Thursday 3 September 2015

Should Journalists Work For Free?

This may land controversially, but it’s something that has been on my mind for a little while now. It is this: should theatre journalists - critics, reviewers and feature writers - really have to work for free? 

Of course, we do it for the love of theatre, we do it because we enjoy engaging with a piece on a critical level and being part of the dialogue that occurs after the event. We get to see shows for free, and sometimes even get a little press drink. The payment is plentiful in terms of our own emotional, intellectual and social enjoyment, and we receive it gratefully. But it is not plentiful in the ways that pay the rent, or the hours it takes to form an entertaining and intelligent piece of writing.

I feel righteous in bringing this up because I work on both sides of the coin. Between marketing, playwriting and journalism, it’s a confusing mix, but it does mean that I see the truth. Over the past year, consistently, I have seen the cold harsh light of statistical evidence revealing the effect reviews have on ticket sales for a show. Negate me, please do, but my evidence comes from the box office reports of a variety of external companies performing a variety of work at different times of the year. The variables are plenty, the trend remains firm: the highest sales dates come from previews, ticket offers and press publications. 

It comes as very little surprise that when a well known and highly respected critic’s review is published, there is a spike in sales. The theatres know this, and no doubt it is the reason why at a recent press night I attended, a critic for the Times had four seats reserved for them under their name. I didn’t even have one, and she was getting paid for the gig. I’m not saying I want celebrity treatment, I’m saying that there shouldn’t be special treatment for anyone, but the argument against the gap between artists and critics is one for another time.

I sort of feel I might lose my rights to review for this, but it’s a situation that rubs my arm hairs the wrong way. Why shouldn’t we be paid for doing what we love, when we work so hard at it? Across the board, online publications and journalists are doing incredible things for the dialogue around theatre purely off their own back. A lot of people assume that these people are getting paid, which is why I wanted to write this. When a friend asked me to travel to Hampshire to review his show and I said I couldn’t afford to, he asked, “Won’t the newspaper cover it?” Friend, I wouldn’t even be paid for the review. The only reason I occasionally venture to Hampshire to review work there is that incredibly exciting things are happening and it is high on my personal agenda to ensure regional theatre receives the coverage and the acclaim it deserves. Otherwise, it is a hardy slog down the M3 through the roadworks and a day I have to book off work in advance.

Okay, alright, then who is going to pay the wage? The truth is, I don’t know. The theatre isn’t going to pay it, the company isn’t going to pay it, the not-for-profit publication with lots of contributors to cover the sheer wealth of work isn’t going to pay for it. Megan Vaughan of Synonyms For Churlish has taken the Patreon route, and I have been delighted to see friends rise to write for editorials who have the capital to pay for a review. Being paid for an interview is a rare luxury, but again, the compensation for this comes in the form of receiving the uncut version of the conversation, and having the chance to ask the questions you have been burning to ask (Nick Payne, I’m ready when you are.) But - for me, at least - it’s five days of stress and self-loathing, beating an article into submission in all of the hours around paid employment. It’s hard. I love it unconditionally, and it is like food to me, and I don’t do nearly enough of it, but it’s hard.

Of course there is an order to things, and of course you work your way up through the appropriate channels in the appropriate amount of good time. That’s just the way it is. But why does it have to be that way? What if you simply don’t have the time to go through all the channels, stuck in a catch-22? That’s why initiatives like The Stage’s critic search is brilliant, as is the IdeasTap/Hiive paid columnist gig. Otherwise, we gladly volunteer our time, but I would gladly volunteer more if it could directly supplement my rent and travel expenses. 

There is no one to blame here, and I’m not saying that anyone is in the wrong. It’s simply a situation that has risen out of the brilliant furore of bloggers and voices proclaiming their love for theatre in the form of well-written, inspiring reviews and features. We haven’t prepared for it, but I believe it is in tandem with all the brilliant new work that deserves funding and support. That is, only if we as a culture and society truly value it. If not, then let’s have that conversation, and find a way to talk about theatre in a way that does appeal to the majority. But either way, I’m inclined to suggest that in this case, the best things in life should not be free.

I won’t stop writing, but I will continue to ask this question, and hope others will, too. I don’t have any solutions or answers, and have a sneaking suspicion that under our current government, this will remain the case. But if anyone does have any ideas, please give me a shout. 

Tuesday 1 September 2015

Mouthful by Metta Theatre at Trafalgar Studios



Interview with Inua Ellams, Suzanne Filteau and Poppy Burton-Morgan - originally published on Exeunt.


On a global scale, our approach to food cultivation and consumption is at a crisis point. Obesity walks beside starvation due to environmental factors, due to consumer choices, due to money and politics. And for better or worse, we’re getting clever with it: chicken meat is cloned to meet overwhelming demand, while allotments are built on the rooftops of city buildings because we’re running out of space. I’m not intending to preach about vegetarianism, or home gardening, or inspiring the next generation of farmers or paying more for your milk. But what Mouthful will do, presented by Metta Theatre at the Trafalgar Studios and supported by the Wellcome Trust, is to explore these questions alongside unquestionable scientific fact.

Directed by Poppy Burton-Morgan, the production’s response to the global food crisis comprises a collection of six short plays by an exciting bunch of six writers, Lydia Adetunji, Bola Agbaje, Clare Bayley, Inua Ellams, Neil LaBute and Pedro Miguel Rozo, each working in collaboration with six scientists. To discuss the project, I meet with Burton-Morgan and one of the playwrights, award-winning poet Inua Ellams, as well as the scientist he has been working with, Suzanne Filteau, who is Professor of International Nutrition at the London School of Hygiene and Tropical Medicine. I’m mainly curious as to how the collaboration with science has worked: ironic, then, that we should consistently sidetrack the conversation to discuss media stories and anecdotes about food, with interjections of scientific fact from Filteau. I see exactly how this has worked.

Ellams says of his approach to the brief, “I knew what I wanted to write, but I didn’t know how to make it real enough in terms of the academic side of things, the science side of things. All of that really informs the characters and just populates the reality of the finished piece”. For him, Filteau has been a direct source of information and offers fact checking at the other end of an email. But Filteau’s also keen that Ellams’s focus on character means that the piece resists being a fact heavy, lecture style piece of theatre. Burton-Morgan agrees that “There’s quite a vogue for a kind of ‘science theatre’, but quite often it takes the form of a character who is a scientist giving a lecture and actually, that’s quite a lazy way through it.”


Poppy Burton Morgan and Alisha Bailey 


She might well have the Royal Court’s 2071 in mind: a climate change piece that’s one of the more high profile recent examples of didactic science theatre. But even if some audience members found its approach mind-numbingly boring, its scientific message was well worth communicating – so how do you find the balance? Mouthful will weave video projections designed by William Reynolds between each play that provide factual information, enriching the context of the stories. The benefit of programming six short plays is that the evening can feature six separate insights into a different issue, or different angles. “It’s a ten minute punch of an idea”, says Burton-Morgan. With 12 voices (the writers and the scientists, if we don’t also include actors, director and technical aspects), the net is cast wide to reach a varied audience. Burton-Morgan continues: “The food crisis is such a rich and diverse and contested and conflicted thing that you want as many voices as possible.”

The aim at the heart of the production is to inspire audiences to question consumer behaviour. A small change to our habits may indeed be small, but potentially significant. Burton-Morgan offers that if you buy less meat, you can afford to buy the organic vegetables which, Filteau adds, is both the most ethical and the healthiest way of doing things. Ellams expresses his irritation at those who throw good food away just because the packaging says it’s passed its sell-by date, while I’ve started buying milk from independent farmers. When you break things down like that, it seems quite simple. But, as Ellams’ play will show, there are always external contributory factors to consider, and far-reaching knock-on effects. “We can’t present the answers to a global food crisis in a play”, says Burton-Morgan, “But what we can do is go: there is a problem and there is a need for change.”


In rehearsal: Doña Croll, Robert Hands, Harry Lister Smith and Alisha Bailey

Playing devil’s advocate while we sit in the rehearsal room, I have to ask, “Why theatre?” Filteau responds with the fun answer, of “Why theatre? Why not?”.  It’s a strong vessel for communicating big ideas. She elaborates to say that there are different ways of getting things across to different people, and as Burton-Morgan observes, theatre is “A human way in”. With regards to the issues presented in Mouthful, she says that, “When you see all those infographics it doesn’t quite enter into you. And then you see a play that has a lot of intricately detailed, truthfully drawn characters that go through some heartbreaking stuff, you can’t not be emotionally affected by that, and that stays with you, in a way that a fact doesn’t.” It is in this sense that Ellams’ work alongside Filteau has proved most effective, as he has been able to draw characters that are as real and believable as possible.

Theatre’s key asset is its variety of communication channels, be that via the building a play is housed in, the audiences it attracts, the creative team behind it or the part of the world it plays in.  Filteau notes that the Trafalgar Studios, being a West End theatre, will receive a different audience to – for example – The Tricycle. We discuss how it is a way of connecting with an audience by a method that is not policed under the same scrutiny as television or newspapers may be. It follows as no accident that our discussion verges into politics and power, and fearful speculations on the altruism of thinking of the future and the corrupt hierarchy of leadership. Unintentionally, each play in Mouthful is presented with a family story, and the theme of what we pass on to the next generation is a common one. Again, this is no accident – the food crisis is a real fear for our future, so it’s little wonder that each writer was inspired to put a family at the centre.

With that, Poppy Burton-Morgan leaves us to contemplate further, and heads home to her own children. Mouths to feed indeed.


MOUTHFUL plays at the Trafalgar Studios from 8th September to 3rd October, and is supported by Arts Council England and the Wellcome Trust. You can buy tickets here, and visit Metta Theatre’s website here.

Artists Need Holidays Too



It came as a shock, sometime mid-August, to realise that I had not taken a holiday in four years. Sure, I had been away: I had gone to theatre festivals, taken weeks off work for R&D projects and writing courses, usually in lovely relaxing locations. I had spent the months post-university and pre-London in the comfort of my parents’ home with sunshine and farmland to walk through, but even this was in a perpetual state of unemployment panic and artistic angst.

The life of an artist, stereotypically and characteristically, affords no holidays. No weekends, only occasional evenings off and lunch breaks staring mindlessly into space, usually only provoked out of necessity because our brains are so damn fried.  Why? Why do we do this to ourselves? Ideas and urges strike at incalculable times, and it is first and foremost a passion, hobbie, identity and way of being. It is the lens through which we see the world. Also, it is a competitive field, and for a new artist in particular, work is driven by impatience: the harder you work, the quicker you produce something that might get noticed, the quicker you can start running with your career.

It feels, as a playwright and critic and all-round theatre lover, like a travesty to have not made it to the Edinburgh Fringe Festival this year. It’s a rite of passage, I know, and there was plenty going on that I was desperate to see and do, and that would have been useful for my career. I watched tweets scroll, reviews get published, friends’ shows receive critical acclaim. The article that really rubbed salt into the wound was Lyn Gardner proclaiming that a theatre company basically won’t make it unless they go to Edinburgh. Which of course is absolute bollocks and I hope I have simply misread the article, because A) it depends what you want to achieve with your work, and B) if this is true, we clearly need to do something about a culture that excludes anyone who can’t afford to take a show to Edinburgh, and take five weeks out of paid employment. (On this, Lyn has since somewhat redeemed the argument.) 

Amidst that anger, amidst that frustration, instead of throwing my money at a trip to Edinburgh, I flew away to Stockholm. I hung out with my sister and brother-in-law, I watched boats float in and out of a harbour. I spent an entire Sunday thinking of nothing and walking in whatever direction my gut told me to. My mind was so quiet of thought that my brain couldn’t handle it, and I was bombarded with ABBA-based earworms ranging from Voulez-Vous to Nina, Pretty Ballerina. Above all, I watched this civilisation of calm and peaceful people go about their envious work/life balance with style and effortless cool, and remembered that it’s okay to wait at a pedestrian crossing for the green man to show, whether a car is coming or not. 




Upon my return, plunging straight back into work has been unappealing. This is mainly because of the state my work was in before I left, and of course, no plays or ideas have written themselves out of discombobulation in my absence. But also, I have returned with a healthier attitude to 14 hour days and 7 day weeks. If my career takes longer, or if I fall behind my contemporaries for taking my foot off the gas, is that really such a terrible thing? If I spend more time with friends, family, and watching a full moon glisten over Scandinavia while flying 30,000 feet in the air, am I really missing out? 

I just think we’re getting ahead of ourselves. We’re churning out theatre and reviews as if we’re responding to our society before an event has even happened. We’re pre-empting a dialogue, desperate to be ahead of the curve. Quite simply, we’re J-walking, and I’m nervous that it means our theatre and our art is as quickly consumed as a cappuccino with cold milk and burnt espresso.

Undoubtedly, Britain’s work receives international acclaim, and people travel from far and wide to indulge in its colourful scene of arts and culture. But we have such variety and such quantity that we teeter on saturation point. I agree that everyone should have the opportunity to realise their creativity, have access to arts and be provided with a voice through which to communicate and express themselves. But would be so awful to do it a little more leisurely?





Time is expensive, rehearsal time is short, and this ends up being an article begging for the upkeep and proliferation of the Arts Council. I might go so far as to suggest that a lack of financial investment in the arts is what perpetuates an artist’s lack of holiday time. If you work in the arts and get paid time and a half for working a bank holiday, my God, congratulations. If you’re freelance, just forget it. But as individuals, we can look after ourselves a little better. If we want to accurately portray our city, our country and our world, we need to get out of it and achieve a bird’s eye view. Otherwise, the echo chamber prevails, and art is only for those who don’t take the time to sit on a sun lounger with a mojito. It risks becoming solely an artist’s view, rather than a human view.





That image of the moon over Scandinavia seen from a Boeing 737-300 is an experience I will never forget. From that height, I could see the moon entirely reflected in the waters of the baltic sea. We were flying fast, and flying high, but with enough distance to see our world as it really is. Now, I’m sure winter will fall, and my addiction to my work will absorb me once more with all the anti-social apologies to my long suffering friends. But I’ll try to remember that image, and that a holiday or a day off is not going to end my career. No matter how many times you push the button at a pedestrian crossing, the green man will not come any faster. It’s fine to wait, it’s fine to be patient. It is healthy to be calm and we will invariably produce better work as a result, probably with happier dispositions.

On that note, anyone for fika?