BroadwayWorld's nonReview of Spider-Man

Last night I could have seen Spider-Man: Turn Off The Dark on the boss' dime. Instead, I stayed home and wrote this. Dumb move? Sure, I would have loved a freebie for the most talked-about show in town, if only it didn't come with the obligation to review the production before the (latest) announced opening date of March 15th.

As you no doubt know, individual reviews have been trickling in throughout the show's extended preview period and last night was supposed to have been - at least until the day after Glenn Beck pronounced it as the greatest musical he's ever seen - opening night for the enterprise whose weekly grosses have been confirming the notion that there's no such thing as bad publicity.

But this morning the newsstands and press web sites are loaded with reviews from critics who, when considering Broadway's greatest moral dilemma since, "Can I really cast one vote for all three Billy Elliots when I've only seen two of them perform?," decided that, instead of waiting until March for their two complimentary seats, they (or their employers) would pony up the bucks to buy a ticket and have a write-up ready for today after all.

The subject was briefly discussed here at BroadwayWorld and my Editor-In-Chief graciously gave me the option of reviewing the musical or writing an editorial explaining why I chose not to. I have no intention of criticizing the actions of any of my colleagues, nor do I claim any higher moral ground, but if you'll indulge me for several paragraphs I'd like to jot down a few notes about the changing role of the theatre critic in the Internet age and why I'm perfectly content to wait until March... or April... or maybe never at all.

In a funny way, it really is a bit of a non-issue. Though the founding fathers probably didn't have the public's right to a professional opinion about the latest Broadway musical in mind when they wrote Freedom of The Press into The Constitution, The First Amendment does grant critics the right to buy tickets for whatever performance they want and write up their reviews. What's being challenged here is not the reviewers' right to publish when they see fit, but a system that allows them two comps for just about every theatre production in New York in exchange for allowing producers to have some control over when their work gets publicly judged.

Operas, ballets and other performing art productions generally don't "preview" in front of objective paying audiences before opening and it's a comparatively new notion in the world of theatre as well. (I have it on good authority that Aristophanes did not let Lysistrata play two weeks in Syracuse before taking it to Athens.) Some are comparing these early notices to the days when a Broadway bound musical would first play a couple of weeks in Boston or Philadelphia and be reviewed by the (invited) local press, who would go in expecting a work in progress and often offer suggestions for revisions. In those days a production would play only one or two previews in New York before the first night Broadway critics would all take in the opening performance and then rush out of the theatres to have their notices ready for the early morning papers and the late news broadcasts. (Think of the most eloquent work of Walter Kerr and Brooks Atkinson and then think of how they were whipped up in a matter of hours.) While there'd naturally be a bit of industry buzz, the morning reviews from the New York newspapers was the first major opinionated announcement to ticket-buyers that helped them decide whether or not to spend their money.

By the time I started attending Broadway shows regularly, in 1976, the practice of previewing in tryout towns and then immediately heading to New York was fading out in favor of playing regional productions long before having a New York theatre booked, taking time to work on revisions and then playing several weeks on Broadway before opening. Or even skipping out-of-town performances and just playing weeks of previews in New York. While the opinions of the critics were still of great importance, one could easily get a sense of a show's word of mouth, not to mention gossip about revisions, just by hanging out at the TKTS booth.

The Internet, of course, has changed everything. No matter where a show previews, there are immediate opinions available on theatre chat boards. Some may not be very well thought out and some may be the work of interns assigned to spread some positive buzz but a number are penned by good, intelligent writers. And they're all available, for free, to potential ticket buyers long before the members of the Broadway League's press list have had their voices heard.

If there's a growing opinion that theatre critics, "obsolete professionals" as Will Ferrell's George Bush referred to them in You're Welcome, America, have outlasted their usefulness, Spider-Man has greatly intensified the argument. Here's a Broadway show that is not only the talk of the town, but the talk of the nation, and the New York reviewing press, once considered the theatre's purveyors of good taste, is being asked to stay out of the conversation until well over 100 audiences have seen it in some version or another. And I suppose your reasons to believe that's okay or that's not okay depend on what you believe the theatre critic can contribute that is crucial to the conversation.

Take me, for example. More than whatever ability I may have as a writer, more than any knowledge I have of theatre and more than any artistic taste I may have developed, what I believe I have to offer readers is my obsessive need to expose myself to as much theatre as possible. Before becoming a critic, as a long-time member of a papering service, I would attend about 200 live performances of anything per year. That's how I socialized with friends. It still is. And if that number has shrunk closer to 150 or so performances per year since I began reviewing it's only because I need nights to do the actual writing. But seeing 200+ performances a year isn't unusual at all for many of my colleagues.

Being associated with media outlets that are included on the Broadway League's press list allows us to receive those pairs of comps to nearly every major production in New York. Our opinions may be no better or worse than anyone else's, but they come from people who can compare what they see with the general landscape of the city's stages.

And trust me, there have been plenty of times when I've read press invitations and have had no interest at all in what was being offered. But if there's a significant company or significant artists involved you make your reservation anyway and attend with a wide open mind because that's how you become better at doing the job you've been given the privilege of doing.

And despite the cliché that theatre critics salivate at the chance to cut down a show, the ones I'm friends with are all huge fans of the theatre who really do want each one to succeed. My favorite part of this job is the chance to tell readers about a wonderful new production I've seen, especially when it's put up by a small theatre company with a limited advertising budget. And yes, the worst part of the job is having to write negative criticism, but the positive comments mean nothing if I'm not willing to write the negative ones.

And with all this obsession and passion comes a deep affection for the artists whose work I view three to five times a week. I am not their adversary, even when I dislike their work. Publicly reviewing a performance that, even if the show is completely frozen for the next five weeks, is still officially a work-in-progress, I feel would be a betrayal of my respect for them. Not for a second do I question the love of theatre of any of the writers who have chosen to publish reviews, but it's just not what feels right to me. The artists being reviewed have nothing to do with the postponed openings, the price of the tickets or whether or not the audience knows they're seeing a preview. (Okay, maybe one of them has something to do with the postponements.)

Earlier this season I had a press reservation for a small Off-Off Broadway play and shortly before the date arrived I received an email from the press agent saying that, although I was still welcome to attend, it was decided that the production was not ready to be reviewed. So, at their request, I didn't review it. And if I'm willing to extend that courtesy to a small Off-Off Broadway play, I think it's only fair that I do the same for 65 million dollar Broadway spectacle.

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