Critic, explain thyself

I had originally intended to include this in the TV Guide writeup for this coming Saturday, but as I got deeper into it, I realized that it would make an already-long piece even longer; at the same time, I didn't want to cut it short, because I think it raises the types of questions many people have asked over the years. Ultimately, it was so interesting that I felt it deserved space of its own.

It begins with a letter to TV Guide from Mrs. Iveta Moore, a housewife living in Piedmont, Kansas, who has some questions about how professional critics go about reviewing television shows. She describes herself as "a perfect example of the favorite target of all TV critics’ scorn: a square, a citizen of the Corn Belt, a part of the moronic masses!" She is also a voracious reader—illustrated, I think, by the questions she asks—who, having read many reviews over the years, would like to know about the standards they use when writing their reviews. "I think I understand what they write," she says, "but if they are really saying what they believe, I don’t understand why they believe as they do." She poses the following questions in hopes that they will help her, and other viewers, to better understand where these critics are coming from:

1. What makes fantasy? What is the difference between Peter Pan, accepted by critics as a classic, and My Mother, the Car, panned as silly and ridiculous?
2. What is escapism? Why is it used so often for TV entertainment and not, for example, Shakespearean plays? "Didn't the critics of his day think his plays were for the ignorant masses?"
3. Why not escapism? It helps her keep stable and cheerful. Why does this so often have negative connotations?
4. What makes a soap opera? Many of them are as true to life as Shakespeare's Portia winning a law case without training, while posing as a man. "Yet one is considered melodramatic trash, and the other culture. Why?"
5. What is good music? If the purpose of music is to enjoy and entertain, "Why, then, isn't it good or bad according to how it affects the listener?"
6. What is artistic freedom? Writers often think citizens of the Corn Belt are "narrowminded," yet "most of us accept Peyton Place as showing things that really do happen, over and over, in any size city or town, while the critics ery 'smut.' Why?"
7. What is realism? Writers think of it as tragic and brutal, but "doesn't it take even more talent to include the light, happy things of life in good drama?"

"Her questions seemed not only valid but also quite possibly representative of the thinking of many viewers," the editors responded, "and we felt they deserved an answer." Thus, they reached out to novelist, social commentator, and frequent TV Guide contributor Marya Mannes, to reply to Mrs. Moore.

"Dear Mrs. Moore," Mannes replies. "You deserve to be answered, not only because your questions go to the heart of television’s functions but because you belong to the great majority of viewers who, by turning on their sets for hours each day, have far more power over the nature of TV than we—the tiny minority of TV critics—have ever had." So. "for better or worse," she proceeds to tackle those questions, one by one.

What makes fantasy? "Fantasy is made by imagination. We imagine things we know are not real, but which we would like to believe. And the test of successful fantasy is whether for even fleeting moments we do believe it." Peter Pan, for example, embodies two great human desires: to fly by oneself, and to never grow old. So captivating is James M. Barrie's story, it matters not whether Peter is played "by not-so-young women or by boys." On the other hand, when it comes to a program such as My Mother the Car, "The idea behind it is not so much fantasy as a gag, or gimmick—good for some laughs, maybe, but hardly likely to stir the imagination." After you introduce the idea, which may well be funny, what else have you got? "Another formula comedy to pass the time. But—fantasy?"

Mayra Mannes

What is escapism? Just that. "To get away from the real world of worries, of tensions or problems, of daily boredom or suffering. Some escape through drink or gambling or pills, some look at television entertainment." Everyone needs a break once in a while. "But is there any reason why this break has to be silly or cheap or poorly written stuff, with a phony laugh track tacked on?" Danny Kaye is a kind of escapism, but done with "taste and wit and charm along with the fun." The reason someone like Shakespeare isn't considered escapist is because his plays "are so much more than that: They are mirrors of enduring human passions," combining the most beautiful language in all literature with plots that gave "both the mass and the minority what they looked for."

What makes a soap opera? "I have seen quite a lot of them, because I admire the acting and find them truly 'escapist.'" They seem true to a certain type of life, to "stereotypes of American middle-class suburbia and therefore not true of the millions of Americans who are neither middle-class nor white, nor of the many American wives who are too busy working to worry about all the things soap-opera housewives moan about." The difference between Portia being "culture" and soaps being "trash," it amounts to quality, "the difference between the imagination of a great writer and the slick formulas of Hollywood writing teams." If there was ever a woman in soaps who talked like Portia, "I'd spend my day at the set."

What is good music? There are good musicians and bad musicians in every genre of music; the difference depends on things such as voice quality, the songs they use, and their orchestrations. "In any case, it’s no more true that something is good because it’s popular than that something is unpopular because it’s no good." Nobody's going to stop you from listening to whoever and whatever you like; "The only point here is that your enjoyment doesn’t necessarily mean that he’s good."

What is artistic freedom? Just that, the freedom of a writer "to determine without interference what he writes about and how he writes it." It's not just cultural mores that affect such freedom; it's "a television system that depends on getting the greatest possible audience to buy the products advertised." Sponsors can't afford to offend consumers, which means avoiding anything controversial or unpopular, "and many of the most important human problems are both." Peyton Place, on the other hand, is just "a nighttime soap opera full of people in trouble."

What is realism? More than just costumes and settings. "Realism is the reflection of life as it is lived— really lived." It can be tragic, violent, tender, corrupt, or funny; "A light comedy is just as valuable as a dark tragedy, provided it is the product of talent and keen observation." If today's writers seem more attracted to the "seamy side," it's because "we live in an age of change and violence which no artist can ignore, but which, unfortunately, too many mediocre writers use to exploit the public appetite for shock and sensationalism, particularly in the areas of crime and sex." 

Taken as a whole, Mannes boils Mrs. Moore's questions to the central question: "What is Good—or Bad? And who are you, the critics, to tell us which is which?" It's a very hard thing to define, she says, but one major component is experience. "I think it can be fairly said that a critic on a responsible newspaper or magazine has, in the pursuit of his profession, read more books, seen more plays, heard more music, looked at more art than the average television viewer." Critics base their judgments on these years of experience and the thought given to them. A critic may or may not be right, "but he has earned his right to judge." 

If a critic seems harsh in his assessments, "it is because he thinks the medium can do much better and the viewers deserve much better." Why must entertainament be silly and cheap? Why do you need guns for excitement? Why must all popular music be directed to the young? In conclusion, if you like what you see, feel free to ignore the critics. "However, it is a sign of your intelligence that you choose not to, and that you have asked questions which, although these answers may not satisfy you, need asking. Thank you, Mrs. Moore."

I've come to develop an appreciation for Mayra Mannes over the years; I've devoted a chapter of my upcoming book to the television adaptation of her novel They, and even when I don't agree with her, I admire her keen mind and thought. But there's not really much to disagree with here. Her ultimate defense of the role of the critic is not, as some might think, a form of elitism; instead, I think she's talking about the vest amount of experience professional critics have accumulated over the years, and the consideration they've given to that experience over time. I've seen too many examples myself of online "critics" who blithely propose to discuss television history while at the same time demonstrating that they lack any depth of knowledge of the topic whatsoever. And I think she does an admirable job of defining the often-undefinable term "quality," rather than the relativistic notion that if it sounds good, it is good.

I don't think you'd see this kind of intelligent conversation about television (or most artistic endeavors, for that matter) in the average publication today, let alone in TV Guide. All in all, I find that what Marya Mannes said in answer to Mrs. Iveta Moore, sixty years ago, still holds true today. It's just too bad that much of her criticism of television back in 1966, unfortunately, holds true today as well. TV