Writing Reviews

           When thou reviewest this, thou dost review

                                                    The very part was consecrate to thee.

                                                                                 William Shakespeare (Son. 74)

 Review A: “Audience members FAINT during bloodthirsty showing of Shakespeare’s Titus

            Andronicus”   —Mail Online.

Review B: “First of all a warning: the production of Shakespeare’s Titus Andronicus…is not

                    suitable for children.  And that is a huge shame.”  —Robert Crew for Stage,

        The Toronto Star.

Review C: “This splash elaboration of Ms. Taymor’s 1994 Off Broadway production turns Titus

                   Andronicus into a fluid time-traveling fantasia on violence and revenge that has the

                   look and feel of a sophisticated video game.”  —Stephen Holden for The New York

                   Times.

WHY AND HOW OF REVIEWS

Whereas we explore and interpret when we write essays about literature, reviews are an opportunity to voice an opinion: to promote and pan, to praise and to criticize.  In an interpretative essay, we turn the words on the page into a three-dimensional experience.  In a review, we take the three-dimensional medium of the play and present it in writing.  In a review, we entice others to see particular performances or we warn them off.  Writing reviews is an opportunity to own and hone your sensibilities—what Shakespeare refers to in the epigraph as the part “consecrate to thee.”

How do we convince others of our point of view? In his Rhetoric, Aristotle distinguished three forms of appeal: emotional, ethical, and logical. 

Emotional appeals are laden with sex and violence, tempting us to vicariously (and blamelessly) partake in what later Christian texts term as the seven deadly sins:  Anger, Envy, Gluttony, Greed, Lust, Pride, and Sloth.  Ultimately, for Aristotle, in an effective play, good prevails through what he calls “catharsis,” reaffirming the cardinal virtues of wisdom, justice, courage, and moderation.  Emotional appeals provoke strong emotions and quick reactions through vivid language and sensuous/sensual details.

Ethical appeals establish believability.  They create confidence in the authority of the speaker/writer and in the authority of those who are cited. We are invited to vicariously enjoy the caché of of someone “in the know.” Through dramatic irony, we, the audience, and the reviewers who guide us, are meant to feel we are “on the right side.”

Logical appeals inform and reason with us. Because performances are essentially drama—the stuff of human emotions—heavy logical appeals might deteriorate into lecturing or summarizing.  Boring the readers of our reviews will surely not satisfy the purpose of promoting a play or creating confidence in us as reviewers. The best reviews combine all three kinds of appeals with verve, personality, voice, and knowledge.

The review excerpts above make strong appeals. “Audience members FAINT” instantly piques emotional interest: Danger! Danger! Read on to size up how safe we are. Violence. Fear. Vigilance.  If we are tempted to skim, the all-caps FAINT will ensure we don’t. Once our attention is captured and we commit to reading on, momentum builds with the word “bloodthirsty.”  For those who like horror and thrillers, here’s an opportunity to indulge in some bloodlust, anger, greed, even pride—What wimps others are!  I can take it.  I’ve got a superhero’s heart! 

Headline A is followed by an effective review technique: a bulleted list, starting with these three items:

·        Tragedy has the reputation of being the Bard’s bloodiest play

·        Audience treated to scenes of rape, mutilation, murder and cannibalism

·        The Globe’s current production…

The first item on this list is an ethical appeal to the reader’s need to be “in the know”:

the writer knows the buzz on this play, and “surely you are privy to it,” too.  The cozy use of “the Bard” is gossipy and friendly.  Using Shakespeare’s nicknames implies the writer as his familiar—thus increasing credibility. The detailed list of atrocities in the second bulleted item shows that the reviewer knows the performance well.  That the performance is at The Globe—the contemporary remake of the historic theatre in London—further adds to the writer’s ethical appeal:  the fainting audience was at an important performance. As for a logical appeal, we can argue that all three items give us historical information: that Titus Andronicus is a tragedy and Shakespeare’s most bloody; that the play includes a range of violent acts; that the performance was at The Globe.

WHAT TO INCLUDE IN A REVIEW

            Headline: As you write your review of a performance—whether stage, film, or video—develop a headline to grab readers on the emotional level:

            Audience members FAINT during bloodthirsty showing of Shakespeare’s Titus

                        Andronicus

            Shakespeare’s bloodbath becomes a sadistic delight in Titus Andronicus

It’s a Sort of Family Dinner, Your Majesty

“Would I were a devil”:  Shakespeare’s Rockin’ Horror Show at The Bellevue

Crafting the headline is a crucial focusing tool. You sharpen your opinion and develop your anticipated relationship with your readers. Use dazzling expressions as in Review C: “bloodthirsty,” “splash,” “time-traveling fantasia,” and “sophisticated video game.”   The best titles will include the title of the play, and, if there’s a celebrity cast, the names of lead actors. 

Head your review with a quote from, in this case, Shakespeare!  The fourth headline above, “Would I were a devil”:  Shakespeare’s Rockin’ Horror Show at The Bellevue, starts with a quote from Aaron, the arch villain in Titus Andronicus.  A direct quote will place your readers into a front row seat. 

Bulleted List:  A bulleted list gives your readers a lively summary of what’s to follow (and you, further strategies for focusing)  Remember that no one has to read your review and that readers might have a short attention span.  Keep them surprised.

Title, author, venue, dates:  Since the purpose is to attract or discourage audience to a performance, it’s crucial that we know the what, where, when, and who of it.  Lyn Garner’s review of Titus Andronicus for The Guardian starts like this:

Nasty, but oh so very, very nice.  Lucy Bailey’s 2006 revival returns to the Globe, and

     it’s gorier and funnier than ever.

We learn the name of the director, when it is and where.  Notice that Garner mentions the word “revival” which signals that this is a play.  In his review of the film Titus, Holden indicates the genre in his first paragraph:

            …the director Julie Taymor has adopted in her shattering screen adaptation…

Let us know whether the performance you are reviewing is a concert, play, musical, opera, film, or audience-interactive experience.

Your purpose:  To riff on Mark Antony’s eulogy in Julius Caesar: Are you here to praise a performance or to bury it?  Make this clear in all of your introductory materials.  Use charged words that cluster at either the positive or negative poles of an emotional continuum.

Create a personal connection with your reader:  Reviews A, B, and C make personal connections with readers.  Review A warns while it invites: This production is not for the squeamish.  Review B is concerned about children: aw, what a nice person wrote this.  Review C wants to play a video game with us. 

Use allusions to pop culture.  “Rockin’ Horror Show” in the headline above references the cult classic Rocky Horror Show, and creates a sense of familiarity for your reader.

Reviews are for showing personality—show yours. Know what matters to you and anticipate what matters to your potential readers—whether it’s sex, violence, money, religion, fishing—whatever.  Which of the seven deadlies does the performance explore?   

Compare this production with others: 

Comparing and contrasting the performance to others will help you delve deeper into your experience and establish further reviewer credibility.

POINTS OF ENTRY

            The heart of your review is how clearly you support your yes, no, or maybe, with specific details of the performance you saw.  The word “critic” derives from a Greek word meaning ‘question.’  Question aspects of the play that caught your interest.  Here are some points of entry for reviewing a live performance.  Don’t attempt to address every aspect of the play.  Any one of these would provide ample opportunity to promote or pan the performance:

1.      Staging:

a.      Set: Does the set offer visual metaphors for the dynamics of the play?  For example, were there any numerical symbols, such as three spears or seven chairs?

b.      Costumes, Make-up, Hair: Do these further amplify the characters?

c.      Lighting: Does the lighting effectively guide our attention? How?

d.      Sound: How do the sound effects orchestrate your experience?  Was there effective use of dimming, spotlights, coloring, and movement?

e.      Props: Do the props appropriately prop up the action?

2.      Acting:

a.      Casting:  Are the actors appropriately cast for the roles they play: physically, vocally, by ability?  Which actor(s) most effectively brought the play to life for you?  Which caused you difficulty, and why?  Do the actors deliver their lines in keeping with the action?  Do their gestures enhance their delivery?

b.      Directing:  Is the action on stage smooth and appropriate for the play?  Are interactions between characters effective and balanced?

3.      Adaptation:  

a.      Does the play (film or video) stay faithful to the text, throughout? 

b.      If it is a translation—either to another language, another genre (such as a musical or opera or film), or to a time and place not originally intended by the script—what is the effect of the performance?  How does it affect your interpretation of the play, as text?

c.      Are there gender switches—male characters played by females and vice versa? How does this affect your view of the play?

d.      What are the effects of any cuts or additions? 

e.      Was the play audience-interactive?  How?  What was the effect on you?

f.       Compare this production to others

4.      Reviewers: Do you agree or disagree with other reviewers’ views? How and why?

5.      Relevance to the community

CHECKLIST

Here’s a checklist of points of entry for your review.  You do not have to incorporate all the strategies.  These are reminders of what’s possible:

            Format:

       Headline

       Bulleted List

       Title, author, venue, time

       Purpose

       Readers

       Point(s) of Entry:  Staging and Acting

       Adaptation

       Other reviewers

       Other performances

Emotional appeal:  

       Charged words and expressions

       Humor and wit

       Personal reactions

       Relevance to the community

Ethical appeal: 

       Establish your believability

       Incorporate production details

       Reference to experts and other reviewers

Logical appeal: 

       Background and other relevant information

Dailiness: Showing Up for Yourself

Dailiness: The fact or condition of happening or being done on a daily basis. 

Also: the quality of being ordinary, routine, or mundane; everyday character; 

reliable regularity. 

                                                                              (Oxford University Press Dictionaries Online).

            When I was nine years old, I scissored open two brown paper bags from the corner Acme. I flattened and ironed out the creases, taped them together and cut-off extra areas to form a rectangle.  Facing the word Acme toward the wall, I taped the paper to the wall next to the bed where grandmother and I slept.  Using her yardstick and a black marker that made my face burn with its smell, I drew a grid of 10 rows and 30 or so columns.  In the left row of lines, I listed all the things I wanted to do or achieve daily—nine-year old things such as Practice Piano, Wash Dishes, Feed Bookie, Iron Blouse, Polish Shoes, and Brush Teeth. At the top of the columns I wrote the date. With my weekly dollar, I went to the stationery store down the block to buy gold and silver; red, blue, and green foil stars.  This was in the days before self-stick, when the surfaces of the stars were raised, as if carved, and the backs were gummed for licking.  Whenever I completed one of my tasks, I gave myself a star—the color indicating whether I did it perfectly (gold), well (silver)…all the way down to green for decent.  At night, I loved seeing the neatly spaced stars sparkle with the lights of passing cars, the bright moon, or the dawning sun. I felt happy with myself, whether or not my mother came home at night, or my father kept my stepmother from hitting me.

            But the tasks on my list were adult requirements, and I tired of the growing blank boxes on my chart, the stars more like haphazard constellations, more silver than gold, and then more green than blue.  What started out as a creative act of self-care turned into another chore that made me feel trapped.

            Decades later, I opened a blank Microsoft document, formatted for seven columns for the days of a week and fifteen or so rows. Instead of listing items driven by other-directed requirements, such as work, meetings, laundry, I list things to help me keep focused on what I value—such as 20 minutes of home yoga, meditation, singing, writing three pages in my journal (which I call “Musings”).  It’s too easy to get lost in the undertow of Email, internet distractions, Netflix—so I include reading poetry as an item, cardio exercise, writing something new, revising something old. Instead of checking Pinterest or Snapchat, I check my check list.  And it’s not an incidental to-do list that changes daily (although I do write those in at the bottom of my list for the next day).  This is a deeper commitment.

Every day is a work of art—how we begin and end it shapes the between which is life, itself.  So I list a modest “Make bed” as the first item: I start my day on a note of clarity, accomplishment, investment in tonight’s sleep. Others might write “Pray” or “Run” or “Eat breakfast.”  I was always lonely as a child, so evenings were painful—it’s when I became addicted to television.  I make sure now to write reminders to myself of what’s healthier in the evenings—writing a daily list of gratitudes, reading more poetry or prose, cleaning around the house, phoning a friend—taking care of those teeth.

I use my week-at-a-glance lists to monitor my current devotions—as for example tracking weight.  I add, subtract, revise items according to how I trend.  My lists tell me if I’m keeping up with things that matter to me.  If not, I rethink and recast my whats, hows, and whens. My check marks are like gold stars, but I practice flexibility.  I play games with myself when needed: “10 out of 15 was great for today!” “Superstar day of 14 of 15!” After all, my li­­­sts are about shaping my day as I wish and acknowledging my progress-not-perfection.

What we do every day—the no-big deal twenty minutes of yoga, for example—is what will turn into the biggest deals in our lives. Anthony Trollope wrote for only an hour a day before his job as a postal surveyor on the railroad, yet he created dozens of novels, articles, plays.  Dailiness is what matters—for the Olympic gymnast who wakes up every morning at 4:00 AM to practice three hours before school; for the mother who tends her baby through diapers, fears, and joys; for the student who spends an hour before classes to work on her papers and revisions; for the writer to write every day. As Yogi Pattabhi Jois said, “Practice, and all is coming.”

At age nine, my lists started in exuberance but devolved into a trap.  Some mistake living by the whim of the moment, uprootedness with freedom. But, as Robert Frost said, “Freedom is moving easy in harness.” Now my weekly lists liberate me from distractions, keep me focused on how I want to grow, and offer me an overview of where I started, where I’m going. 

Have I been “reliably regular”? Have I showed up for what matters?

How might you shape and reward yourself in your dailiness?