Critics can no longer take guests to NT press nights

Oh, pur-lease. If bloggers are proper critics, and if bloggers can write as incisively and critically as the paid bunch – and they can, that isn’t a discussion any more – then bloggers deserve to be treated with the same respect and (it’s crude to talk about, but must be said) financial upkeep as ‘proper critics’. Broadening the number of people who review a show, and broadening the types of people who write about theatre, isn’t just a nice initiative – it’s necessary, to stop theatre criticism either becoming the preserve of those rich enough to live a London-centric life with the disposable income of two or three trips a week, or culturally inhibiting to those people out there unsure of how to fund a career in criticism and whether self-publishing their own analysis is worth it.

So, firstly, are bloggers critics? Yes. Do critics pay for their seats? No. That’s that then.

But as for discriminating deserving and undeserving bloggers, I hope the process is lax. Someone recently got in hot water for saying most bloggers lack the ‘intellectual background’ of a proper critic, of an Ann Treneman (former political sketch-editor, no theatrical background) or a Quentin Letts (a massive arsehole). Actually, I agree – most bloggers don’t have the intellectual background. By intellectual background, I don’t mean uni education or form of schooling, I mean theatrical experiences – only by seeing, and reading about, as much theatre as you can can you achieve this. I instinctively don’t trust any blogger younger than 25, and even then consider 25 too young to be an expert on anything. It’s not that I don’t trust young people to be incisive and informed and have their areas of expertise (I like to think I’m young, and the Best Director at the Oliviers is only 30 himself), but I enjoy reading voices I know will develop into bona fide experts only through gaining the intellectual background I’m reading them develop as we speak. If some of these tickets, thus, are given to relatively embryonic blogs and bloggers, Rufus can help educate in this necessary intellectual development. Plus, the styles of writing happening in the interweb are varied, are personal, are individualistic, are trying to develop what a critic is – not always successfully, not always necessarily, but hey ho. Doubling the amount of ‘critics’ attending means doubling the voices heard, and replacing unnecessary chums with necessary challengers and innovators (as far as theatre criticism ever is innovative) can only be a good thing.

It’s worth mentioning, too, that I expect my critics to be London-centric region-attending culturally broad well-read thrice-weekly-theatregoers. I simply cannot expect my bloggers to be self-funded. I don’t think finance in and of itself is a huge issue – theatregoing can be a very cheap hobby, and I don’t expect my critics to eat well or live anywhere nice or have a social life – but it’s one that needs to be discussed, and also one that leads on to a broader cultural problem: why would I try and set myself up to be the next Tynan if money’s too tight for a secure disposable income? If we expect emerging bloggers to build up this intellectual background, we can’t expect them to pay for it all themselves, otherwise we’re limiting who can be a critic down to who can afford it, and that’s not just wrong but dangerous for the medium.

So look. These tickets are £20. £20 isn’t much. Most wannabe critics and established bloggers would happily pay £20 for a seat. You and I know £20’s expensive for most places. But actually, £20 is the ability to take a slight risk in what you attend. £20 is the cost of the new Simon Stephens book or Billington book or something educational. £20 is the price of a Megabus to Manchester to see Maxine Peake in Hamlet, or to Chichester to see Imelda Staunton in Gypsy. £20 is a week’s meals, something for the bills, something for the rent. £20 is hopefully a precedent being set that other theatres will follow, so £20 becomes £40 becomes £100 and the financial constraint on struggling young bloggers is lessened. Most importantly, £20 is the generosity, encouragement and respect of a major theatrical institution being given to upstart writers who need encouragement and respect to set them on their way. In taking a ticket away from the friend of a man who sells mugs with his face on them, and giving it to one of the first enthusiasts to have spotted Denise Gough, or someone passionate about their opinion of Here We Go but willing to discuss art and concede differences of opinions, Rufus Norris is (for the first time in his tenure) really doing what a National theatre should – trying to bolster the artistic discussion and outlook of the nation. In doing this, he may, too, just uncover the next Billington, the next Tynan, and who among us can begrudge that?

Or perhaps Rufus is indeed taking revenge on the critics whose reviews made People, Places and Things an award-winning sell-out West End transfer and gave Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom the Olivier. “Har har,” thinks Rufus, “Now Mark Shenton, Tim Walker and Dominic Cavendish now have to treat their cushy job like a job. They have to turn up on time alone, and if they want a social life they have to talk to their co-workers! That’ll show them for being nice to me!”