BY JUSTINA LUI
Three-star reviews are the critical equivalent of a shepherd’s pie: an inoffensive crowd-pleaser that quells hunger pangs but is ultimately forgettable.
Unfortunately, it seems most published reviews are propped up by this tasteless practice, giving the reader but three non-committal pointer stars to navigate by. I have noticed a similar trend in conversation: ‘Oh, it was interesting’, or ‘Yeah, it was good’. These are usually followed by some vague qualifying statements such as: ‘I really liked the soprano’, or ‘The third movement was my favourite’. But what does this really mean? Should I go and see it, too? Will it touch me? Or will it be three hours of my life I’ll never get back?
When Shakespeare’s greatest over-thinker proclaimed: ‘There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so’ (Hamlet), he could very well have been alluding to the relationship between art and art criticism. Ideally, we should all have an active relationship with art: some combination of creation, consumption and discussion. Art can generate reflection, showcase culture and encourage us to further explore the human condition. Yet, we seem to be in a hurry to dismiss it with a simple opinion: good, or bad. Often, that’s all the conversation demands of us and we are not pushed to further qualify these statements. Surely, we are doing ourselves a disservice by reducing a work into a binary object – something we should either retain in our consciousness or discard. Furthermore, are we doing so at the expense of open, honest, critical discussion?
It is unfair that ‘having opinions’ has negative connotations, as one doesn’t necessarily have to be derogatory in order to give an honest appraisal of an experience. Opinions are a reflection of personal values. So naturally, a degree of self-consciousness is involved – you may be wary of ruffling feathers, or fear appearing uneducated. If art criticism were to do away with the premise that there is a right or wrong response to what you have just witnessed, we could all talk more openly about the ideas involved without fear of embarrassment. This is the fear that is feeding our complacency and hindering real engagement with the experience.
Personally, I feel that by giving mediocrity a pass mark above 50 per cent, we become guilty of fostering art that is under par. Compounding this problem is how we are blinded by bright lights: the big name headliner or national company with a large budget. We are attracted by the name and this, in turn, brings an expectation that any work produced will be of a certain, high quality. Regrettably, this is a fallacy. All that glitters is not gold: a reputation isn’t a guarantee. So, despite the lack of an objective measuring stick, it is crucial that we are able to walk out of a performance and hold it up to our own personal standards. It’s important to have standards. For me, this is the point during which something speaks to you, on some level. We should build the confidence to trust our own ears and voices when we engage with art. This is a symbiotic relationship, because it is through the viewing of art that we discover what these standards are – and how they change over time.
And here is what I value and find the most interesting in reviews: a personal response to a piece – a soliloquy that delves into ideas stemming from the performance. The performance is merely the trigger to further explore ideas, themes, creative choices; in fact, whatever you are inspired to mention. Instead, reviewers often give a soccer-commentary style piece that merely describes what was seen or heard. Art should make you feel something. It should raise questions, shed new light on things we take for granted, or lead us down an unfamiliar path. Whether what you experienced was unsettling or enjoyable, you should be able to express it.
The relationship between true art and art criticism can be complex, with the subjectivity of personal opinion often at odds with what is considered to be ‘true art’. However, I find a lukewarm review, which doesn’t offer any substantial insight into the ideas contained in a piece, to be about as useful as a screen door on a submarine. Instead, we should replace this simplistic notion of ‘good’ and ‘bad’ art with the image of art as a diving board from which we plunge into the deep end.
About the author:
Justina Lui holds a Graduate Diploma in Music from the Melbourne Conservatorium and an LLB from the Melbourne Law School. An active chamber musician and new music supporter, she has spent the last two years in Paris, France playing with Le COGE, a semi professional orchestra and teaching English. She completed the Australian Youth Orchestra’s Words about Music program and was shortlisted for the Robert Maycock Memorial Prize for Music Criticism in 2014. She struggles to communicate with hairdressers and cooking polenta.
Image: Kerry Reinking via Flickr CC2.0.
