Who’s to judge?

Critiquing the critics

As far back as I can remember, I’ve always adhered to the policy that if a newspaper review of a certain movie or play I wanted to investigate was negative, I’d often go see it to judge for myself, to see if the “critic” was wrong. I figured someone had to critique the critic. Nine times out of 10, the newspaper critical review was wrong—in my opinion.

Using that thought process as a guideline, I usually knew in advance if I’d like the presentation and wouldn’t care what the critics wrote about it. Critics are normal people, aren’t they? How dare they be so presumptuous to say I’d like their recommendation!

I started paying attention to movie, music and play reviews when, in the eighth grade, I checked out a book on comedian/pantomimist Harpo Marx, titled “Harpo Speaks.” I was familiar with the Marx Brothers films. One thing I glommed from the book among Harpo’s many talents was his ability to separate himself from his fame and branch out into a literary cultural setting, away from stardom, to savor how the other “privileged” people lived.

“Privileged” meaning high society, journalists, newspaper reporters, critics, authors, playwrights, and poets. To boil it down, smart, artistic, witty people who were able to capitalize on their talents. Did I just say “critics” were among these?

One person in that book who stood out to me (among the many) was Alexander Woollcott. Woollcott started his career as a reporter at The New York Times in 1909 and was elevated to drama critic five years later. Woollcott made a name for himself for his reviews of Broadway productions in New York. He was a very prolific writer, radio host, and playwright who was well-connected and intelligent. However, he rarely minced words in his reviews and made his share of enemies along the way.

I had all but forgotten about Woollcott until a recent weekend while visiting a used bookstore at the River Market in downtown Little Rock. My habit in any bookstores—especially used bookstores, where books from decades gone by live and thrive, waiting for their new owner—is that I tilt my head until my neck feels paralyzed as I scan the spines.

Lo and behold, an author caught my eye. Woollcott! A book titled

“While Rome Burns.” A 1934 edition, hardcover! Perfect condition! Four bucks! Eagerly I snatched it up and couldn’t wait to get home to peruse it.

It brought me back to one of my favorite subjects, the Algonquin Round Table, as I was introduced to it in the Harpo Marx book. All those characters came back to life. Woollcott, along with Heywood Broun, George S. Kaufman, Harold Ross— critics, screenwriters, playwrights, sports reporters extraordinaire—and my favorite sarcasm-infused critic and poet, Dorothy Parker, were the “charter members.”

The seemingly perfect infusion of that period in time’s talent gathered at the Algonquin Hotel in New York City from 1919 until roughly a decade later. These characters met daily for lunch and frivolity, all the while making crude and personal remarks about one another; but all in jest, as friends only should. Other celebrities made an occasional appearance: actress Tallulah Bankhead, playwright Noel Coward, along with struggling actors and actresses trying to make a name for themselves. And of course, as noted, Harpo Marx was a semi-regular and brother Groucho would occasionally make an appearance.

They poked fun at one another. And it wasn’t taken personally.

I have always been somewhat leery or skeptical of critics and opinion writers, and maybe I shouldn’t be, for they are far more knowledgeable and educated than me, far and away better writers who can express their thoughts and communicate better than I can. I tend to write by the seat of my pants.

However, sometimes when I read a review of something that I know a little about and disagree with, something inside of me wants to respond. Like I have here. Most times I let it go, and other times I express my disagreements in the form of a letter to the editor of the publication I read such disagreement in.

But sometimes, that negative turns into a positive. I ask again, who critiques the critics?