Guardian Comments Section

Recently I spoke to Emilia and Linda, the two minds behind The Ballet Bag, a website about ballet for dance maniacs and newbies too. The site was started as a 2-part experiment. First E&L (as they call themselves) wanted to know how the ballet conversation could be expanded. They love popular culture, and wanted to show where ballet fits in. By talking about ballet in a conversational tone and bringing in stories from a range of disciplines, they hoped they might attract a different or wider audience than the ones who read reviews in newspapers. The Ballet Bag is also an experiment in social media networking. E&L are as obsessed with social media as they are with ballet. They wanted to see how the Ballet Bag could A. Start cross-border conversations (there are ballet-lovers everywhere) and B. See if they could get more ballet-writing and coverage opportunities if they showed how well they could do this social-networking thing.

I asked them what other dance writers and critics thought about the work they do. E&L said that by making the Ballet Bag a multi-sided conversation (they are writers writing, but also writers trying to engage conversations using lots of different tools — conferences, Twitter, blogs, Facebook), critics like Judith Mackrell and Luke Jennings were inspired to join Twitter, and use it as a way to talk with their readers and ballet dancers they write about. Both Luke and Judith also have a cult-like following of commenters on their dance reviews. Known as Judith's 'salon' or Luke's 'salon,' these salonistas end up extending the 400-word dance review to dozens of comments. Following the Guardian blog/online guidelines, both dance critics participate in the conversation and continue to ask/answer questions. They have an opportunity to say more, and they do. E&L say this is an example of how writers are using the technology they have to see the review in a different way. So perhaps the 400-word review is really a prompt, a way of getting the conversation started.

Obviously a writer must have more to say. I thought so when I read Luke Jennings' recent review. Jennings wrote about three performances that happened in one week, which included Romeo & Juliet at the O2. However, in his six-paragraph review, 800-word review, Jennings devoted just one paragraph and 100 words to the performance that 40,000 people attended.

On my initial reading, for me the review failed in a few ways:

1. Jennings failed to actually give his opinion on Romeo & Juliet. He said the performance was a 'success,' but he didn't say why he thought so.

2. He didn't consider his audience. Surely there were more Guardian-reader stakeholders at the O2 than in the 200-person audience at Oh So Totally Rad, the performance to which Jennings devoted most of his word count.

3. Jennings was using many different definitions of 'success' throughout his piece. I never got a clear picture of what makes success to him.

The comments section was in full-swing by the time I had gathered my thoughts. Most of the time, these commenters are quite silly. There's little engagement in wanting to know more. It's mostly about right-or-wrong. Good taste versus bad taste. But! This conversation was getting interesting.

In response to one commenter, Jennings wrote about his intention as a reviewer:

Personally, I go to every performance with the same intention: to engage with the piece on its own terms and to report as I see, hear and feel. This, with new or experimental work, excites two very specific kinds of negative comment.

He wanted to report how he sees, hears and feels. Where was the audience in this? Where was the critical opinion? I couldn't resist:

First, I wanted to know why R&J didn't get more space. Secondly, I wanted to know what success means to him in the case of R&J, especially his critical opinion. I waited, with bated breath, to see!

Okay, fine. You think Oh So Totally Rad was more thought-provoking. But what really struck me was his last paragraph:

"The issue on this occasion seemed to be the nature of the experience rather than the details of the performance."

I would argue that the performance and experience were linked. And only part of the performance was happening on-stage. So I wrote back:

I don't think I was explicit enough. And in retrospect, I don't think I knew exactly what I wanted to ask enough. But what I wanted to find out was why he thought the only performance worth writing about was the one on-stage.

Here, Luke suggests that a performance does have an afterlife and that reviews serve to preserve what happened. In a way they are records (something that both dance writers Jennifer Homans and Sarah Kaufman have told me too). But if we are recording ballet, why are we only recording the staged events? If this, in a way, is supposed to like taking minutes, shouldn't we be writing about things leading up and things following? If reviews are for posterity (besides being for readers), what will readers-of-the-future be interested in reading? And what about the performers? And the ballet companies themselves? Can they be impacted by a review?

I got sick of commenting. I was impressed at how quickly Luke responded, and the thought he put into his answers, but I also have more questions. So I sent him an e-mail.

I heard back, and I'm hoping to talk more about this idea of the performance — where it begins, goes and ends. I'm also interested to see what he thinks of my project ideas.

To wrap-up: In terms of extending a reviewer's toolkit, the comments section can be an interesting way of extending the life of a ballet and the review of the ballet. But it can also be counterproductive. Many commenters will simply write how great Luke is. Or one might say "I don't understand why you get paid for this shit." Both might actually make good essay topics — Reviewer as author (or textual choreographer?) and What's a Reviewer's Job, Really?

But I also think there are other ways of adding to the review-writing toolkit. And that begins with thinking of the performance as something that exists beyond the stage. It also begins with using description in a way that conveys the mood and the reviewer's opinion. Otherwise, you are just reporting. And anyone can do that.