Regrettably, countless filmmakers, novelists, and playwrights relish in undermining dedicated and self-sacrificing influencers in the sphere of critical understanding. The heroic critic community is frequently the most misrepresented. It really is quite distressing.
Of course, I speak in jest. In fact, a considerable number of critics relish the role of the charming destroyer, notably in films centred on the theatre sector. In the film All About Eve, no character embodies the essence of wit and sharp judgment more than the sinister Addison DeWitt. He quips, “My home is the theatre, in which I neither labour nor weave.” Even his astrakhan coat is amazing.
Leading to the introduction of Jimmy Erskine, portrayed by Ian McKellen, in Anand Tucker’s The Critic. The film’s uneven nature presents an initially believable depiction of the disgruntled personalities within the West End theatre during the period between the wars. The conversational ambience of the crowd can be felt as well as the blocked aspirations of those who don’t receive favourable reviews. The opening sequence from a novel by Anthony Quinn could potentially be mistaken for an inferior work of Noël Coward. Regrettably, in the latter half, The Critic veers into a melodramatic murder mystery that would make even the Jacobean era audience reach for their fainting couch.
However, the performance of the actors, especially that of McKellen, manages to tie it all together. McKellen’s portrayal of Erskine, a critic for a newspaper clarified within the script as not being the Daily Mail, takes on scholarly insults with an unrivalled post-dinner savour. Erskine exemplifies a time when the critic was considered an integral part of the theatrical fraternity. His flair for making a dazzling entrance and a condescending exit is something that the actors find hard to match.
In his latest screenplay, Patrick Marber, who last penned “Notes From a Scandal” in 2006, highlights disturbing parallels with the present-day media world. The Daily Chronicle, Erskine’s newspaper, is battling economic challenges and looking to dismiss its underperforming staff. Being a celebrated figure in journalism, Erskine considers himself immune to such actions. Despite being urged to reduce his harshness – taking on a ‘more delicate, less brutal’ approach – he fervently intensifies his critique of failing actress Nina Land, portrayed by Gemma Arterton. The plot thickens as Viscount Brooke, proprietor of the Chronicle, harbours an ill-concealed affection for the actress.
The story takes place in a city that isn’t very accepting of the homosexual community, further complicating Erskine’s situation given he is gay. A point moved further home with the remembrance of the later arrest of John Gielgud for ‘inciting men for immoral intents’, despite his knighthood recognition in the same year.
The narrative boasts compelling characters and cunningly crafted performances. The aristocratic owner of a conservative paper, like Viscount Brooke, might typically be cast in a bad light, but Strong introduces a twist, portraying a melancholy introvert burdened with love and struggle to turn his father’s grim legacy into something more palatable. Arterton meanwhile nails the depiction of a powerful woman stifled by a critic’s overly-vicious style. He, aware that she intends to stand against Erskine, mischievously responds to her statement, ‘It’s going to stop!’ with a gleefully feigned surprise, ‘Oooo! Are you retiring?’
Despite the strong performances, the plot is littered with jarring historic markers, such as the pins of the British Union of Fascists worn by police officers, and an unfortunate bow towards sensationalist twists later in the story. Erskine, for the most part, seems to operate professionally but easily abandons this at the smallest chance of personal benefit, making him a considerably less appealing character.
As the narrative concludes, it leaves the viewer puzzled. Is the film a tragedy? A comedy? Or a cautionary tale? The excessive cruelty towards Homo criticus might be the least of its issues.