THE SPECTATOR

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The morning after

PETER FIDDICK

I do not envy Clive Barnes. In truth, if the recent television profile of him is anything to go by, he does not envy himself. It is, it appeared, only by virtue of his post as theatre critic of the New York Times that he is listened to with awe, and it is because New York theatre and its audience are currently somewhat sick that such a func- tionary wields so much real power. When production costs are huge, seat prices must be high, and when seat prices are high, audiences are fickle: ergo, Mr Barnes's Word takes—is given, rather—the weight of an imprimatur.

That cannot be good. Whatever the functions of criticism or reviewing—and the distinction of which Christopher Hud- son reminded us here last week is a useful one—they do not include removing a range of choice from audiences, let alone putting a veto on practitioners in a particular field even seeking an audience. Certainly, a theatre reviewer's work has a service element, advising readers of the qualities of the entertainment, and most People who do go to the theatre, unable to see everything, will choose with some re- gard to the reviews. But when you con- sider what a small proportion of those who read reviews even consider seeing the Play, it is clear that this is no longer the prime function of the reviewer. Some People, of course, infer from this situation that newspapers should therefore not bother themselves with daily, blanket reviewing, that it is an outworn hang- over from a vanished social structure. But I believe the reverse is true, and for a rather joyful reason: most people do not read reviews for advice, but for ideas. Reading reviews is an activity in itself. People enjoy it regardless of whether they will take in the play (or film, or book). Whatever he may think he is there for, the prime function of a reviewer—what he is actually used as, by most readers most of the time—is to be the other half of a meeting of minds, a distant dialogue. Ideally, of course, it would be nice if both Parties had seen the work in question. All conversations are improved if you and the

other guy have something in common. ,,Anything, however, is better than silence.

Nevertheless, that is why television review- ers, it seems to inc. have a great advantage over the others. • For I am provoked to discuss this admit- tedly hoary subject by the growing suspic- ion that the preview approach to television criticism is gaining ground in the news-, paper business and there is evidence that it is even being taken more seriously by • some television people. Several straws have wafted bv. Several newspapers now have a 'pick of the day'

_Paragraph with the coming night's tele- vision programmes, and the feature is • developing. The 'Sun, for instance, gives its readers a full-page 'pick of the week' oa the previous Saturday. In conversation last week, the television critic of another popular newspaper mentioned his feeling that the editorial executives of the popular end of Fleet Street were getting itchy about reviewing television 'the morning after, when no one can see the programme' and would increasingly favour a preview sys- tem. And then, of course, there is the 'Cri- tical Viewers' Guide', for which Elkan Allan, with a private preview system all his own, is given a whole page of the Sun- day Times.

It is perhaps as well to say immediately that there is a strong element of unreality in the discussion: it is very unlikely that the television companies will ever provide the facilities for a comprehensive preview system, especially for critics writing before the programmes go out. But that is their own business. The important question is in the other direction: should the critic want to put his view before the reader has seen the programme?

It is an understandable urge. Anyone caring about the medium is bound to want to persuade people away from the pap and towards the pockets of life which they might happen to miss. But if he happens to be a television critic, in striving for responsibility all he ends up with is power. Simply because it is such an ephemeral medium, it lacks the safeguard which hedge round a critic in other areas: popu- lar word of mouth can—and does—create a theatre audience in defiance of the re- views (except, it seems, for poor Clive Barnes, who is therefore to be pitied). A book can be differently valued by different people at different times, and it is always there for its second chance. A journalist who puts someone off watching a tele- vision programme has done two things: he has exercised a total power; and he has lost the chance which he. alone among journalist-reviewers, has, of discussing it with his readers on the basis of a shared experience.

A lot of the time, of course, it won't Matter two pins. To put in a word for a good documentary when the alternative is the 200th episode of an American crime series will give nobody qualms. But take a small case in point from Mr Allan's 'Guide'. (I've nothing against him, by the way—at the moment he's the only example we've got.)

Last Sunday night, Dennis Potter's play Paper Roses, was on try at 10.15. On Bud at 10.30, in the Omnibus series, was a programme about Dorothy Heathcote, a

drama teacher who works in the schools, youth clubs, and delinquent or handi- capped children's institutions of the North-East waking the kids up with pretty remarkable improvised drama.

Crystallising Mr Allan's capsule, he said of the Omnibus: 'Outstanding docu- mentary. Final sequence . . . among the most moving few minutes on TV this year'. Potter got less than half the space and the only value judgment was 'Down- beat drama'.

I suppose you have to admire Mr Allan's nerve. But I saw both programmes too, liked them both, and frankly, if any home viewers, forced to choose, had asked my advice I could have offered nothing stronger than: 'It depends what mood you're in'. How do you compare a play and a documentary? Elkan Allan, of course, may not have rated the Potter as highly as I did, but to put it, by mere implication, so low in the scale cannot have been right.

Television criticism in advance must be full of such comparisons. If there is not the space to review everything, then the decision not to write about something must appear to the reader a blackball.

I do not believe that this is the purpose of journalistic criticism. Even if it is 'edu- cation', the formation of audience tastes, that we are after—which I am by no means sure should be the case—the only civilised way is to look at the product first, and talk about it afterwards. And I would think that is what the reader wants anyway. The urge to see if the sports-writers saw the same game as you is a pretty basic bit of aggression and it firmly underpins the review-reading habit. I would have thought that having readers sharpen their minds over breakfast against someone else's opinion of the programme both saw the night before would he more likely to yield long-term benefits than a daily series of ex cathedra warnings to switch off.

Unless, of course, you really fancy preaching—and to the uncomprehending.