An American Horror Story

by 99 Seats

I'm a smart guy. I feel comfortable saying that. I'm a smart guy with a pretty sharp sense of humor and satire. But sometimes I miss a joke. It happens to the best of us. A piece of satire is so good, so sharp, so well-done that I miss the satire and take it at face value, the way some people do with, say, Swift's A Modest Proposal. So I'm open to being corrected. I'm hoping, very, very much that someone will tap me on the shoulder and say, "Uh, dude, it's a joke" about this piece by Jason Robert Brown. I'm fine with being embarrassed by my sheer, volcanic, thermonuclear rage at this thing, I'm fine with being shamefaced for going full-on medieval and looking like a jerk for missing the joke. Because I'd rather it be a joke. I do not want this to be earnest, honest advice to young artists and theatre critics. I do not want this to be portrait of how theatre artists are expected and allowed to behave. I do not want this piece to be true. So please, if you read this and get the joke, if you posted it on Facebook because you think it's so ironic and satritiric, please, please, please, publicly shame me. I'm begging you.

Because otherwise? This is why theatre sucks to work in, why theatre is rapidly becoming an artistic backwater and playground for people of privilege. This is why theatre criticism is being killed off by inches. This is why terrible artists are promoted and talented, intelligent people are fleeing the theatre by droves. This is what's wrong with theatre.

Go ahead. Go read it. Or don't. I can sum it up: When Jason Robert Brown was 23, he was invited to see a show by Stephen Sondheim that he didn't like. After the show, at dinner, he left Sondheim with the impression that he didn't like it. He felt terrible about this, called Sondheim to talk about it was given this advice, advice when JRB is offering up to young (and old!) theatre people everywhere:

Nobody cares what you think. Once a creation has been put into the world, you have only one responsibility to its creator: be supportive. Support is not about showing how clever you are, how observant of some flaw, how incisive in your criticism. There are other people whose job it is to guide the creation, to make it work, to make it live; either they did their job or they didn’t. But that is not your problem.

If you come to my show and you see me afterwards, say only this: “I loved it.” It doesn’t matter if that’s what you really felt. What I need at that moment is to know that you care enough about me and the work I do to tell me that you loved it, not “in spite of its flaws”, not “even though everyone else seems to have a problem with it,” but simply, plainly, “I loved it.” If you can’t say that, don’t come backstage, don’t find me in the lobby, don’t lean over the pit to see me. Just go home, and either write me a nice email or don’t. Say all the catty, bitchy things you want to your friend, your neighbor, the Internet.

Maybe next week, maybe next year, maybe someday down the line, I’ll be ready to hear what you have to say, but that moment, that face-to-face moment after I have unveiled some part of my soul, however small, to you; that is the most vulnerable moment in any artist’s life. If I beg you, plead with you to tell me what you really thought, what you actually, honestly, totally believed, then you must tell me, “I loved it.” That moment must be respected.

This has long been an "unwritten rule" in theatre, and now it's been written, I suppose, and we can talk about it. So let's talk about how dishonesty and lies kill an art form. Because that's what Sondheim is asking for: not gentle critism or encouraging words. He's asking for people to lie to him. And he's apparently lying to them. Look at the first line of the quote: "Nobody cares what you think." Except, of course, Stephen Sondheim, who invited Brown and his friend to the show, presumably to ask them what they thought. It's just that he only wanted to hear "I loved it!" and nothing else. He does care what they think...as long as they liked it.

An artform can't grow under these circumstances. And artists can't grow. It's one thing, if you're talking about a friend, someone you know, and you see a show that you don't like or that doesn't work. I know that dilemma. It is always awkward and uncomfortable. But, here's another unwritten rule: we've all settled on a series of phrases that tell that person you didn't like it without saying "I didn't like it" like "Great work!" or just "Congratulations!" And then you flee. And people know. Which is cowardly. But not as bad as the outright lying that Sondheim is encouraging.

In a culture that feeds on that kind of dishonesty, flaws in plays go unspoken of and uncorrected. Imagine a world where Sondheim asked two young, smart, talented artists what they thought and they gave him smart, cogent suggestions and he used them. Wouldn't that be better? What does it benefit the theatre to have young artists so filled with terror that they apparently can't cogently crititique a work by an artist they love, even years later. JRB doesn't indicate what his criticism were, or if they would have been helpful. He's apparently still so scared of Sondheim that he can't even name the friend he went with. How is that healthy for an art form?

How is it healthy for an artist to be a hothouse flower, so delicate and vulnerable that only warm air can support them? How does that encourage growth? We're building a community of mutual sycophancy, daisy chains of artistic blowjobs and calling that support. What this also means is that when you seek out real criticism of the work, even at the lower levels, it's nearly impossible to find. No one wants to say a bad thing about anything. Oh, we say it's because we don't want to hurt the work, but really? It's because we don't want to hurt someone's feelings and get the freeze-out that JRB got from Sondheim after their awkward dinner. Yes, part of it is the human nature of not wanting to hurt someone, but part of it is purely venal and career-focused. We don't want to close a door by being critical. So we're not.

All of this enshrines something that's even more pernicious: privilege. When access, success and career advancement are based as much on manners and social convention, the people who succeed are the people who master that, not actual talent. Telling young artists to keep their opinions to themselves is basically telling them, "It doesn't matter about the work, it matters how you treat your betters." We're just maintaining a good old-fashioned caste system. If you can't play the game, you can't play the game. People who aren't good at sucking up to the right people lose out.

This piece fills with an incandescent rage, sure. But it also makes me very, very sad. Even if it is satire (and I hope it is!), people I know and respect, some of the bravest, smartest artists I know, have been pasting it on Facebook approvingly. And this vision of an artist, above all, makes me so very sad. It's so timid and small, really. We're not talking about JRB being invited to Sondheim's house to hear early sketches of songs and then trashing them. We're talking about the opening night of a Broadway show. Yes, I know, I have had productions, you're a ball of tension and nervousness, there is so much riding on the line, all of that is true. But...you're having a show open on Broadway. Shouldn't we be tougher? Shouldn't we have a better sense of what's good and what's bad about it? Shouldn't we be conscious, clear-eyed artists who can take a 23-year old's dislike? Maybe even ask them about it? Are we really going to wither in the face of that? It says such sad things ab0ut us playwrights. Such sad things.

For an artform to be relevant, you need brave artists. You need artists who are going to look hard into the essence of human experience and talk about what they see there. And yes, bravery needs support. But it also needs feedback and criticism and honesty. If we as artists close our doors to those things, then we close our doors to growth. And the art form atrophies. Our vision closes down to spot. If all we're doing is looking for approval from our fellow artists, we're looking for the wrong things. To tell artists that's what's expected of them is a crime against theatre, if you ask me. It only breeds more nervous artists, more deluded artists, more cowardly artists who crave protection when they should be courting danger, who are thinking about safety nets when they should be flying. It breeds a theatre that isn't talking about the big things because we can't talk honestly with each other.

I have nothing but the utmost respect for Jason Robert Brown's artistry. The Last Five Years is one of the bravest, smartest, most honest musicals I've ever heard and I kick myself on a daily basis that I didn't see it when I had the chance. And I still do have a ton of respect for him and his work and for his bravery in maintaing a blog and saying what he wants to say. That's all awesome. I just think this piece is awful, absolutely awful. That's my honest criticism of it. I hope he can take it.

Now, again: maybe it's all a joke. Mr. Brown, please drop by the comments and tell me it's all a joke. I'll even leave this post up as a monument to my shame, if it is. If not, I think your piece is a monument to yours.

Comments

[Grib]

I think you're missing the point. It's not saying "don't criticize ever." It's saying "hey, maybe give it a minute."

I think lots of good art leaves its creators in a weirdly vulnerable state for at least a few days, and maybe a few years. Maybe you have such a bold, unshakeable artistic vision that instant criticism is healthy. But most humans, including Sondheim, can't handle it right away. So, hey, maybe give it a minute. Later you can break it down together and build it stronger. In the meantime, make better art yourself. And then, hopefully, someone else will give it a minute.

[adam807]

What I find really bizarre about this story is that Sondheim ASKED. If "nobody cares what you think" then, you know, don't ask someone what he thinks. Jason says he's had his share of "putzes come up to me to share their completely unwanted opinion," and that's a different thing. That IS poor etiquette at the least, kind of a dick move at the most. Even with friends I probably won't say if I hated something unsolicited, at least not right away, while the emotional investment is high. But if someone asks me outright what I thought of a show, I assume it's because they want me to tell them.

Jason and Sondheim (no, I can't call him Steve) are two of the artists I respect most in the world, because of their work but also because of how honest and direct they always appear to be. So the thought that either of them would ever say "What do you think?" simply to be praised is troubling to me.

[Jason]

I think Brown's piece is more about timing. Opening Nights should be a celebration - even if the piece is not entirely successful. The moment the baby is born is not the moment to point out big ears.

[Jay]

I think it most troubling that JRB reports he is 'paraphrasing' Stephen Sondheim, leaving his whole story pointless and proving to me he has learned absolutely nothing about any entanglement with genius.

[Puffpastry]

YES! YES! YES!
Every single thing you just wrote (whoever you are, who wrote this blog entry) is what I was thinking when I read Jason Robert Brown's recap of his Sondheim conversation. In fact, I came to your blog from a thread on Facebook that was discussing the original JRB blog, and here's what I wrote in that thread:

-----
I started writing a comment last night, and then my computer froze (symbolic?!?); I,personally, totally disagree with that paragraph paraphrased from Sondheim. I, personally, don't EVER want someone to tell me they loved my work if they didn't. I don't ever want to be lied to. I don't ever want to be encouraged or coddled or warm-fuzzied EVEN if it's opening night of my magnum opus. I am a glutton for harsh criticism - seriously. This might be because my baseline emotion is "vicious self-loathing", and it often feels refreshing to have a different voice rip me to shreds instead of my own...but whatever the reason, I really get no benefit from compliments or gushing praise, and I really REALLY would not want to be hearing those things if what my friends authentically felt was that my work was a train wreck. And because of all of this, I would never be angry at someone who didn't like what I created. I'd be interested, I'd be curious, I'd want us to talk, but angry? No way. It's not rude to have an opinion. It's not rude to have artistic tastes. It's called "being engaged and thinking critically." Sheesh.
-----

Everyone else in the thread though JRB's post was thoughtful and wise. I felt like some kind of freak. Thanks for not leaving me out there all alone. :)

[Rob Weinert-Kendt]

I think Sondheim's alleged comment--as noted, paraphrased from memory--is an over-the-top expression of a certain truth, and so is your intemperate response.

I didn't read "Nobody cares what you think" as a liftable dictum for all time, or even a personal dismissal by a veteran of a newbie; in context, I took it to mean what the rest of the quote spells it out to mean: that an artist doesn't want to hear bad news from his peers while he's got a show on. I do think the position Sondheim put these young fellows in was awkward at best, and one part of the problem with situations like this is that the ground rules re: feedback are perilously unclear and prone to misunderstanding. Still, I get the impression from the story that Sondheim really wanted to share "Passion" with them, and that his hurt at their "meh" reaction came from a sincerely vulnerable place.

So should JRB extrapolate a lesson from it for all of us? Maybe not, but I can't blame an artist for saying, essentially: Critics will have their say; my collaborators in workshopping and making the work have had their say; but now that my ass is hanging in the wind onstage, I need my peers/colleagues to just show up and have my back.

Finally, I should be clear, for all my defense, I don't fully endorse this lesson, and I certainly could never taken it to heart (though I might be a lot happier if I could). I think I would have done something pretty similar in JRB's position (especially if the show had been "Passion," at which I dozed prodigiously).

[99]

Fair enough. Chris Shinn has expressed a similar desire about feedback. It's up to every artist, for sure. So maybe the fault lies more with JRB (who, again, I have much respect for as an artist) who is definitely extrapolating this lesson as a deep truth about artists. That I reject. It's up to the artist to set the terms of feedback and response, whether it's a workshop, a reading or, yes, drinks and dinner after a show. That Sondheim didn't set those terms is on him. That JRB seems to set the terms for all artists is on him.

Also, for the record, despite what others have said, there is *no* reference to this being an opening night performance at all or that Sondheim is only talking about a post-opening night thing. It appears to be a dictum for the length of the run of a show. Which can be a long time. Just sayin'.

[Andrew R. Heinze]

Of course it's bad form to offer an artist an unsolicited critique, but in this anecdote that's not what happened. SS INVITED two young men to dinner and virtually COMPELLED them to talk about his show. There was no way out for them short of sustained lying. Had he run into them after the show and asked in passing what they thought, then they could simply have given a diplomatic "Loved It," and moved on. But in this situation, where they were captive for as long as dinner lasted, they did the only thing they could: try to talk about something else, anything else, so as not to offend! Rule One: if you invite someone to dinner after your show and insist they tell you what they think of it, be prepared to listen. Or don't ask. Just let everyone have a good time celebrating you!

If this anecdote is an accurate portrait of what happened, I find it almost astounding that SS would corral a couple of youths like a Dickensian schoolmaster, demand his one right answer, and then, when it wasn't forthcoming, punish the boys for their recalcitrance. I would have imagined the opposite: SS perceiving the irony of the situation and enjoying the earnest honesty of his young fans -- maybe learning something from them, maybe not, but enjoying the joie de vivre implicit in their candor. That would be more in the spirit of Art, wouldn't it?

[Lindsay]

Yes, you've completely missed the point here. This is not about the state of artistic criticism, or about how everyone is best when they're lying all the time. It's about a very specific truth which is that there's a fine line between honesty and diplomacy, and one has to walk that line very carefully when you work in this business. It may not be your ideal, but it is very practical advice, even when you're dealing with someone who you would think might be impervious to these kinds of feelings. You clearly know this, or else you wouldn't be publishing this blog anonymously. Right?

[Mp989]

The thing is, this story has changed over several years (it has been written of in the Sondheim Review, and elsewhere). JRB claims now that this was NOT Passion that he saw, yet it was a *new* show in 1993, and apprently was not a preview but was "frozen" as of opening. Which adds up to...nothing. I don't know of any show that fits that criteria.

Regardless, I'm a relatively young theatre fan who worships Sondheim. I love Passion, but regardless of whether that was the show, or not, if I was someone hoping to get my own shows seen, and an artists I worshipped "treated" me (JRB's words) to a ticket and then dinner after, I would use the opportunity to try to ask about the creative process. "Why did you..." etc. Not to simply remain silent about the show for 20 minutes and then say that it wasn't good (which is what JRB implies he did). It's not remotely the same as being a paying ticket holder going to the theatre and expressing his disappointment with the show.

[Vincent Blackshadow]

Your comment, 99:
"Also, for the record, despite what others have said, there is *no* reference to this being an opening night performance at all or that Sondheim is only talking about a post-opening night thing."

What JRB wrote:
"The night comes, Franz and I take our seats, and we notice that sitting right behind us is Frank Rich, the chief theatre critic for The New York Times.... We chose to go on the very same night that the Times came to review the show. The most important night in the life of any show in New York City."

What you wrote, 99:
"It appears to be a dictum for the length of the run of a show."

What JRB paraphrased from Sondheim:
"Maybe next week, maybe next year, maybe someday down the line, I’ll be ready to hear what you have to say, but that moment, that face-to-face moment after I have unveiled some part of my soul..."

[Vincent Blackshadow]

While I'm at it, I want to add this too:

Your comment, 99:
"...despite what others have said, there is *no* reference to this being an opening night performance at all..."

Your article, directly above, entitled "An American Horror Story":
"We're talking about the opening night of a Broadway show."

Shame, shame on you.

[99]

My shame is my own careless writing? I see. And your quote from the article above proves my point. So, you know, thanks.

[Vincent Blackshadow]

I didn't expect you to react well to my criticism so soon after you published this piece. Yes, part of your shame is your careless writing and apparent inability or unwillingness to bother using a spellchecker ("sad things ab0ut us playwrights") or to proofread your post ("I do not want this to be [a] portrait of how theatre artists..")("called Sondheim to talk about it [and] was given this").

You did ask to be shamed. Of course, you meant shamed on your own terms, not on terms of good writing.

So if you want more substantial criticism, your piece is jejune and willfully dishonest. Your claims "...is definitely extrapolating this lesson as a deep truth about artists.", and "That JRB seems to set the terms for all artists is on him." have scant evidence. Twice JRB says this is a lesson for "us". I took that to mean that if an established star in your field invites you to see his new show and meet with him personally afterward, the operative word - if you did not care for what you saw - is "tact". But you seem to have taken it to mean that JRB is lecturing all artists to be subservient to all established people in their field, and that he is endorsing all of Sondheim's (second-hand) rant against criticism. Fine. Overreacting is a juvenile characteristic, but no doubt you do not believe you overreacted.

Willfully dishonest? "We're building a community of mutual sycophancy, daisy chains of artistic blowjobs and calling that support." Nobody is building that. It is already in place. It was in place before you were born. JRB's article is a poor example, very mild in comparison to the decades of prior history and nothing for someone to go thermonuclear about.

I have no idea how you think the quote in my previous comment made your point, but just so my point is perfectly clear, without irony or sarcasm, and not a joke: you are a sloppy writer, a sloppy reader, and a sloppy thinker who is as allergic to criticism as anyone else in the theatre. You fit right in.

You're welcome.

[Simon Crowe]

You're slightly overreacting. Sondheim didn't indicate he was inviting a serious discussion of the work with a 23 year old stranger and it was pretty forward to offer one given the situation. In my small theater community I almost always know someone involved with a show. When I speak to them after a show I'm congratulating the effort as much as anything else because that's what I'd want if the roles were reversed. If the situation arises we may discuss the show in more depth at a later time, and in that moment I have no problem voicing an opinion. If I really don't feel I can respect the effort then I simply don't hang around afterwards. I think the vulnerability that an actor/writer/director feels after a performance should be respected, but by the same token we artists shouldn't make that vulnerability a fetish.

[Adam Szymkowicz]

I think constructive criticism is incredibly important. But there is a time and a place for it. And I think the details of this story are less important than the conversation about how to live as an artist in this community. How and when are we honest with our friends about their work? How do we support artists we believe in when we dislike one of their pieces. When is it best to say something and when is it best not to say anything?

[Julie]

I'm in general agreement with the sentiment of Rob's comment, though I personally don't think it's right to be outright dishonest (I will not say "I loved it!" if I wanted to slit my wrists 5 minutes into the show). I think JRB acted appropriately given the situation -- though a well-timed "Congrats!" might've lessened the blow a bit (you can't just pretend the show didn't happen!).

But in all honesty: if you were meeting your idol for the first time, would you dare to give him/her criticism? I certainly wouldn't. There's a time and a place for everything, as Adam states above, and perhaps after a little bit of time and rapport-building, JRB could and should have offered his thoughts.

[Eric Pfeffinger]

Interesting; I'm of two minds about the anecdote and the ensuing cavalcade of how-to-live-your-life directives. On one hand, had I been in Jason Robert Brown's place, I can guarantee that I would not have offered criticisms, constructive or otherwise, in response to Sondheim's invitation. Instead I personally would have found concrete things I could speak positively about without lying. (We've all been in similar situations dozens of times -- one gets good at this.) I'm not saying this is admirable or otherwise, just that it's what I would have done.

On the other hand, just because that's what I would have done, I'm hesitant to generalize that into a categorical imperative that everyone must do. The fact that Sondheim invited an evaluative response and then (apparently?) perceptibly felt stung by it (indeed, felt stung by having to ask for it in the first place) seems like a scenario straight out of a comedy-of-humiliation sitcom: the powerful and successful icon asks the wide-eyed admirer a question and then punishes him for answering. It's potentially a very funny scene, but the most culpable and foolish one in the scenario isn't the JRB figure.

Basically, it seems like sometimes dissembling is advisable and sometimes it's unnecessary; probably depends on the audience. I would expect anyone in Sondheim's position to react to the situation, even if JRB were being genuinely inappropriate and tone-deaf, with benign amusement rather than wounded pride. Theater gains nothing from all of us acting like china teacups.