should be judged critically, but whole genres and their potential should not be stifled or boxed up in the process.

Then we come to the question of age. I too "sensed a youngish first-night audience" - and at twenty-one I guess I'm included in that - who, it is suggested, are attracted by the "trendiness" (do I detect a shudder behind that word?) of technology. This may be true, but it would be patronising of me to suggest that an older generation than me didn't 'get' this opera because they don't understand or appreciate technology; it thus seems just as patronising to imply that the young don't 'get' opera and are blinded by some fancy 3D films which prevent them from having supposed 'good taste' or true appreciation for this genre. I can handle a computer and smartphone, but I wouldn't call myself a techie whiz-kid: the eleven-year-olds I look after in my job are much more technologically up-to-date than I am, so it's not my devoted love for hi-tech science that inspired my review; rather my admiration for creativity and talent. One commenter on the Telegraph certainly seemed to think that we young'uns are too naive for this kind of thing, recounting how "One youngish chap next to me said 'Wow, fantastic!'' when this torturous think [sic] finished and I suspect he has never been to an opera where the music and singing carry everything without resorting to gimmicks". Why is a "youngish" (not even young...) person who likes this opera automatically assumed to carry an opinion that is uninformed and worthless? This attitude is patronising, ridiculous and - for a 21-year-old budding critic - pretty worrying.

The same ideas seem to be applied to the creator of the project. The accusations of "arrogance" levelled at van der Aa by Michael Church, which stem from the length of the show and its lack of interval, seem partly (if not primarily) inspired by his youthfulness: "For this young experimentalist to think he could get away with it bespeaks quite remarkable arrogance". Now I don't want to be rude, but firstly van der Aa is 43 - and he's still classed as a "young" composer? He's hardly a naive little babe in arms is he, considering he's been composing since the mid-nineties. However, my argument would be the same if he were an eighteen-year-old premièring his first piece. The claim that he should make life as easy as possible for the audience - that he should not take risks, that he should stick to the norms (whatever they are - it's a creative industry after all...) - purely out of youth, is quite frankly ridiculous. A blend of works that stand the test of time and eclectic new creations is what makes the world of theatre - including opera - such a vivid, ever-evolving, thrilling, surprising and wonderful thing.

New work is often divisive; but I'd like to think that this is because, as human beings, we have such a variety of loves and hates, of tastes and impulses and attractions and emotions - the very thing that gives us such a variety of performing arts in the first place. I don't mind that other critics didn't feel the same as I did. In fact, it makes me all the more interested in the work, and it's also one of the reasons that student reviewing sites Online Theatre Ltd. send two reviewers to every show - to produce debate. I just hope the reasoning behind negative reviews is sensible. In other genres of theatre there doesn't appear to be anti-youth criticism or elitist 'rules', and hopefully opera is granted the same freedom of experimentation without blanket censure. For me, Sunken Garden was a window into possibilities: it may not be perfect, but this window should not be closed on principle.

Thoughts on being a critic...

Critics have themselves become the focus of criticism recently, with many an article and post on the matter emerging in recent months. This is me adding my thoughts into the mix - possibly in a slightly garbled manner, I grant you - about how I see it as a young critic, part of the new breed trying to break through.

Being a critic, in my experience, puts you in an odd position when it comes to the world of theatre. You're in amongst the action - yet you're not really in the fold. You're a part of the industry - but you're never going to be in the thesp or techie gang. It's not hard to see why, either. But, whilst knowing that being best mates and bosoms pals with the people you're critiquing would be not only awkward but potentially detrimental to your review, our strangely liminal position also saddens me a little: I truly believe that theatre critics are a necessary part of the performing arts industry. (Possibly it's also because I can't help a part of me in vain still believing, or hoping, that it's all glitz and glamour and fame.)

On a basic level, it provides the public with a service: recommendations of what to see, what to avoid (I know, you know this. There's a point to it, promise...). Just like a travel manual for a city, it's a map and a personal tour guide through the must-sees and don't-sees of what's currently on. Of course, it's the 'personal' bit that people can object to. Subjectivity of reviews is a common complaint that I've heard; and then, occasionally, there are those accusations of "Well they just didn't get it". Of course one person's opinion isn't necessarily the be-all and end-all on a show. We all know that. That's largely why I don't think it's necessarily a bad thing that more and more reviewers are emerging from different corners. The Edinburgh Fringe epitomised this issue this year, with a few whispers about too many reviewers diluting the relevancy of critical opinion. Yet the shows complain if anyone dares to suggest their (negative) review could represent a definitive truth - so we can't win really. The increasing number of opinions out there - from nationals to smaller publications to humble little blogs such as my own - should be celebrated (look at how many people are watching theatre, and thinking about it, and writing about it - it's GREAT!), acknowledged and used as a platform for conversation and debate. Critics should be speaking - personally and publicly - to each other to a wider extent to get even more people discussing and engaging with theatre. How could that possibly be a bad thing? Of course people want to reach the top of their field, and of course there's the practical business element: publications want to be selling more copies or getting more hits than their rivals. But - and I know I'm starting to sound a bit like that girl from Mean Girls - it would be exciting to have more visible communication and support between different kinds of critics to get conversation about theatre to a higher profile. Twitter is of course a great platform for this, and the debate just the other week about 'Ageist Arts' threw up some very interesting viewpoints and arguments. Yet it would be fascinating if there were more in-depth opportunities to discuss performances and industry issues in an open community (not just those who are lucky enough to get paid for what they write), interactively (the speed of Twitter is what makes the debate come alive) and without the restriction of 120 characters.

This of course would allow the old masters and the new kids on the block to converse and debate on an even playing field. Which brings up another issue in the world of the critic. Amateurs. Anyone with access with the internet can call themselves a critic these days, as a small number of disapproving writers have pointed out, their words dripping with disdain. I suppose you could say I'm proof of this, although my experience pre-blogging does come from positions and contributions I've had to apply for in some way. But I doubt it would have stopped me from publishing this blog if this hadn't been the case. It was a point that was thrown directly in the faces of some of our EFR reviewers at this year's Fringe: on two occasions that I know of, our student critics were challenged, on the Mile or in a venue, by someone who felt we were unfit to review. Who were we? What training had we had? What right had we to write "anything we liked" about these shows? Well, in a world of blogs and social networking and online interactivity, we can technically - within reason and the law of course - write anything we like. Of course, we don't. We have a particular aim, our reviewers were presented with style guides, tips and of course their reviews were edited if necessary. But the issue goes beyond practical points of organisation. These comments and accusations were troubling and offensive to me because of their attitude to young critics and student writers. I'm not sure what "training" these people expected us to have, but the best form of training is experience. Yes, you can improve your grammar, or perhaps be given lessons in the art of a witty opener. But if you're seeing lots of theatre, thinking lots about theatre and most of all writing lots about it, that's training: and that's the way to improve. Certainly, young and amateur reviewers such as myself and other EFR reviewers (and many, many others at the Fringe and beyond) will have less experience. It may appear laughable that I'm here writing about the way to becoming a good critic when I am only 21 and have only been reviewing for a couple of years. But to suggest that we stop reviewing for these reasons is ludicrous. The whole point is to encourage and, if you like, "train" a new generation of critics. Take, for example, the current production of Twelfth Night at the Globe: there is no press night until the West End transfer, a point discussed by Mark Shenton in his blog for The Stage ('Shenton's View'). Therefore, for the large part, the reviews coming in are unofficial, from the pens and keyboards of paying audience members: from those well-known for their writing (e.g. Dominic Cavendish, who took it upon himself to purchase a ticket in order to review the show) to those lesser known members of the public putting their opinion out there on blogs or social networking sites. And oh look - some of them are interesting, articulate, well-informed! Who knew! And although they may not have quite the readership that Cavendish's Telegraph review will have got, on that one night they saw and heard the same show as him, and decided to write up their thoughts, opinions and judgements just as he did. Some of them will be better written and have more supporting knowledge than others; but the point is that, unusually, these opinions are the ones that might be read for a change, in the absence of organised press. Which is great! Let's face it, if we leave it all up to the Michael Billingtons and Lyn Gardners of the world, what happens when they're no longer writing? And how does a new breed of young, enthusiastic, talented writers emerge if not through experience, practice and recognition?

This is one of the most frustrating elements of being a critic in the context of student theatre in particular. The investment into student productions can be epic in terms of time, emotion, creative belief and - sometimes - money. It is of course natural that nobody likes getting a negative review. Furthermore, it is certainly reasonable that performers, directors and anyone else involved should not expect to be personally attacked, mocked or insulted in a review - every comment should be fair, relevant and justified. But are reviewers extended the same courtesy? Well, not always. I have seen and heard critics being slated by dissatisfied thesps and comedians more savagely than the critic themselves slated the show. Why is it acceptable in one direction and not the other? There can be (and in most cases should be) a tendency to show generosity towards young performers, which is important to encourage fresh creative talent: they're trying something new; the intention was there, if not the execution; credit where it's due, they're a young team with potential; they're learning their way in the industry. Well, so are young critics. We too are learning how to be the best that we can be - developing our art, finding our voice, adjusting and practising and finding our way, and always improving. Feedback is great. Rejection and dismissal is not.

At university, there are so many opportunities to be a critic; beyond this, the trail in search of a paid job runs cold for many. Amongst all the schemes encouraging youngsters into the arts, critics should not be forgotten. Being dismissed as "amateurs" and therefore not worthy of having our opinion heard is disheartening, rather insulting and not healthy for the field, which needs to have new blood just as much as the realms of directing, writing and acting. I'm not saying everyone would write good reviews. But many would. And yes, I'll be confident and brave and say it - I would. We're all part of this fantastic industry, this amazing world of theatre - and we shouldn't be shut out.

Edinburgh Fringe Day 3 - Attraction & Animosity, Editor's Guilt, and some Improv.

After many nervous and increasingly stressful hours of waiting for deliverymen...We have EFR jumpers! They are bright bright red, shamelessly promotional things of beauty. But they also have a strange, Marmite effect - people are either drawn to you as if you're some kind of big scarlet magnet, or run away in deadly fear. Certainly there are many performers desperate for extra publicity and for reviews, and I love being out on the Royal Mile and chatting to people about their shows - I've heard that last year a couple of our reviewers literally got chased down the Mile by someone wanting a review written of their show. There's such a buzz here and it's brilliant seeing the amount of hard work and passion that goes into an extraordinary variety of shows. But I've heard other tales from reviewers that crowds part in front of them, as if some weird Moses-like aura  is attached to the jumpers. I certainly had my own strange experience when I reviewed my first show yesterday, Rosa Robson and Matilda Wnek's Beard. Entering the Baillie Room at Assembly, the entire room - audience and the show's tech team - turned and stared. Just stared, without any subtlety or embarrassment. Effortlessly grabbing the attention of an entire room of people purely by walking in is maybe every girl's secret dream, but this wasn't quite how I'd imagined it. It was disconcerting, as if they were all thinking - "ARGH. REVIEWER. JUDGEMENT. EVIL EVIL DREAM-DESTROYING CRITIC" (for the record, I didn't destroy any dreams - the girls gave a great show, and you can read my review here! http://edfringereview.com/r/UBpVkrfMQAamNUa9XDx6yg Shameless plug no.2). It reinforced what a strange position being a theatre critic is sometimes - involved in the theatre scene but not part of the gang, as it were. Apparently a strange beast, to be feared and not quite to be trusted... So walking around the Fringe with this big label of 'REVIEWER' stuck to me is going to be interesting.

Next, a small word of warning about the Free Fringe. It can be wacky and surprising and exhilarating and confusing and disappointing - and it can apparently be highly traumatic. One reviewer returned to the house so dumbstruck from such an intensely disturbing one-man show last night that I felt immense editorial guilt for unknowingly putting her through such an experience. So if you're looking for something different and unusual at the Fringe, there's plenty of choice. Just make sure it won't mess up your mental health.

However if you're looking to laugh yourself silly, go and see The Improverts! Yes, you! Go! See them! They are Bedlam Theatre's resident improv troupe from Edinburgh University and provided the best hour of improv I've seen. The cast of 5 were so slick, so tight, so quick and so, so funny: from conversing in sentences beginning with consecutive letters of the alphabet to a guessing game involving prosthetic legs smuggled inside bananas from Uruguay, the (surprising) all-male group dealt with everything thrown at them by the game formats and by the audience (including some drunk hecklers - this was a post-midnight show after all). Of course there were elements which didn't quite work, as is the tendency of improv, but in this case the hilarity far outdid the flop moments. David Elms particularly stood out for his accents, quick-thinking, subtlety and wittiness, but he was the leader of a strong ensemble performance. I can't recommend them enough - go go go before they sell out!!

And now if you'll excuse me, the sun is shining and I'm off to meet a star of Skins and review his play. Laters.