Why I Write

I feel compelled to write this. I’ve been reviewing solidly for just under a year, during which time a number of questions have arisen; questions critics finds themselves asking about their work. Now feels like the right time to address them.

Having studied journalism as a post grad there was a great deal to be learnt in a short period of time. Reporting, research skills, online news writing, features, shorthand - it was all covered. The basics were certainly learnt for a newbie news reporter but there was little, if anything, in the way of arts writing, nevermind reviewing. Most likely because such work rarely results in a paid, full-time position and the dreaded freelance often goes unpaid too. The one class that seemed most useful, Arts and Entertainment writing, lacked any clear mapping, enthusiasm or quite frankly, attendance on the part of the tutor who took a Buddhist approach to his teaching when he did show up.

As such, I can confidently say what I have learnt has been trial and error. I’ve been serendipitous in receiving a great deal of support and guidance from editors I’ve bumped into on my way. When you’re new to anything, having someone to advise and steer you in the right direction is not only invaluable, it also helps you forget your inexperience and enjoy the learning part.

My first real taste was spending three weeks writing for the Skinny as a performance critic and resident ‘specialist magic writer’ at the Fringe. I was watching shows, battering out reviews or waitressing. It wasn’t until the dust settled that I was able to reflect on what I had learned.

I love language and expression and honestly this is why I write. What’s odd is that I’ve not met another journalist or arts writer who says the same thing. I used to question my reason was in some way inadequate but I now believe it to be the best reason to do what I do. Studying English helped with critiquing and having enjoyed literary debates, they morphed into film and theatre ones once I left the comfort of the lecture halls.

Without my realising, my work has taken its own shape. It’s a curious feeling to discover you have a voice you never heard before. I was aware of avoiding certain style aspects in my work, rather than specifically include them. Nastiness and callous commentary I find self-indulgent, unpleasant and boring to read. Hitchcock once said the mark of a good director was never to feel his presence and I think there’s a similar thing to be said of reviewing. Perhaps my inexperience discourages me from delving too deeply into a performance and I often worry about my inadequate or sketchy knowledge when reviewing a piece.

I’m learning not to worry about this. As with anything, the more you find out about something, the less you feel you actually know. I let the performance wash over me and if it makes me feel anything, I talk about that; if it doesn’t, I try to reflect why. I’ve realised it’s important to watch anything you’re asked to review. I recently wrote a piece on Japanese narrative cinema with almost no prior knowledge. I’ve discovered this makes unknown subjects fun and often I find these reviews turn out rather well.

Subject and style aside, I find myself wondering about the job of a critic. Who are we? Where does this inherent authority come from and why should anyone listen? A better way to think of it may be to consider the critic’s relationships: the most obvious and important being that with the audience as we sit together, responding and experiencing the same story. Then there’s the creative nature of the writer. Are we another artist too? It is a form of art though a strange one it be; commenting on other people’s creativity using your own but not really creating anything artistic yourself. I certainly feel a sense of duty to explore the piece I’m writing about whether I think it’s good or not, so there’s a relationship with the performers and the subject too. This is only polite. Maybe I’m wrong. Perhaps we ought to be detached, mere voyeurs who quickly type-up two-hundred words of information and instruction for what to expect. I’ve never been able to get on board with this one, but I’m a bit romantic when it comes to movies and theatre. I think great writing is born from passion and a review is no different.

Then there’s the problem of opinion. A review is an argument, a set of opinions which must be justified and explained to be worthy of contemplation and a writer can’t help but ask, what side am I on? Am I rooting for a performance because it’s brave and bold, or if it’s been done before, should I be harder on it and expect new things? If the budget for the movie is huge does that mean I expect better? What if there’s a modest budget, a shoddy final production but some real talent buried beneath? How do I write that up…

The creative nature of writing can be a burden and while any number of thoughts, emotions and opinions ricochet around the confines of my mind, I have to present them in an honest, thoughtful and readable way. A blank word document is a daunting thing. This is often the hardest stage of the process. People have little patience for bad writing (as well they should) and the author has a mere handful of words to engage our interest and keep it - I say ‘our’ because I’m a reader too and mustn’t think of myself exclusively as a reviewer. Distance and all that. Seems obvious, but all-too-often I think writers get caught up in the ‘art’ and forget that in essence, all they’re really doing is advising people on whether or not a film is worth seeing. Sometimes my words cannot be teased out and I am simply unable to communicate what I mean. For me, this is the most unpleasant aspect of writing and while these moments are becoming fewer, they continue to exist; I’m not sure they ever go away.

There’s no manual and there are any number of different ways to write. No editor has told me the definitive rules of a great piece. These ‘rules’ I do think exist are often obliterated in some fantastically rebellious or experimental articles and I find myself back at the drawing board. All I can do is keep thinking and typing and experimenting and watching in the hope of producing work that readers find informative, entertaining and with any luck, memorable.