The Challenge (for me!) with the Theatre Critic

I once had coffee with director Lindsay Turner and congratulated her on the glowing reviews for The Crucible. She smiled and said, “Oh, I don’t read them.” At the time, I thought that was probably wise. After all, a review is just one person’s take on a show. But if that’s true, why do they matter so much?

They matter because, within the industry, there is a powerful perception that a good review means a good show. They also matter because behind every performance is a team of people who have poured their time, talent, and soul into something they are proud of. A glowing review feels like validation. And when the reviews come back less than glowing, it can be really tough, especially if you disagree with them.

Of course, critics do not sit in on rehearsals. They have not witnessed the hours of discussion that go into every choice. So when a review suggests something “needed more,” they will not know, nor how could they, that the creative team debated exactly that and made a conscious decision to do less. From an artist’s perspective, when the bigger picture is missing, it can sometimes feel like being judged on incomplete information.

Then there’s the sheer variability of live performance. A critic sees the show on one particular day. Maybe the cast were not at their sharpest. Maybe the audience was unusually quiet. In children’s theatre especially, the makeup of an audience transforms the energy of the show. A school group responds very differently to a family crowd. I know this because, during previews, I spend most of my time watching the audience, tracking where attention dips, where laughter lands, where fidgeting starts. My measure of success is: are 80 percent of them engaged, most of the time?

That careful calibration continues right through the preview period. As a director in Theatre for Young Audiences, I am constantly adjusting to better hold attention, shape moments, and land emotional beats. So, when a review lands that overlooks that nuance, perhaps spotlighting a single child’s offhand comment over the engaged response of dozens, it can feel disheartening.

I also think it is worth saying that reviewing children’s theatre can be uniquely challenging. At times, because of limited resources, the press can send writers who may not be familiar with the specifics of Theatre for Young Audiences. Sometimes it can seem as if being a parent, or an aunt or uncle, or even just knowing a child, is taken as enough to qualify you for the job. To be clear, I do not believe that having a connection to children makes someone more or less able to review children’s theatre. What I mean is that it is critical that the reviewer has an understanding of the form itself, and better still, an understanding of child development in relation to engagement. There are thoughtful reviewers who do engage with that complexity, and I hugely value their insights.

I also understand the wider context: the pool of experienced TYA critics is small, they are often stretched thin with invitations, and many review voluntarily. The result, however, is that the art form can sometimes be judged without the depth of expertise it deserves.

And yet, I still invite the critics. I still crave their validation.

I have chosen not to share reviews of my work on social media. A very personal choice because it feels dishonest to promote the good ones and ignore the bad; that only feeds the illusion that I need their approval. I try to centre the audience response instead. That is the truest feedback. Still, I cannot pretend I am unaffected by criticism. I have had everything from one-star to five-star reviews for the same show. Some of my proudest work has gone unnoticed, while other work has been praised in ways I did not fully understand. Sometimes the exact same piece has received a rave and a pan, proof, perhaps, that theatre is like Marmite: you love it or you hate it, and there’s rarely an in-between!

The fundamental challenge, to me, is that traditional theatre criticism allows little space for dialogue. A critic says they “wanted more,” but what did they mean by “more”? I would love to ask without appearing defensive. Similarly, when something really resonates, I want to know why. What worked? What moved you? What might we learn from your experience?

I wonder if there is a way to move towards a more conversational model of criticism, less one-sided judgment, more mutual reflection. Yes, artists are naturally defensive about their work. But many of us are also honest about its strengths and limitations. I know which of my productions I am most proud of, even when the effort behind each one was equal. I have learned to sit with the discomfort of a negative review and trust my own assessment of the story I wanted to tell.

But that is a hard message to pass on to performers. They live the work every day. Telling them not to care what the critics say feels hollow, even when I believe it is true.

So perhaps that is the real challenge with the theatre critic: not that they exist, but that we, as an industry, have allowed their words to carry more weight than the collective experience of the audience, or without the benefit of being privy to process as well as product. Until criticism becomes more collaborative, more curious, and more human, it will remain both a valuable and a difficult part of our creative ecosystem.

I was struck by Natasha Tripney’s recent article Reviews hit harder at EdFringe when things are already fraught (The Stage, Aug 2025), in which she reflects on how reviews land not only with artists but also with critics themselves. Her piece draws attention to the pressures of the job, the relentless schedules, limited space, and the brutality of the star-rating system. She also acknowledges the uneasy truth that reviews can sometimes feel like “star-rating someone’s mental health crisis.” It reminded me that critics, too, are navigating an imperfect system, often with little time or support, and that they rarely set out to cause harm.

Even modest changes could open up a richer critical culture, one that recognises the unique dynamics of Theatre for Young Audiences and sees its value on equal footing with work made for adults. In an industry where resources are stretched on all sides, what we most need is generosity of spirit, curiosity, and a willingness to listen from both artists and critics alike. Perhaps then we might all feel less like we are being judged, and more like we are part of the same conversation.

Of course, I know the realities. Most publications are under huge financial pressure, with limited column space for the arts. It is not realistic to imagine every production could receive in-depth coverage from a seasoned critic. But perhaps there are small, practical shifts that could help. For instance, developing opportunities for more dialogue between artists and reviewers; not to influence star ratings, but to deepen mutual understanding. Creating space for post-show conversations, inviting emerging critics to shadow experienced ones, or encouraging publications to diversify who they send to children’s theatre might all make a difference.