(These were the cards I made for everybody for opening night which was last night. It's a line from the play about women in the theater, which I thought was funny... :)
(Warning: venting alert)
Over the years I've heard more than once that dentists supposedly have the highest suicide rates, followed closely by vets. I have no idea if this is actually true or more of an urban myth, but the thinking behind why is that these people ostensibly go into these professions in order to help, or have a positive impact on the patients they are treating. Usually a veterinarian has a love for animals and wants to help them, and dentists probably think they are doing some good for people by helping with their oral hygiene. And thank goodness for vets and dentists, by the way. Oral hygiene IS very important.
The rub, as they say, is that pretty much all animals smell the vet waiting room and pee on themselves and go into flight or fight mode. Likewise humans at the dentist. And so these professionals are confronted with the hairy and probably painful realization that the very beings on which their professional lives have been built helping and on which their livelihoods depend, actually despise them. Whether the connection to the suicide rate is accurate or not, it's interesting.
Likewise I think it must be strange to be a theater critic. Not unlike the vet I think you could argue that your average reviewer probably wanted to be an actor at some point, maybe a director. Acting is the gateway drug for most teenagers into the land of show business, after all. At the very least, one could presume a love for the theater and a desire to be a part of it on some level--let's say ANY level. Everyone's gifts in life are different, and finding your niche and where you fit in is a right--or maybe a privilege--that personally I hope everyone gets to enjoy. And if you love theater and your gifts include good grammar and critical thinking, maybe criticism is the field for you. And if you get a paycheck for it and it feels like a good fit--more power to you! It's a big tent and there's room for everybody! But. Like the whimpering dogs and hissing cats downwind of their local clinic, don't expect many of your would-be theatrical peers to actually like you. Or appreciate you. The very world you seek to be a part of would rather have nothing to do with you, thank you very much.
When I read a particularly senselessly cruel review I always have the same mental picture: a jaded and bitter ex-chorus boy sitting in a tiny, dark apartment, the "Pippin" soundtrack playing in the background, his face lit by his computer screen, his finger hovering over the "enter" key...he smiles to himself, hits return, and pours himself another bourbon. And my wish is that solid, peaceful sleep eludes him for as long as the newspaper employs him.
Where am I going with this?
We opened our play last night and it was a wonderful, wonderful evening and we all felt so proud and so full and relieved, somewhat, and of course, tired. We have worked so hard on this play for 2 months. Two solid months of our lives, rehearsing, performing, fine-tuning--hours of conversations about what was going on and why and who these people were and why do they do the things they do, etc. Our hearts, souls and minds were given over to this process as a group and it was to do the very best, most fully-realized version of this play that we were capable of doing. And so many people have genuinely loved it. No newspaper is printing their comments, but we hear them. And it's from people
that I love who love me and understand what we're trying to do and those are the things you can safely believe in.
At its best, theater is an experiment and you throw something up and see what happens. And you know there will always be people who love it or hate it. And of course every person has a right to their opinion. But to put it in print...
I don't read reviews. I take my own advice and ignore both the good and the bad. Philosophically I can't reject the bad ones and then agree with the good ones. So my solution is to dismiss them all, out of hand. It is one person's opinion--a person I do not know and who does not know me. It inherently has no value because I don't know where this person is coming from (besides their own villainious, lonely, fiery circle of hell built brick by brick out of the truckloads of personal and professional rejections they have doubtlessly suffered). And it's fine to be bitter. But to put it in print...
So I don't read reviews. BUT. It is damn near impossible to not catch a whiff of things here and there. And so I have gathered that our reviews were not awesome and that one, in particular, was especially not awesome. (And please, if you have read or will read them, don't send me anything, not even the good ones.) And it's their job, etc, etc. But now it is in print and now we have to go onstage 8 times a week for 8 more weeks and be proud of our show and pour 100% of our lifeblood out on stage for the people in the audience. Offer up our vulnerable hearts night after night. And so that is obviously exactly what we will do. And happily! Because how lucky and fortunate are we that we get to do this? Somebody gives me money for this! I'm a grown-up and I walk around a pretend room in fake hair saying words and trying to make them seem as real as possible! So that's what I'll be doing tonight. What will you be doing tonight, Mr. Critic?
Which I think is my point: we actually built something. We made something. We did it together as a group. We didn't tear anything, or anybody down in the process. We have celebrated and appreciated each other the entire two months and will continue to do it for the duration of our run and I'd rather live that way.
And I slept great last night, by the way.
