Want to be a reviewer? Nobody will ever like you again | Liam Mullone has his own advice for would-be critics

Want to be a reviewer? Nobody will ever like you again

Liam Mullone has his own advice for would-be critics

While I agreed,  in large part, with the Correspondents Piece that Chortle wrote itself, for itself, about itself (will it win the monthly prize off itself?) entitled How to Be A Reviewer, I felt that something was missing. Perhaps it’s my repressed Protestant background but I couldn’t help thinking that something was missing. Call it humility. Or empathy. Or just a nudge in the direction of the don’t-be-a-dick door. Anyway, here’s an alternative version.

1.  Journalism is dead. If you think that somebody is going to read your reviews in Fringebanana.com and offer you a position on The Guardian arts desk then you are dreaming a fervid and malarial dream. This isn’t going to lead to anything in the wider world. To get a post in journalism these days requires friends in high places, and you don’t have any, even in the gutter. (see 2)

2.   You know the Night’s Watch in Game of Thrones? A phalanx of men whose past crimes are forgotten but, in return, they can never know happiness or family or friendship or warmth ever again? That is the vow you take when you become a reviewer. Perhaps you really are guarding some intangible wall behind which is a marauding horde of unfunny dark unfunniness. But nobody likes you. Nobody will ever like you again. They’ll be friendly to you if you give them a good review. But that’s not friendship, is it? That’s just pandering. And awkward.

3.  Ask yourself why you want to be a reviewer. Is it to get into writing? (see 1). Is it to get into comedy? You can’t go into comedy after reviewing (see 2). So ask yourself whether you’re happy to never, ever perform this beautiful and ridiculous craft; this tantalising art that you see played out before you every day for four weeks. Ask yourself if you’re happy to NEVER do that. Because, to a comedian, that would be like vowing to never have sex again, or see a sunset, or watch people walk through closed balcony doors on YouTube. Do you remember Fabulous, an early-90s indie band made up of NME journalists? Probably not, because you’re 12. Anyway, they split up because nobody would work with them or even give them a gig.

4.  Try to spell things correctly, and read through your reviews to make sure the grammar is inoffensive and the rhythm of your sentences agreeable. If you set yourself up in judgment of others, the least they should expect is that you not be illiterate.

5. You are not Kate Copstick. Stop trying to be Kate Copstick.

6.   The thing you are assessing is a piece of entertainment, not whether or not you, personally, are having a good time. These things may seem indistinguishable to the very young but, weirdly, it is not the performer’s concern if the toilets smell or the room is too hot or too cold or there’s a bloke in front of you with a dogshit on his head. Until you can float, zen-like, above your immediate circumstances to take in the art before you, then you have no business even being there.

7.  Try to remember, if you can, that comedians are also human beings and so are entitled to at least the same measure of charity you would afford to, say, a stray dog or a lost kitten, if not necessarily the same degree of pity.

8.  Taking a show to Edinburgh is a triumph of optimism over statistics, much like marriage, and should be similarly applauded. Even acts on the Free Fringe have shown remarkable courage in committing themselves to a month of pain, disappointment and attrition. Yes, you may have seen 20 shows already today, but never forget that you are looking at someone with far, far more courage than you are likely have demonstrated in your entire life thus far.

9.   You are not the comedy police. Don’t think you can justify cruel or intemperate words with the Copstick defence: ‘They’re all egomaniacs so they all have it coming.’ See point 5. In any case the argument is illogical as it assumes an attritional police/burglar relationship where your job is to eradicate and punish, not cultivate and encourage. 

10.  Remember that, against all the incredible odds stacked against you, some reviewers ARE held in high esteem by comics. It will take years and years of patience, dedication, temperance and contemplation. But one day an act who doesn’t even have a show on will buy you a drink at the Library Bar – and then you’ll know you’re a half-decent reviewer. One day you may even turn back into a human. But don’t hold your breath.

  Liam Mullone has a show on somewhere, probably. You'd look it up if you cared.

Published: 2 Aug 2013

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