The Bittersweet Ending of “Sin” pt. 01

First up, the bitter…

Unless you’ve put up your own work for the amusement of the general public you can have no idea what it’s like to receive the scrutiny of an audience.  I’ve been “critiqued” all my life, professionally for over 20 years in animated films, but also in books, music  and shows before, during and after, and I have still never gotten used to it, to the point I rarely open up my personal work with an invitation to be critiqued publicly or professionally, even as I don’t like to create in a vacuum either. 

At this stage of my life I figure, if you want to experience what I put out there, it’s your choice, no one is forcing you to read/watch/listen; I’m about as good as I’ll probably ever be at what I do, and I make no guarantees whatsoever my efforts will be worth your time.  I do my best to entertain (or, if I haven’t done my best, I don’t put it out there in the first place) and how it’s received is out of my hands.  I may not have a grand following but those who enjoy my work have been very vocal about their appreciation and that’s more validation than I could ever ask for. 

That’s not how it went with my shows, however. 

When you put a lot of time and work into a project, and when you involve other people, you’ve already invested a lot (and asked the performers to trust you’ll get them an audience so they’re not playing to empty venues in a piece unworthy of their efforts) and you can’t help but hope the project will be successful on some level to validate the investment you and everyone made.  Further, the only way to get better at something is to try, fail a lot, and learn from your mistakes, I teach that all the time in my classes.  It’s true as well, you better enjoy the journey (the “work”) because ultimately that’s all there really is, I've found.

Further, an audience comes—rightfully—with a set of expectations if they’ve made time for, or put money into, experiencing your efforts.

But if you have also invested some money in a project the stakes get higher (I had several people tell me early on, “Don’t spend your own money on your project.”  There are many pros and cons on that subject, a subject for another time perhaps).  At the least, I've long understood: if you don’t take any risks, you won’t ever succeed at all.

The thing is, when you offer something up to the world--even for free (as I often have done)--you risk facing the unsolicited opinions and advice of an audience, whether their goal is to try to assist in your evolution, give an honest opinion or knock you down out of intimidation or jealousy (I’ve had a lot of that too). 

I remember showing an in-progress short film to some co-workers in the 90s and the reaction was so hostile I thought they were possibly going to cause me physical harm; they were upset I’d made them sit and watch something that was such a technical offense to the eyes and ears (and, to be fair, it really was), so much so it made them angry.  That taught me a lot; it was a valuable lesson I needed to learn.

For my first show, “Ecstasy,” in 2009, we went for high-end reviews from local theatre critics in LA.  That might not have been the best idea considering I was a novice--my show was barely workshopped, completely untested and it was my first live-theatre effort, despite hiring professionals to produce and direct.  Still, I took the option when it was offered and I don’t regret it—having my show reviewed in major publications really was exciting and educational even if the reviews were not ultimately favorable.  As a friend pointed out, they weren’t horrible either—and sometimes the only thing worse than being talked about is NOT being talked about, as Oscar Wilde said.

It was kind of funny—most people who saw “Ecstasy” left with a smile on their face and humming my (intentionally) ear-worm songs, even if they were scratching their heads, unsure what they’d just seen or why it existed.  I actually even had some die-hard fans I met years after the fact tell me how much they loved the experience of the show , which was awesome.  But I absolutely agree the show needed work and accepted that it left people unsure how to respond to it. So was my show “successful” or “unsuccessful” (the only measure of worth I trust anymore)?

The reviews rightfully acknowledged the incredibly talented, hard-working performers, the amazing efforts of the technicians, Kay Cole’s strong direction and choreography, the costumes, the lighting, the sound mix, the production…the only beef they ever had was with “that dude who wrote it and did those (admittedly catchy) songs.” 

I began to sense something a little funny might be going on after a while when they even raved about the musician credited for PLAYING the music as being some kind of a genius while criticizing the actual music; odd, considering the music was composed of tracks I’d played and recorded in advance and the vocals were based on my demo recordings, that was the “music direction.”  Well, that's show biz, something I was no stranger to by that point.

It was hard not to take it personally though, when I, as creator and financier, was the only element of the show being singled out and criticized in negative reviews again and again, with nary a word of support, suggestion of encouragement, and from voices that clearly had a bias against us and didn't, thusly, offer critique based on what I was trying to do but on what I hadn't done that they'd been expecting.   

The worst feeling was the overriding sense that reviewers were openly offended or even angered that they’d been forced to witness the entertainment we’d carefully crafted for weeks—or, in my case, years.

Still, I knew my show was offbeat by design and not for everyone, and in some ways these lukewarm-to-negative reviews were validation of that.  I defy anyone who suggests that “Rocky Horror” or “Hedwig” (filmed or live versions) are examples of strong, traditional theatrical storytelling, but those works had a strong voice and garnered appreciative audiences, and that was the company I was hoping to join.  One reviewer wrote woefully, “The songs in 'Ecstasy' are definitely not ‘theatre’ music” and I shook my head and laughed, thinking, “You mean, the entire goal of my show, in a nutshell?”

Oh well. My supportive friends and family reminded me it's a bad idea to take reviewers' words to heart and often as not reviewers are of the "If you can't do it, critique it" ilk. And so I moved on, and was ready to do another show by 2015.

The trouble began even before the opening night of “Sin.” 

I attended an event offered to help ease new Fringe Fest project creators into the world of the festival and their specific chosen venue, hosted by veterans who were also playing at the Three Clubs.

Not for the first time, I walked into a situation completely sincere and naïve, and completely forgetting I had chosen to place my show specifically in a sleazy dive bar in a rough part of Hollywood.  The attendees of the event ranged from clueless kids with “scripts” in their sweating hands, written in pencil on notebook paper, and seasoned Fringe Fest “pros” who had successfully navigated the event (or even won it) in years previous. 

For the most part everyone was cordial enough, if a bit prickly, suspicious and uncommunicative.  One rather burnt-out, angry looking fellow, however, who would go on to win the whole festival (and was, not surprisingly, best friends with the person running the festival, I’d find out later) looked me up and down with anxious, red-rimmed eyes and said, “Wow, from the photograph on your website I pictured someone a lot more buff than you are.”  He then explained to me he'd set up a Fringe award and if I played my cards right I might be lucky enough to win it.

Fortunately, by that time in my life I was long past feeling insecure about my looks or much of anything, but I was still unprepared for such pettiness, especially coming from someone of this person’s professional credits, or lack thereof (I looked him up later and giggled) and—with all due respect, and no desire to equal his attempt to body-shame me—someone with his physical stature.  I just couldn't believe anyone would CARE so much as to be intimidated by my presence at the Fringe Festival, and was almost flattered.

Still, I was disappointed to find that somehow, in the same way it had been when I started in Disney Feature Animation, my reputation of relative success was a cause for people to be biased against me and working against my continued success without my even knowing it, and to behave in base, childish and unpleasant ways personally in a way I have no patience for.  It was a pretty sour way to kick things off, in any case.

Anyway, so I was primed for the reviews for “Sin” in 2015.  When putting out blurbs and buying ad space I talked to some seasoned vets set up to assist with this sort of thing and was told in no uncertain terms to expect harsh reviews for Fringe shows.  That puzzled me, and I was, of course, naïve enough to be defiant…surely not OUR show though…?  If it’s good enough…?

As I mentioned in an earlier blog post, I also purchased a review. 

A website called “Bitter Lemons” that was big on reviews at the time offered a review-purchasing service, new for 2015.  If you paid a (fairly reasonable, I thought) fee, they’d send out one of their “professional” reviewers and you’d get a guaranteed review printed up, positive or negative, and posted on their (then) prominent website.  I didn’t question the morality of it.  It just sounded like another advertising method to me; even if the review wasn’t positive it would still bring visibility on a widely-seen website to a show that couldn’t otherwise hope to attract much attention, considering my lack of theatre experience/contacts and low budget. 

I remember the reviewer showing up for opening night. I’d been expecting him, reserved the best table in the bar and possibly bought him a drink.  He announced himself and we had a short talk before the show started.  He seemed like a really cool, easy-going, sharp and kind of goofy "hipster"-type guy and I was confident he’d get into the aesthetic I was going for with my show, or at least find the evening entertaining.  Everyone did great that night and I was looking forward to an at least average review. 

How stunned I was the next afternoon when the review appeared, for everyone to see, and ¾ of it was a verbose (even for me!), expletive-filled spewing of pompous, pretentious, over-written bile about the embittered reviewer pondering the ethics of doing a paid review and forcing himself to step down and be a review “whore”—should he lie because he was paid for a service and give a glowing report, or be honest and risk the wrath of not coming through with that service from an angry client with cash in hand? 

Oh, and then there were a few lines about the show itself:  he’d thought “Sin” was OK, condescended to admit the songs were so catchy he couldn’t get them out of his head but otherwise didn’t connect with the piece so determined it wasn’t any good and briefly mentioned why (one of his major beefs:  “This rock opera doesn’t have ANY dialog in it? Couldn’t it just have had even a few spoken lines?”).

My husband and I were visiting friends in Mojave desert for the weekend.  I saw the review appear on my phone in the middle of dinner, got a hint of the tone of it and excused myself to go walk around the vast, empty desert outside.  I was shocked…stunned, irritated and as much as anything, surprised.  The review confused me…all this rhetoric about being paid to review my show, spoken with such foul language I couldn’t even comfortably show the review to my mom, and then his reason for not liking my show was that, essentially, it wasn’t ultimately what he expected it should have been, while clearly not understanding (or even considering) what the goal of the show had been in the first place?

And, as all artists who have received a bad review or other negative press have had to consider…what on earth do you do to defend your show—and yourself—against a miserable person with a public platform who uses it to criticize you, and potentially cause your career, or even you yourself, harm?  How would I be able to defend my performers, who were doing my show out of the goodness of their hearts really, against a snarky, bitter person attacking them publicly in print on a very public website?  My show, a Fringe-level "in progress" show that was charging around $5 a head and promised nothing but an evening’s worth of zippy songs by incredible performers with a bit of story, was the subject of an entire page of rage…why was this guy turning it on us?

It was surreal, and I learned a lot, to say the least. 

Then the whole “scandal” of reviews-for-purchase blew up into something that crossed the country Eastward to Broadway, went overseas to the West End in London and came back home to LA. 

Celebrities were getting involved, voicing their opinions pro or con (some even pointed out that the review itself, for good or ill, had been terribly written--more a bitch-a-ree about the reviewer’s dilemma in the face of doing a paid review than about my show). 

Tempers were flaring right and left, people were taking sides and letting loose passions they’d had cooped up, possibly for decades. As someone new to the world of Theatreland, all I could think was how it was affecting sales for my show, which fortunately ended up being very positive. I appreciated all the mentions “Sin” got in the press and, for the rest, just sat back and watched, stunned. 

One thing that came out of it all was public discourse about the concept of what “reviews” are in general, their use, their value.

It’s a debate that still lingers, in an age where we no longer have many of the kinds of publications (or reading public) that would support a credentialed, lifelong writer/critic capable of winning a Pulitzer (Roger Ebert), giving way to an age where any opinion that appears publicly is potentially given equal value, educated or not, simply because it is in print next to a “valid” one and gets attention…especially if it’s full of eye-catching “rage bait.”

Another fact reared it’s ugly head: it became clear about halfway through my experience that, at least with the Fringe Fest in LA, “success” was built on nepotism…reviews could make or break a show, and the lion’s share of reviews came directly from an already-existing fan base (I know of few people—even theatre fans--willing to hike to Melrose in Hollywood in June where there is no parking, in the middle of the day, to see an unknown author's amateur, one-person, one-hour show for $15).  If a show “producer” could build up enough of a fan base of peers (at the festival), friends, or even paid cohorts, it didn’t much matter what the “show” was.  As I actually found out the next year when I did some experimenting, if you worked the fest right you were destined to get recognition and an audience at the least, maybe a prize at best.  

I guess I really was naïve, again; I had no idea at the time the “regular” theatre world was aware of this situation and many long-time theatre professionals I knew told me later they had shunned the Fringe festival, wouldn’t go near it actually.

For the 3-5 years I kept an eye on the Fringe Fest in LA, while it was run by one operating body and then another.  I saw how the festival seemed to reward the disenfranchised (“cause” shows were certain to get attention and accolades) and, even more weird, exult the mediocre.  While I loudly applaud any chance to give opportunities to the disenfranchised in all forms, there is—at least in my mind—a real problem with rewarding individuals solely on their status and not their efforts.  It’s been a hot topic for some time now and I have no intention of adding my opinions to the noise or angering anyone with my personal points of view, which are not rigid and lean, always, in support of compassion.  Suffice to say, however, I’m GenX, and it colors a lot of my thoughts on things.

At any rate, I went to a lot of Fringe shows in 2015, the  year “Sin” played, to get a sense of the festival as a whole.  I was astounded at the consistent lack of professionalism, lack of preparation, lack of taste and lack of basic talent.  At the festival, the bar was so low it was almost more entertaining to see people debasing themselves publicly and getting away with it to stunned (or more often non-existent) crowds. It was, in many ways I suppose, not unlike the screening of my film, that was not ready to be screened, that made people so angry I'd made them watch it.

Still, I wrote my own (mostly positive) reviews on the Fringe website to encourage artists and show creators I felt seemed sincere and hard-working in their efforts.  Certainly, I’m no stranger to writing acidic reviews, particularly for low-hanging fruit (for me it’s people who are unnecessarily rude and pompous, and who haven’t earned their chops, see my comments above).  It’s fun, of course, to rant in print…especially when there’s no push-back or consequences…I get it. I'm doing it right now, I suppose.

But it was like entering “Upside Down Land.”  If your show was well-nigh unwatchable, but was a showcase of unbridled narcissism, a cultural-media tie-in or, most common of all, some reflection of disenfranchisement from the general public resulting in victimhood used to sell tickets, you were “in,” or even guaranteed to “win” the whole thing (whatever that meant—I didn’t want a prize beyond the exposure it would bring; I wanted an audience).  It never occurred to me somehow that maybe that was the whole point of the Fringe Fest in the first place…it wasn’t set up to entertain an audience, it was to provide a safe-space for unseen and unheard (yet, or perhaps ever) theatre hopefuls…and if that is truly what its mission statement is or what it provides I applaud that—it’s no secret the entertainment world is a rough place and no friend to sensitive souls—what a great idea to create a “safe space” for theatre people--ANY theatre people (myself included)--to express themselves. 

But that is not how the festival, which is a money-and-competition-based concern, was—or is—sold, at the very least, and I’m not a big fan of “bait and switch” tactics.

On the other hand, judging from the many amazing shows I did see at the festival, put on by professionals or adapting professional productions for a Fringe stage, I found something else distasteful going on.  It seemed that if your sole goal was to work really hard to entertain with polished, noteworthy performers in solid, memorable pieces with a side order of something cerebral to take home after the performance…the reaction was not only “forget it” but open hostility of the kind often found on children’s playgrounds. 

Official Fringe Fest reviews—most of them written anonymously, the majority of them clearly written by friends or foes of each show—were either unrealistic in their praise or unrelenting in their damnation.  It seemed that to “win” the festival, or win something anyway, you had to be defiantly—and popularly—mediocre, and anything original, well-thought out, slick, sleek and professional was shunned, in a kind of, “That’ll show ‘em!” manner I hadn’t seen since the third grade.  It got downright ugly at times, as genuinely strong pieces (in my opinion, anyway, and I'm not even including my own) were ripped apart in reviews, and shows that were absurdly unprofessional (by the measure of even amateur critics) were getting audiences and accolades.  Again, if this was meant to be a nurturing place for underdogs (I mean, that was why I did it, to be honest) that would have made sense, but it was more cut-throat than nurturing from my vantage point (of not being all that invested in any of it ultimately)--I found more compassion in the professional film world, which is saying something.

And then there were lots of reviews with comments like, “Some moneyed producer needs to see this and put this up as a real show,” as if such a thing ever happens…and eventually I came to realize I was in the company of amateurs and naïve dreamers, and felt unsure how to proceed.

Meanwhile, the tepid at best, hostile at worst reviews for “Sin” kept coming, both professional and amateur…but despite all, “Sin” was a hit. 

It continued to sell out and I started jacking up the price to see how much it could sustain.  In the end I was selling tickets for $30 a head, and we still sold out, meaning once the dust settled I had a couple of extra coins in my pocket more than I’d had before—the show paid for itself anyway.  Does that mean my show was “good?”  The financial return didn't make it good OR bad by my measure, but it was clear the show did make a lot of people happy.  I’ll talk more about that in the next post.  Was it a “success?”  Yes, on many levels, but more on that later too.

“Sin” ran its course, we got down to our last show on a blisteringly hot Sunday evening.  My husband politely asked if we could do something nice for his birthday that weekend instead of focus solely on the show and I felt…ashamed…that I’d spent so much time pushing a piece of entertainment at the cost of spending time with him (we’d just gotten married that year, thanks to new rules in CA).  We booked a weekend getaway, planning to be back in time for the final show. 

The Fringe Fest had an awards ceremony on that Sunday night despite booking a block of still-running shows that were scheduled in conflict…in other words, all the (un) popular kids who had voted themselves awards for the festival separated themselves from the rest of us once again. 

No one in our cast and no element of our show got recognized for anything despite the success we’d attained and the buzz we’d generated, for both ourselves and the festival itself.  When I broke the news to my ridiculously talented, beautiful and humble cast they were unimpressed but not surprised—they’d picked up on the vibe in the same way I had, and were rather done with the festival by the time our run was over.  Again—in Hollywood, in film anyway,  if you’re successful, they want more of you.  At least at the LA Fringe Fest it seemed, if your show was successful but you weren’t properly aligned, you were shunned. 

I had the Monday following our last show off.  I opted to take a ride on the then-pleasant LA Metro train to Long Beach, a beautiful place I’ve often used to walk around and think and feel good on many occasions over the years, enjoying the ocean and the sunsets there in a dream-like environment.  I was exhausted and depleted from wearing so many hats on “Sin” and going through the excitement—and tension—of putting on an entertainment that I wrote, produced, cast, directed, marketed and supported for months, even though it was a labor of love and lots of fun. 

I remember walking around feeling incredibly depressed somehow, but thinking that was OK.  I hadn’t honestly had any expectations going in and what expectations I had had been met or exceeded…but, as I’m sure anyone who goes through an experience like this would agree (my sister felt the same way about planning her daughter’s wedding that same summer and we hugged a lot later when the ceremony was over), you can’t sustain that level of excitement without coming down eventually, and come down I did.  It took a while for it all to wear off. 

I thought about what to do next.  I briefly considered making the show into a legit theatre piece like the one I’d done in 2009, maybe using the same crew from that production if I could get them.  All I could think was how hard it had been to get audiences with that first show and how much I'd lost financially. 

We had an audience for “Sin” but it was affected by our prominence at the Fringe Fest through a “scandal.” And, again, “Sin” hadn’t cost more than a couple thousand dollars.  It made no sense to extend beyond the Fringe Festival dates because outside of the Fringe we had no presence at all—it had been a wonderful showcase opportunity for us (which, to be fair, was all the founders of the Fringe Fest had ever actually promised, and on that score it delivered remarkably, and I’m grateful, and was very vocal about that all along) but that was over once the fest ended.

I couldn't justify the expense of putting on a big budget show again, and I didn’t have any interest in trying to push something I didn’t believe had legs—I wasn’t convinced “Sin” could pay for itself if it was expanded and I didn’t want to see it “lose” when we’d just won.

 “Sin” is a specific kind of entertainment, and not, at least in my humble opinion, something commercial you could sell to the masses.  It also needs some touchups, proper staging and direction and really needs a live band to be a solid, successful theatrical piece.  I thought about trying to get a celebrity name involved to help sell it to people with money—and did get close actually—but I was pretty sure even that wouldn’t be enough to really get the show to take off.  Sustaining a successful, profitable theatrical show is not a business I’m an expert in and I don’t move in those kinds of circles, even if I’ve stepped in and out of them now and then.

There was talk of a 2nd “Valley” Fringe festival in the fall of that year.  I just didn’t have it in me to keep it going, financially or mentally, and I was pretty sure the vibe of these festivals didn't mesh with my mission, so I shrugged, went back to work and moved on, even though I felt there was unfinished business there.  I’d felt the same (maybe worse) after “Ecstasy.”  I know it’s the same thing every company goes through at the end of a run.  You get everyone together and share all this stuff, give it your all, have ups and downs and love and passion and make memories to last a lifetime…then it’s just…over.  The circus moves on and leaves an empty field with used wrappers strewn about, and memories as the only souveniers of what happened. 

I did do another (successful) Fringe show the next year, but that’s another story for another day. 

In the end, to push back against what I thought were undeserved criticisms (and salve my wounded ego, and generate a cynical laugh or two), I put together a video of moments from my show with captions designed to call out some of the reviewers who had been weirdly critical of us, to call them out by name in fact.  I suppose it was kind of juvenile, but I felt I had to do something…I know you’re supposed to take criticism with dignity and not nurture (or even pay attention to) bad reviews.  I know the number one thing you never do in such a case is offer up a bratty, defensive response, of course—it only makes you look bad and doesn’t change public opinion.

Still, I figured, these reviewers—none of whom I felt had earned the credentials to cast stones at my work in the first place, based on what I read of their writings anyway--were bold enough to say those things in public forums about us; I was bold enough to share those things they said in context with my show, and let whoever viewed the video decide if the assessments were valid or not, especially once the show had completed its run anyway. 

Was I being a brat about it all?  Do you agree with the reviewers and their assessments?  Should I have just let it go?

Perhaps. 

It’s been 10 years of course, and certainly I just chuckle about it all now.  But I still believe—especially these days, in the era of the amateur reviewer--if it’s the prerogative of anyone to have an opinion at any time it goes both ways.  That means it’s my prerogative too, to criticize the criticism, something that traditionally was never “done” before but now seems more common…and that evolution in communication—it’s what makes it all so fun anyway, right?  Well, here’s the video:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zuSupyKsEAg

An interesting bit of trivia…I watched as the chaos that had started with the paid review of my show “Sin” continued on after the run of "Sin" ended, leading to a lot of online arguments—some of them truly nasty. 

It was, in fact, the dawn of the current world we live in where people constantly flame each other in comment sections on websites, particularly political forums, unafraid to speak as candidly as they please with the protection of online anonymity (or seclusion anyway)—sometimes engaging simply to start fires and run away.

It got so bad some of the more volatile staff of “Bitter Lemons” were dismissed eventually.  Bitter Lemons, where I had purchased a review of my show, had been established as a “Rotten Tomatoes for theatre” website. Eventually things got so ugly there they re-staffed and re-branded and the website became “Better Lemons” (oh brother) to encourage a more positive approach to their mission. 

I couldn’t help but giggle at that a little bit, sorry, well-intentioned as I believe it was. That incarnation of the website, and the person behind it, seemed to mean well and might still might be around, or was up until 2023 on Facebook anyway, and more power to them—again. Much of the popularity of my show may be attributed to the “scandal” caused by paid reviews, and I benefitted from that paid review I got on the original “Bitter Lemons,” there’s no question—even if the review I paid for sucked.  I honestly don’t hold a grudge against anyone personally. 

Well, maybe just a little. 

Here's an article that alludes to some of what happened:  https://americantheatrecritics.org/bitter-lemons-raises-basic-issues-and-hackles-too/#:~:text=The%20website%20Bitter%20Lemons%20now,%2C%20left%2Dhand%20column).

Here's an LA Times article about what I wrote above (although it’s behind a paywall, sorry):  https://www.latimes.com/entertainment/arts/culture/la-et-cm-la-stage-website-causes-a-stir-20150612-story.html#:~:text=Mitchell%20has%20had%20a%20wry,is%20%E2%80%9C100%25%20Bitter.%E2%80%9D

Next entry…the sweet, and the conclusion…