Edinburgh diary: Who are these reviewers, then?

Without the deluge of daily reviews, the Edinburgh Festival would be very different. Nicky Woolf meets the people who write them.

The Edinburgh Festival revolves around performers and shows. Without them, there is no festival. But there is another gravitational well about which the punters also orbit: the reviewers, and there are no shortage of them.

The national newspapers send their correspondents, but there are also a great number of small independent publications that spring into life for the month of August, or specialise in covering fringe theatre: Fest, the Skinny, Fringe Review, Fringebiscuit, Fringe Guru, WhatsOnStage, Three Weeks and Broadway Baby to name but a few.

These publications rely almost entirely on volunteers for reviewers; many, perhaps most, are students; but almost all are essentially enthusiastic amateurs. Three Weeks and Broadway Baby are the most prolific, with more than a hundred such reviewers apiece.

I speak to Dan*, a former Broadway Baby reviewer who was working for the site two years ago. “There was no training, really,” he tells me. “They had a meeting, that was it. There was no vetting, and the standard of reviewing [on all these sites] vary. Some of them shove four or five stars on anything. There is a guy who does a look over the thing, but it's just basic sub-editing to make sure it's not offensive. Three Weeks, for example, has a bit of a reputation for being open to anyone who's written an article at university, or anyone who can nearly string a sentence together.”

Levi Bailey, the managing editor of Broadway Baby, does tell me that the site aims to “make sure [reviewers] are from a background where they've already been trained”, but nonetheless a quick glance across the review-sheets that the two big sites print daily will show some people who seem to be writing from a position of genre-bias, appear to have fallen in love with their own critical phraseology – a quick glance at today's reveals “being locked in the cabinet would have been more fun” – want to air their own theatrical theories (“I have always been of the opinion,” one particularly memorable review opened dictatorially, “that Shakespeare cannot be read but must be performed”), or are simply written with such poor attention to grammar, syntax and vocabulary that any theatrical judgement must be put in doubt simply by association.

“Another problem with a lot of the sites like Broadway Baby and Three Weeks are that a lot of them are trying to prove their writing flair, so they want to try out new things,” Dan tells me. “Everybody wants to be Will Self up here.”

Often, this all means there is little love lost between performers and reviewers. A bad review can dent a young production's chances of commercial success, while a good one can often guarantee it. Especially in the internet age where a young theatre company's Google rankings are as important as word-of-mouth recommendations, the power to make or break a show is a lot of responsibility to place in the hands of someone who is essentially an unqualified amateur.

Tom Eccleshare and Valentina Ceschi are the theatrical duo behind Captain Ko and the Planet of Rice, a beautiful but unusual production which has suffered at the hands of some reviewers. “Now I like mime,” a Broadway Baby review of their show opines, “but I do have an issue with a mime that lasts twenty minutes.” Thus are Tom and Valentina are afflicted by the reviewer's short attention span. Is this fair?

“We knew that the piece would be divisive, [but] we didn't find any bad reviews for a while and our sales were really good, so we thought maybe no news is good news,” Ceschi tells me. “Then we found them all at once. It was really upsetting. After a while, if you keep reading them there is a danger of believing what you read.”

“You're doing it every night and now you have those words in your head, and as soon as you hear somebody shuffling in the audience a voice in your head goes: 'ah, there you go. They were right.'”

On the other hand, the duo tell me, despite the critical hostility, their audiences have been positive – and large. “The thing with a bad review,” says Ceschi, “is people might not really see it. It's the good reviews that people are looking for. If the show has good word of mouth, and if the audience response has been positive, that's the most important thing. If you got 5-stars to whack on your poster it's going to be eye-catching, but there's a limit to the damage a bad review can do.”

A galaxy of stars is a real boost to a young company, however. By now, many shows will have had several reviewers in, and those that have been rewarded with good ratings will be sitting around diligently stapling printouts of those stars to their flyers and posters. But there is a lot of pressure on reviewers to give out good reviews. “People just aren't as careful with the star rating,” says Dan, “but it's the star ratings that sell shows. People put them on their flyers, but if everyone's got five stars, maybe they become valueless.”

Some shows are clearly worthy of the reviews that will adorn their posters by the end of the month. Others are doubtless less deserving of praise. But reviewing theatre is always an exercise in subjectivity, and because there are so many reviewers and so many publications at the Fringe there can be no real consistency; one reviewer may be in the habit of heaping praise but be measly with stars; others might give stars out like tic-tacs; others still might simply be prejudiced against a performance because the room is too hot. Sometimes a production just is unlucky.

Then again, the young critics are in a bind. Should they shy away from telling the truth in order to spare the feelings of strangers? Ultimately, a critic must reward and damn with as much fairness as they can muster, but this is very difficult without context and experience.

Tom Martin, editor of Twitter-based site Fringebiscuit, has also struggled with this process. “Because we're running a young writers' training scheme we try to engage with the thought process more. We want to make sure our writers are checking themselves.” At least three pairs of eyes see every review: the two editors and the reviewer. If a review doesn't ring true, or suffers from prejudicial bias, they will send it back to the writer. “It's about making sure that not only is the writer working on all cylinders, but the production is fairly represented. We want to make sure that they engage with it on fair terms. Of course, sometimes some productions just are really bad – but that's OK.”

“There have been some reviews for both shows,” says Eccleshare, “and not necessarily the more positive ones, that I've thought have really attempted to engage with the show, and make an intelligent response to it. [That's better], even if that's not necessarily positive.”

“Ultimately,” says Dan, “whether someone's had training as a reviewer or not, their opinion as an audience member will be just as valid.”

*name has been changed.

You should always read the reviews. Photograph: Getty Images

Nicky Woolf is a writer for the Guardian based in the US. He tweets @NickyWoolf.

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Marvel has moved past the post-credits teaser, and it's all the better for it

Individual stories are suddenly taking precedence over franchise building.

The lasting contribution of 2008’s Iron Man to contemporary cinema comes not from the content of the film itself, but in its Avengers-teasing post-credits scene featuring an eyepatch-sporting Samuel L. Jackson. While post-credits scenes were not invented by Marvel, their widespread adoption in other blockbusters is a testament to Marvel using them to titillate and frustrate.

Fast forward nine years and Marvel’s direction has significantly altered. Having moved to a three-film-a-year structure ahead of next year’s climactic Infinity War, their two releases this summer have featured less explicit connective tissue, using post-credits scenes that are, in typical Marvel fashion, self-reflexive and fun – but this time with no teases for films to come.

Where previous Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU) films have trailed characters donning superhero mantles, confrontations to come, or more light-hearted team ups, Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2 decided to lovingly poke fun at Marvel grandmaster Stan Lee, leaving him stranded on a godforsaken space rock in the outer reaches of the stars. Spider-Man: Meanwhile Homecoming targeted filmgoers who had stayed until the end in expectation of a tease, only to receive a Captain America educational video on the virtues of “patience”.

That isn’t to say that connective tissue isn’t there. Marvel seems to be pursuing world building not through post-credits stingers, but through plot and character. In the past, teasing how awful big bad Thanos is ahead of the Avengers battling him in Infinity War would have been done through a menacing post-credits scene, as in both Avengers films to date. Instead Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2 uses character as a tool to explore the world at large.

Nebula’s seething rage is, rather than just a weak excuse for an antagonist’s arc, actually grounded in character, explaining to Sean Gunn’s loveable space pirate Kraglin that Thanos would pit his daughters, her and Gamora, against each other, and replace a part of her body with machine each time she failed – and she failed every time. It’s effective. Thanos’ menace is developed, and you feel sympathy for Nebula, something Marvel has historically failed to do well for its antagnoists. Her parting promise – to kill her father – not only foreshadows the events of Infinity War, but also hints at the conclusion of a fully formed arc for her character.

In the high-school-set Spider-Man: Homecoming, the stakes quite rightly feel smaller. The inexperienced wall-crawler gets his chance to save the day not with the galaxy at risk, but with an equipment shipment owned by Iron Man alter-ego and billionaire inventor Tony Stark hanging in the balance. While such a clear metaphor for widespread change in the MCU might be a little on the nose, the set-up is effective at plaing the film at street level while also hinting at overall changes to the structure of the universe.

Stark gifting Peter a new (and oh so shiny) suit is a key set piece at the end of the film, whereas in 2015's Ant-Man’s Hope Pym inheriting her mother’s own miniaturising suit it is relegated to a teaser. Peter’s decision to turn it down not only completes Peter’s transition past seeking the approval of Stark’s unwitting father figure, but it also leaves the Avengers in an as-yet unknown state, still fragmented and incomplete after the events of 2016’s Civil War. To anticipate Spider-Man joining the Avengers proper is to anticipate the forming of the team as a whole – keeping our collective breath held until we stump up for tickets to Infinity War.

With this happy marriage of the macro and the micro, individual stories are suddenly taking precedence in the MCU, rather than being lost in the rush to signpost the foundations for the next instalment in the franchise. It’s a refreshingly filmic approach, and one which is long overdue. To suggest that Marvel is hesitant to overinflate Infinity War too early is supported by their refusal to share the footage of the film screened to audiences at the D23 and San Diego Comic Con events in recent weeks. Instead, the limelight is staying firmly on this November’s Thor: Ragnarok, and next February’s Black Panther.

Stan Lee, at the end of his Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2 post credits scene, cries, “I’ve got so many more stories to tell!”, a hopeful counterpoint to a weary Captain America asking “How many more of these are there?” at the end of Homecoming. With Disney having planned-out new MCU releases all the way into 2020, entries in the highest-grossing franchise of all time won’t slow any time soon. We can, at least, hope that they continue their recent trend of combining writerly craft with blockbuster bombast. While the resulting lack of gratuitousness in Marvel’s storytelling might frustrate in the short term, fans would do well to bear in mind Captain America’s call for patience.