HE LOVES ME, HE LOVES ME NOT

By Indu Raman

             Critics – people artistes love to hate. The bitter pill the dancer must swallow            

              before the performance. The hottest topic in the green room.  The dancer’s  

              favourite bete noire. The one unifying factor among artistes. The critic is today 

              defined as the one who is himself criticised by those he criticizes.

            There is a striking portrayal of the archetypal dance critic in the Telugu film Sagara Sangamam. A scruffy, kurta-clad, bearded critic sits happily through a splendid dance performance – until the dancer commits a grave faux pas in the interpretation of the text. The critic focuses on the blunder in his review. Storming into the newspaper office, the incensed dancer demands to meet the critic, ostensibly to give a piece of her mind. His mouth filled with paan, the critic demonstrates then and there, his extraordinary knowledge and passion for the art.

           Delhi has been recently resounding with yet another clash between dancers and critics, the echoes of which are being heard in Bombay. This issue is like an undeflatable balloon. It just grows bigger and bigger, yet it never bursts. There is no end to it. There is no solution which will make everyone sit back and say, “Thank God, It’s over!”

            Criticism is a fine art. It implies that the person who reviews the merits and demerits of an artistic work knows the subject well enough and has known it long enough. In India, the critic has a difficult, almost impossible job. He is expected to cover a variety of styles of music and dance. Can a classical music enthusiast write about a Ghazal programme without a bias? Firstly, his attitude will be one of condescension towards popular music. Secondly, by choice, he may not have sat through enough Ghazal programmes to be aware of what is current. Against what standards will he judge?

            A dance critic who is basically a lover of Kathak faces a similar problem when he has to assess a Bharata Natyam performance. He understands Hindusthani music, can distinguish the nuances of the gharanas and relates to the total ambience. Can he switch over to a Bharata Natyam recital and use the same yardstick? The music                    is different. Unknown languages are used. Allusions to southern temple traditions and myths abound. If the dancer misinterprets the text, or the singer pronounces a word wrong, would he know? There is thus a crying need for specialization.

                        The critic must also follow the art closely and update himself on the innovations, shifts and interpolations that creep into it. The gharana strongholds in Hindustani music for instance, are weakening. Artistes are striving for originality. The critic, like the barometer, must allow his levels to change constantly.

                        All criticism is subjective. Criticism written without passion is mere reportage. The critic must react on a personal level. His knowledge of and love for the art must cause him to feel outraged over a bad performance. He must goad, inspire and provoke the artiste to give of his or her best. He is the watchdog. No one could have put the essence of his function more succinctly than George Bernard Shaw who said, “a critic must know the facts, that is where his bias comes out.”

                        But, it is here that the critic must be chary of the poison in his quill. He must focus on the interpretation of the art and not be prejudiced by the artiste’s personality or lifestyle. Young, upcoming artistes deserve constructive advice, reprimand and a modicum of praise. The professional dancer who already has a reputation can be administered a stiff dose of disapproval, if he/she consistently performs badly.

                        There is a time for encouragement and indignation, for provocation and nostalgia. The critics themselves have unrealistic ideals to follow. They must aim to be fair, take a long-term view and above all, they must care for art and artistes.

                        And what of the target camp? Performers wear their grudges on their sleeve. They shout blue murder every time unfair criticism appears and go into euphoria over praise. The artiste is a sensitive soul. That is why he or she is an artiste.

                       A stable relationship between the artiste and the critic is thus impossible to achieve. Nor is it necessary. There must be an unbridgeable chasm between the two. Only then do the artiste’s motives end with her doing her best and the critic remains unshackled by personal relations. Only then can he view a performance, without tinted glasses or guilt, pulling the punches out of his pen.

                       Ideally the critic should remain incognito. No bylines. This could give him the kind of freedom everyone only talks about. – freedom of the press. But will newspapers be willing to stand by such a critic? Shaw, favours this stand: “A critic should not know anybody.” He says. “His hand should be against every man and every man’s hand against his.”

                        The pen has always vested power in him who has wielded it. Critics think dancers are narcissistic, egoistic and dancers want to demolish the pedestals the critics place themselves on. If dancers fear that a critic can shatter their carefully built career with a damaging review, the critics are wary of intimidation and the gagging of independent criticism.

                       And yet, the fact remains that each needs the other. We are back with the balloon. It is never going to burst.

(First published in The Independent (TOI))