Recently I conducted an informal seminar/workshop on theatre criticism at U of T, and one of the topics that came up was the issue of whether reviewers and artists can be friends.
I’ve decided that, for me anyway, the answer is no.
Over two decades of regular reviewing, I’ve received several invitations to parties, dinners and coffees or beers – not, presumably, to talk about business (an upcoming show) or anything romantic, but just to hang out.
Maybe I’d interviewed someone about a show or written favourably about them in a review.
I’ve always politely declined or been vaguely non-committal. (Too busy! So many shows! We’ll do it one day!)
More often than not these overtures to friendship come from fascinating people. Theatre and comedy types, especially performers, tend to be magnetic folks. They’re funny. They know how to tell a story. They have interesting neuroses and fantastic gossip.
And obviously we share a common passion: the love of this art form, I as someone who sees hundreds of shows a year, they as creators/interpreters onstage and behind the scenes.
One of the reasons I wanted to write about the arts in the first place was to talk to cool, intriguing people about the stuff they make. I still get to do that. And I still smile and nod and chat with theatre people I sort of know: in the aisle before the lights go down or at intermission; at the occasional opening reception where I’ll grab a quick carrot stick before leaving; at awards functions; on Twitter.
In all these scenarios, I’m there in a professional capacity. And let’s face it, it’s mutually beneficial for us both to be friendly – for access to information, for tips, to help get the word out about an upcoming show.
But do I really want to see a movie with them?
Perhaps my feelings come from a childhood fear. Is this person befriending me only to get on my good side so I’ll write nice things about them? (Childhood translation: they just like me for my new toys.)
Joking aside, I know friendship could affect my abilities and objectivity as a reviewer. If I become friends with an actor, will I be as open-minded about his or her next performance? Will I withhold saying something harsh or praise too much?
Then again, maybe I’m not allowing these potential artist friends to engage in a healthy critical discussion. From what I’ve heard, many theatre people, if they’re in a bad show, know it’s a stinker – but it’s a paycheque.
My point is I don’t want to be put in that situation. I know because it’s happened before.
Yes, despite all of the above, I’m good friends with two people who make art. We actually do go to movies, meet for coffee or beers and see a ton of theatre together. One of them I knew before he started making theatre and I started writing about it; the other I met on a blind date before I’d seen anything he’d done. (And FYI, the date didn’t lead to any romance.)
When we get together, we often don’t even talk about theatre. We just hang out. And if either of them has a show, I’ll make sure someone else reviews it. I learned this the hard way after one friend was in a terrible show, I reviewed it and avoided communicating with him after writing a negative review.
I’m sure from their perspective, it’s strange being friends with me. If other people see us together, will they assume everything in the entertainment industry is fixed, that talent doesn’t matter and it’s all about who you know?
I know others feel differently. My NOW colleague Jon Kaplan, who’s been writing about theatre longer than anyone else in the city, has lots of close friends in the theatre community. One critic, now retired, regularly directed artists whose work he would later review. One current critic recently married a playwright and actor. I assume he’ll excuse himself from reviewing her work, but what of the shows by her theatre friends? It’s a small community.
Me? I get that I’m missing out on forging some deeper connections. But perhaps my ethics have made me overly self-critical.