Criticism: Compliment or insult?

The free-lance drama critic Wendy Rosenfield recently took me to task for publicly excoriating one of my own contributors, the free-lace drama critic Jim Rutter. In one of his BSR reviews, Rutter had mentioned his practice of sending private correspondence to directors, “designed to convince certain performers either to improve their craft or find another line of work.” (See “Meltdown in Media.”)

I responded by asking rhetorically, “Which is worse— a theater director who tries to intimidate critics from writing about his show, or a theater critic who tries to intimidate actors from performing?” (For my full column, click here.)

Rosenfield subsequently accused me of insulting one of my own writers: “If Rottenberg doesn't like the content of Rutter's review,” she blogged last month in ArtsJournal.com, “it's his job as editor to return the review for a rewrite, and explain where Rutter's logic doesn't work…. It's certainly not his job to use one of his writers' articles, an article he's supposedly vetted for its coherence and readiness for viewing, as a springboard for his own attack on that writer. An editor is supposed to have your back, not stab you in it.” Rosenfield concluded by posing a rhetorical question for me: “Considering Rutter's history of effort in behalf of your publication, why would you want to hurt him?”

My vocal neighbor

It ill behooves a critic, of all people, to object to criticism. Rosenfield reminds me of a Center City neighbor of mine who shows up faithfully at community meetings to shout down any speaker with whom she disagrees— but who once prefaced her own comments by declaring, “I’m going to make a statement, and I don’t want anyone to respond to it!”

What we have here, I submit, is a disagreement about the nature of criticism. Rosenfield seems to see criticism as an insult; I see it as a compliment (and I think Rutter does too, to judge from his cheerful private response to my column in question). Criticism is a sign that the critic takes you seriously. Otherwise, why would I waste my time criticizing you?

An editor's mantra

Philadelphia Magazine's longtime editor Alan Halpern was famous for his heroic efforts to protect and defend the fragile egos of his writers. I differ slightly: In my similarly long career as editor of seven different publications, I’ve often remarked that there’s nothing I won’t do for my writers— except shield them from criticism.

What, I ask you, is the purpose of writing for a mass audience if not to stimulate dialogue? And how can writers sharpen their blades if praise is the only feedback they receive? Rosenfield wonders why I would use one of my writers’ articles as “a springboard” with which to attack that writer. I used Jim’s article because it ideally served BSR’s purpose: to seek truth by provoking dialogue. Rutter’s article gave me the opportunity to respond to an idea that, frankly, strikes me as bizarre.

Simon vs. Streisand

That idea— Rutter’s professed practice of privately lobbying directors to banish certain actors from their stages— certainly merits discussion, especially since Rutter isn’t alone. The celebrated film and drama critic John Simon saw himself as a guardian of artistic standards, in which role he felt compelled to drive mediocrities (as he saw them) out of the profession, usually by ridiculing their physical features. Thus Wallace Shawn was "unsightly" to Simon, and Barbra Streisand's nose "cleaves the giant screen from east to west, bisects it from north to south. It zigzags across our horizon like a bolt of fleshy lightning."

The trouble with this tactic is that by driving any performer from the stage or screen, a critic restricts the choices of audiences who might not share his tastes. As BSR readers may be aware, I have no use for the trendy serial magazine editor Tina Brown or the New Yorker’s facile pop sociologist Malcolm Gladwell, and I’ve said so. (Read my 2009 Gladwell parody here.) But if other people want to read Brown or Gladwell, why on earth would I want to prevent them? Besides, it’s always possible that I’m wrong and they’re right.

The coach’s tongue-lashing

During a football scrimmage years ago, when I was an obscure fourth-string end on the Penn team, an assistant coach named Jim Castle suddenly began picking on me mercilessly, play after play, at the top of his voice and in front of all my teammates, deriding me as “gutless,” a “pussyfooter,” a "sissy" and (worst of all!) a “mama’s boy.” At that moment I wanted to dig a hole in the ground and disappear.

After a few minutes of these tongue-lashings, Castle noticed my dejection. “You’re worried because I’m yelling at you?” he shouted. “Let me tell you something: The day you should really worry is the day I stop yelling at you— because that’ll mean I’ve given up on you.” At that moment the light bulb clicked in my brain. My God, I remember telling myself excitedly, this guy thinks I’m a serious football player! He wasn’t insulting me after all; by taking me seriously, he was paying me a compliment.

I later learned that Castle often put his players through that ordeal because, when he had played for Penn, a coach had done the same thing to him. Castle apparently believed the experience was beneficial. Me too. Far better to be criticized than to be ignored.♦

To read a response, click here.