A Funny Story about Subjectivity and Reputation
If you know anything about me (as most of the random
participants of the internet do) you have heard me complain about my intense
distaste for my college professors and how they taught me in the ways of
dealing with emotionally wrought authority figures without going completely
insane.
Case in point:
I was a theatre major, and one of the main requirements
to graduate was a directing class. The semester I took it, we had a large
group, but there were three major people of note.
1.) The woman we shall hereby dub as Eichmann. Eichmann
was a beautiful, kind, sweetheart, who accepted all ideas except for her own.
She believed the teachers always knew what they were talking about, trusted
them with no question, and followed orders like she lived in Stockholm.
2.) Next, there was "Broadway." Broadway was
a fun, quirky girl with powerful pipes in an anti-music theatre department. My professors
didn't hate music, they just took possession of it; it was their thing, and we
couldn't have it. She was interesting in a way, because, like Eichmann, she was
very sycophantic, constantly pandering to the teachers, sucking up to them,
complimenting them, taking their hostile criticisms with a smile and agreement.
But unlike Eichmann, whose full faith came from an honest place of blind trust,
Broadway had an agenda. She couldn't keep it up all the time and would argue
with them to get what she wanted. Her sucking up came more from calculation
than actual hero worship, and I appreciated her for it.
3.) Me. Because, of course. Now understand, in college,
I had my head so far up my ass that I was actually taller. Not in terms of ego-
although that's true too - but I just didn't notice the effect I had on people
or what they wanted from me. I didn't realize my teachers just wanted to be
told they were right - Not that I would have obliged them even if I had. In any
case, I always questioned them, not realizing it put them on edge, and it ended
up that I scared the crap out of my teachers.
The classes went by as you would expect. Eichmann sat
riveted in her seat, leaning forward as our professor redefined and made up
words.
Meanwhile, I'd be there asking, "If no one else
has taken this class, will any of the terms be useable outside it?" And
Broadway would switch back and forth between telling me to shut up and going,
"Wait, yeah!"
The day of reckoning came quickly. For our final
project, we each had to direct and present a scene. I chose Taming of the
Shrew by William Shakespeare. Eichmann chose A Midsummer Night's Dream
by William Shakespeare, and Broadway chose The Defenseless Creature by
Neil Simon.
Things you should know about our department: Musical theatre
was off limits, as I said. Not officially, but you'd never get permission. You
weren't "ready yet." (Their favorite phrase when reasoning why you
shouldn't do something.) Also off limits was Neil Simon. Again, not officially,
because "officially" could cause conflict. You can argue with
something "official," but you can't argue with something
"passive-aggressive." But, unlike musical theatre, it was because
Simon was beneath us, as was anything written after Death of a Salesman.
Neil Simon is, of course, not a musical playwright. But
considering that Broadway was good at musicals, and our teacher wanted to be
good at musicals, and Broadway had a reputation for doing things off limits,
when she then chose to do Neil Simon, (That's what she said) she was in
trouble.
The scene I chose from Taming typically hinged on
slapstick. It's a fight scene when the two lovers meet for the first time.
Generally, directors have them kicking the crap out of each other, which is, in
most circumstances, hilarious. My approach, however, was to do it more down to
earth, focusing on the characters' inner life over external conflict. The
argument between them was more realistic in mine than usually done. Was this a
good choice? Well, at the end of it, I wasn't entirely satisfied. It was fine.
But it didn't matter much anyway. I never took school all that serious.
The scene taken from Midsummer's was where the
love-square meets in the forest, and the girls beat the crap out of each other
because one of their boyfriends is magically induced into loving the other
girl. Eichmann focused on the slapstick, having the characters constantly
running around, slapping, shoving, and chasing each other. You don't hear a
word anyone says.
The Defenseless Creature is about a woman who
needs a loan and proceeds to beat the crap out of the banker until she gets
what she wants. Emotionally, anyway. It is a very stupid short play, but it had
me in tears the entire time. I laughed so hard I nearly peed myself.
Broadway had split the stage into two
"rooms," placing the secretary on one side and the banker on the
other. The Defenseless Creature comes on, goes in, and proceeds to make a scene
until the banker gives her what she wants. The secretary, meanwhile, ate his
lunch, played with ball clackers, and was all around hilarious. When the boss
cries for him to remove the woman, Broadway made sense of the secretary's long
absence when he tries to hide his evidence.
Out of the ten scenes, Broadway's was by far the best,
no question. I had zero doubt.
But then we went to class where we endured what is
called the post-mortem, (Latin for after-death) but is probably more aptly
named as “painfully slow death.” In theatre, a “post-mortem” is a meeting after
a show is over that enables people to talk about what happened - what they
liked, what could be improved, etc.
Teacher starts with Eichmann.
"Yours was so hilarious. I loved how you didn't
depend on the words to entertain people."
He tells her only good things.
He turns to me.
"Yours was so hilarious. I loved how you really
focused on the words and conveying Kate's emotions."
He tells me only good things.
He looks to Broadway.
"Yours was muddled. Distracting. There were some
great lines in there, and the audience doesn't hear them."
You heard that right. Eichmann glosses over
Shakespeare, and she's a genius. Broadway glosses over Neil Simon, and WTF is
wrong with her.
I chime in, as someone with an ass for a mask does,
insisting, "Yeah, but it makes it rewatchable. Now when you see it more
than once, you get something new each time."
He gives me a look. "Yes, but are we really making
theatre to be watched over and over?"
For once, I can't even begin to think what to say to
that.
He tells Broadway only his complaints, not saying one
good thing, not one thing she did right. She takes it like a champ. Meanwhile,
I am pissed.
See, the criticism was not about what we did. It was
about who we were and how he perceived us. Eichmann was told nice things
because he liked her. Yes, I wouldn't say her play was bad, or even that it
deserved hostility, but she didn't receive any negative feedback even though
there were things she could have done better. The same goes for me. There was a
lot I could have done, but not a word about it. Not only that, but Eichmann and
I received the exact opposite compliments, where Broadway got dinged for the
same thing Eichmann was praised. Why? Because he was batshit terrified of me
and my asshattery.
The reason why Broadway was torn apart had nothing to
do with her work and everything to do with her reputation. Teacher wanted
Eichmann to be happy. He wanted her to be good. He wanted her to stay liking
him. He didn't like me particularly, didn't want me to be happy, and definitely
didn't want me to be good, but he wanted me to like him too and felt that I
didn't. (Which was actually, at the time, a misconception on his part. A
misconception that led to behavior that made me not like him.) Criticism is
hard because if you're not well practiced and someone argues with you, it's
difficult to prove your point. I can say I don't like this character, but why I
don't like a character, or even why it's important that I do like a character,
is harder. He thought I would argue with his opinion, and he didn't have enough
confidence or understanding of said opinion to stand strong if that happened,
so he avoided it. I say this due to later experience and hindsight. Yes,
speculation, but not petulant speculation.
(I'd like to point out that while I can be an
unruly bitch, it is not common for me to be an unruly bitch. His
belief that I would fly off the handle at feedback was unfounded in
experience.)
Head of the Department tries to pawn me off onto
someone else when I ask if he'll read my play.
Head of Department: You should try giving it to
Teacher. He's our playwriting professor.
Me: I did. He doesn't read them.
Head of Department: Well, he says you're bad at
taking criticism.
Me: How would he know? He hasn't given me any.
Teacher never gave me a lick of negative feedback
because he assumed I wouldn't take it well. Over time I've learned there are
people who interpret asking questions as a form of interest, and others who
interpret asking questions as questioning. I began to understand where his fear
came from during a time when I was young and starry-eyed.
In any case, it's doubtful I would have shanked him
with my mechanical pencil if he had said, "Really find the inherent humor
and play off of that," but he believed I would have lacerated him, and
that's the important part.
See, he didn't criticize Eichmann because he didn't
want to. He didn't criticize me because he was afraid to. Broadway had the
worst of both worlds. He wanted her to be terrible. He was in competition over
the whole "who's better at musicals" issue, he was mad she chose Neil
Simon. He was mad because she'd argue with him from time to time, but, unlike
me, he wasn't afraid of her. She would take blunt attacks like the best of
them, most occasions agreeing, which made it okay. He could attack her with no
ramifications, so he did.
While my situation was extreme, it is a good example of
the life of the writer. The worst reviews are online when the posting is
anonymous, where there are no consequences for being a jerk. The most hostile
rants are for self-publishers and successful young adult books, where the
reviewers want to hate them, where they want them to be bad. There are many
people like my teacher, people who want to be writers and so are angry with
those who encroach on their "territory," people who only give
criticism when they think they can get away with it, and people who will like
or dislike something just because they want to.
Feedback is a wonderful thing, but it's rarely a good
identifier how well you're doing. In order to be useful, it's important to not
look at the "rating" but the advice itself, and always remember how
that person sees you - or wants to see you - before taking them too seriously.
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