Please Don't Eat the Daisies by Kerr Jean;

Author:Kerr, Jean;
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2018-02-25T16:00:00+00:00

One half of two on the aisle

In my short and merry life in the theatre, I have discovered that there are two sharply contrasting opinions about the place of the drama critic. While in some quarters it is felt that the critic is just a necessary evil, most serious-minded, decent, talented theatre people agree that the critic is an unnecessary evil. However, if there is some room for argument about the value of the critic, there is none whatever about the value of the critic’s wife. To the producer, in particular, it is painful enough that the reviewer must bring his own glum presence to the theatre, but the thought that he will also bring his wife and that she, too, will occupy a free seat is enough to cool the cockles of his heart and send him back on a soft diet. “What if a doctor had to bring his wife along when he performed an operation?” he will ask you. “Can’t you see her sitting there murmuring, ‘Here’s a nice suture, dear, and why don’t you try this clamp?’”

In their innermost souls, the producer and the press agent are convinced that the wife has a bad effect on the critic and consequently a bad effect on the notice. Of course, not all critics have wives; some of them habitually attend the theatre in the company of pretty actresses, a practice which is thought to be not only suitable but even, on occasion, inspiring.

It isn’t that anyone believes a wife’s influence is direct or intentional. Presumably no one has suggested that it is her practice to tuck her spouse into a cab at eleven o’clock with the stern admonition, “Now you hurry right back to that little office and say what a bad play this was, hear?” No, the whole thing is much more intangible than that, and I’m afraid it boils down to the sobering fact that the producer feels that the mere physical presence of a wife depresses the critic, lowers his spirits, clogs his areas of good will, and leaves his head rattling with phrases like “witless,” “tasteless,” and “below the level of the professional theatre.”

On the other hand, just let some wife absent herself from the happy revelers at an opening and you will see consternation settle like a fine dew upon producer and press agent alike. Souls are searched. Old wounds are probed. Is the jig up? Have runners been coming in from Philadelphia with the bad word? Have those preview audiences been squealing? Clearly somebody talked. The lady has had fair warning and is at home with a good book.

It is my impression that my own attendance record is rather higher than the average. This can be explained by the fact that I have those four small children and naturally have to get out a lot. When my husband first went on a newspaper, and for several years thereafter, I brought my lark-like disposition and gooey good will to every single solitary show that opened.

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