What happens if a bad review is actually a  good review disguised as a stinker and other tales of narration and critique…

Warning: The names and locations mentioned have been changed to protect the innocent, the not so innocent, and  even the pompous and the dim, and to defend against all claims of utter and complete self-indulgence.

Here at AA, we like to start our meetings with taking responsibility for our addictions by testifying:

Hi, My name is Jo Anna. I’m an audio book narrator. And, yes, I am a part-time audio book reviewer. And here is my story.

I’ve noticed quite recently, that everyone out there is a critic. Anyone with access to a computer, or a blog, can say what they want against almost anyone , in regard to someone’s talents or abilities, as long as it’s not libelous, or slanderous. Scurrilous seems to be okay, and even admired, but with a requisite pretense of indignation. Unless, of course, it is done with humor, at which point it is, apparently, AOK.

I have been narrating in the popular media for a couple of years now, and even longer hidden  in an academic niche:  memoirs of art teachers, books on socialism, things that are adored and appreciated by Ivy League universities and museums, but not likely to be reviewed.

Having to survive by reviews is not new turf for  me. As an actor I’m totally used to them, so I can take my lumps and my triumphs like a big girl, but as an actor narrator,  Audio Book reviews are a new and strange phenomenon, a necessary evil.  That’s because in legitimate theatre and film, my first mediums, you know who is issuing your reviews, and what in their background allows them the forum to praise or slice and dice. This is not necessarily so in Audiobooks.

I admit, I too have been guilty of indulging in the art of the  review. It’s very tempting  to put your voice out there, help inform opinion, and see your name attached. I have indeed written reviews for audio books. What gives me the competence to do so? I have two ears, and I like to listen. Is that enough?

Okay, one more thing. I actually took a year of Dramaturgy and Literary Analysis and Critique at university. It was part of my degree. I thought I wanted to be a theatre critic. So, maybe I do have some requirements for giving my analyses and putting them in print. I know structure and flow, and the elements of a review vs.  a simple opinion.  But do I have taste, that is, am I discerning? Well, sadly, that doesn’t always matter, as long as I have a forum, or a blog, or a paper, or a magazine; somewhere I can post my view. Don’t get me wrong. There  are legitimate and respected reviewers and bloggists out there. Our own Guest Contributor  Literate Housewife, for one. They have legitimate sites, quote sources, are generally fair, and, you know who is reviewing you, bios and such, and roughly, what gives them the right to do so.

I have recently garnered some lovely reviews for  various narrations. Some so lovely that I, being a good Catholic school girl, had to step back and ponder, “Wow. Me. Are they really talking about me?”

Flash back: Senior year in  high school. Sister Fred of the Perpetual Piety has given me a C in Spanish. Really? I am an honor student in Spanish, with nothing but straight A’s. The principal,  Sister Lucretius of the Perennially Pained, looked over my records, my present grades, etc. and announced that yes, indeed a mistake had been made.  Sister Fred, about 102 at the time, had most definitely made a mistake. “However,  we won’t correct it because that would offend the poor dear.” Say whaaaat?!  But, I have perfect grades why should I accept this? “Take this as a life’s lesson. Nobody is perfect. Sometimes It’s better to remain quiet. The truth would hurt  Sister Fred.” Yes, but  the wrong grade will outlive Sister Fred, and become part of my permanent record. I was seventeen at the time of this incident.

So flash forward to 2011. I am no longer 17, and that is ALL I am going to say, and  there is the  specter of narration reviews.  Having been allowed to bask in some lovely reviews for some weeks, humbly appreciative and aware that you don’t believe your press (Yes Sister Lucretius,  nobody’s perfect) I get a review that is bad. Bloody awful. In fact I once again stepped back, and said, “Wow. Me. Are they really talking about me?”   It may not  be the first lemon I get, and it most assuredly won’t be my last pan or my final razzie. Which is fine, you can’t please everyone, not everyone will understand your choices,you might not make the right choices,  and so, learn what you can from what the reviewer has said, and move on to the next narration.

If we are willing to accept the good reviews, we must be willing to embrace the bad.  However, what if, just what if,  on closer inspection, there is nothing to learn, other than the reviewer may indeed NOT have liked your performance or the sound of your voice, or your choices, but, in terms of the text, and the author’s vision, you nailed it?

What if you receive a bad review, that is actually a good review in reverse?  What if the performance you have been publicly decried for, is actually you  being true to what the author has written and the reviewer missed the entire point of the book? In short, what happens when a narrator is condemned for being true to the words and characters of the author?

I was once told by a very wise man and honored narrator(and here you may feel free to put in the vocal accent of a very  Beatific Brit. In fact, let’s do it together) “you must be aware that  when you put yourself out there in narration, sometimes you will actually be spot on, but a reviewer will completely  misunderstand the fact that you are being true to the book, and often misunderstand the book completely.  And you will be given a bad review that is in fact unfair. And you may be the only one who will have the satisfaction when reading the review, of knowing that  by those standards and conditions, you  actually nailed it.” And what do you do when this is the case, just turn beet red and spin like a top? How do you  point out that, it may not have worked for this person, but that you were true to the author’s vision? Answer: “Unfortunately, unless they are sitting in your living room,  you can’t.”

Well, no you can’t, if you don’t have a forum, a blog, a newspaper or a magazine, or a big enough living room. Oh. Right. I have a blog!

For sake of argument, let’s say a critic has alleged your narration is Flat, Clinical, and Unemotional. Again, let us say, for sake of argument that the book  referenced is set in a small isolated semi-rural town, comprised of mostly lower middle class white people. Every family has been there  for generations, every character speaks in a similar, regional way, not in my opinion, but actually in the book. Remember now, our three adjectives: Flat, Clinical, Unemotional. Some text/quotes as per the author, the book publisher or other reviews regarding this “fictional” book:

The accents are “broad, Midwestern ” with lots of “FLAT elongated vowel sounds” and peppered with Midwestern regionalisms; The narrator in the book, the nameless character (not to be confused with the narrator of the book which would be me) is a “sidekick” a “CLINICAL and wry observer” and finally, the character hides all emotions behind “Humor”; a “wry cynic” unable to deal with the “emotional ” episodes in her life she, chooses to remain “a silent observer.”

As an actor, you’d love to add a bellicose Belgian or a frenetic  Finn to really shake up the vocal mix, but if they don’t exist in the text or within the characters drawn by an author , you can’t. In such a case,  what is perceived as flat, is actually part and parcel of the fabric of our “fictional”  book.  And a detached or clinical lead character who does virtually all the “talking” will inevitably sound isolated.  And as for unemotional,  this written character often is.

However, is it really possible to be completely emotionless in a narration?  Well, that is food for thought, and I will definitely ponder that. No-one who knows me personally would ever say that I am unemotional.  I’m Sicilian.  We invented the vendetta, then created the stiletto and the Mafia with which to carry it out.  But in our fictional narration, that comment made by a reviewer, made me think they thought I was personally unemotional. However, perhaps I am over-reacting, because, I am emotional.

So what do you do when you are accused of reading emotional scenes, well, without emotion, when you are in fact, narrating a scene as written, or voicing a character whose nature, according to the author,  is not to display emotion in those scenes?  And what do you do when you feel the reviewer may be killing the messenger by not understanding the nature of the book? That would require a lesson in character separation.

Flash back to the last century: I am on TV in a Soap Opera for a few months as a continuing player in a romantic arc. I am also, on this day, in Lord and Taylor’s in NYC. I am accosted by a rabid fan who shrieks at me “How dare you steal Lucinda’s husband!” She’s brandishing an umbrella, and she makes a run for me. Luckily, the guard is nearby and escorts this fan from the premises before she can actually brain me. That is someone for whom the line between fictional character and reality have blurred.

If  a character who in an emotional scene shuts down,  makes a wry comment, a  humorous remark, or physically and silently exits the scene, there is little room for florid narration.  If the author would let me rewrite the scene, I’d be thrilled to have the character fall on the floor in a heap, pulling at her hair, keening at the top of her lungs. I could certainly chew up the scenery and assuage any  listener out there who feels they have been cheated of a fair quotient of emotion.  But, what if it’s NOT in the book? In that case, I would hope, a  distinction would be drawn between the narrator voicing a book, and the narrator/character IN the book, so as not to confuse the emotional domain of the two.

What do we do then Sister Lucretius? Do we let Sister Fred and her ilk go on obliviously  annihilating other folks, because we are none of us perfect and we don’t wish to offend ? Do we risk banishment to audio book hell for actually confronting the elephant in the room and telling reviewers out there that while they may hate what we’ve done, and may have detested out choices, they should listen to the text long enough to get the salient points of the book?

Sure, what the hell. A bad review, even a misguided one,  may still be on my permanent record, as that is beyond my control. But it helps when you have the satisfaction of knowing the truth is out there.

If anyone reviews any artistic medium without doing  their homework, it’s not a review. It’s an opinion. Especially, when they are on a forum where they can influence the sale of a book,  a play or other work. They owe it, if not to us, the narrators and actors, then to the author, the producers and the publishers, to make sure they know the basics, even if that means,  as in an audio book, reading the actual book beforehand. In fact, when I personally review, I generally do.

My name is Jo Anna and I am an audio book narrator(or, at least until now, I was) and a part-time reviewer, and, if a good review falls in the woods, and no one knows it, well yada yada yada, you get the idea…

We as actors are constantly at the mercy of various critics. Often nameless and faceless people whose criteria for review is unknown to us. Yet, they have the power to affect our permanent record. What is the solution? I assume you fight your battles when you can, accept your punishment  and learn from it when it has something to teach you, and when  it is rightly  and justly deserved, and ultimately,  head undaunted back into the studio, ideally issuing  a Bronx cheer.