Sondheim Sez: Lie to Me, Damnit!

[Bricker]

Stephen Sondheim is one of my favorite Broadway composers and lyricsts. A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum, Company, A Little Night Music, Sweeney Todd, Sunday in the Park with George, Into the Woods, Passion, Pacific Overture, Assassins.

I have great respect for the man professionally.

So this story surprises me a bit.

According to up-and-coming Broadway composer Jason Robert Brown:

When Brown was 23, he and a friend were invited to see a musical by Stephen Sondheim himself. At the show, they sat in front of the New York Times’ Frank Rich. They went to dinner, and after twenty minutes, Sondheim asked them what they thought of the show: they both were silent. Brown described the dinner after that moment as “many extremely awkward silences punctuated by bursts of frantic, desperate conversation about anything other than the slaughtered elephant in the room.” Brown called mutual friend Daisy Prince the next day, asking if there might be any way to repair the damage after the dinner. She and her family decided that Brown should call Sondheim. Brown paraphrased what Sondheim said:

Nobody cares what you think. Once a creation has been put into the world, you have only one responsibility to its creator: Be supportive. Support is not about showing how clever you are, how observant of some flaw, how incisive in your criticism. There are other people whose job it is to guide the creation, to make it work, to make it live; either they did their job or they didn’t. But that is not your problem.
If you come to my show and you see me afterward, say only this: “I loved it”. It doesn’t matter if that’s what you really felt. What I need at that moment is to know that you care enough about me and the work I do to tell me that you loved it, not “in spite of its flaws”, not “even though everyone else seems to have a problem with it”, but simply, plainly, “I loved it.” If you can’t say that, don’t come backstage, don’t find me in the lobby, don’t lean over the pit to see me. Just go home, and either write me a nice email or don’t. Say all the catty, bitchy things you want to your friend, your neighbor, the Internet.
Maybe next week, maybe next year, maybe someday down the line, I’ll be ready to hear what you have to say, but at that moment, that face-to-face moment after I have unveiled some part of my soul, however small, to you: that is the most vulnerable moment in any artist’s life. If I beg you, plead with you to tell me what you really thought, what you actually, honestly, totally believed, then you must tell me “I loved it.” That moment must be respected."

From the Jason Robert Brown Wikipedia page.

I think that’s kind of …er…artsy-fartsy…of Sondheim (assuming the story is true, of course).

I get the idea that you don’t seek out the composer to tell him his play sucked. But I stop there. I don’t continue down the path to the point where the composer “beg[s] you, plead[s] with you to tell [him] what you really thought…” and you are still obligated to say, “I loved it,” as opposed to something approaching honest or neutral feedback.

[Sherrerd]

I agree with you. The claim that sycophancy toward a creator is somehow The Right Thing To Do, is unconvincing (and unattractive).

[WordMan]

Really? As a musician, I totally get what he is saying. “When I am in the throes of emotion, because I just finished a gig or watched my play, just be a friend - that is your main job. There are other times and places for thoughtful comment.”

His phrasing is a bit heavy-handed “tell me you loved it” - but I get his basic point: there’s a time and a place.

I am not sure why Frank Rich was mentioned, other than Rich and Sondheim are friends that have had falling’s out and reconnections over their friendship.

[bienville]

Well, first of all, that is an extremely detailed memory of a phone conversation.
If it is to be taken as an accurate memory of Sondheim’s words, I’ll note that there’s quite a bit of rhetoric there. I’d say that it’s just an overly dramatic and exaggerated way of saying “No matter what, only say supportive things on opening night.”

I’d tend to agree with that basic point. During the time when it wasn’t too late to change things, there was plenty of constructive criticism, reworking, revising, cutting- all from talented collaborators who have a professional history informing their critiques. The professional critics will be writing about it in detail.

When you have an opportunity for personal interaction with the artist on opening night, the culmination of months/years of work, “I loved it” need only mean “congratulations on your achievement”.

When he goes on to say

If I beg you, plead with you to tell me what you really thought, what you actually, honestly, totally believed, then you must tell me “I loved it.”

Compare that to this famous scene from Young Frankenstein.
Before going into the room with the monster, Frederick says to his friends “No matter how I may plead with you, do NOT open this door!” He knows that once fear sets in he may very well beg his friends to open the door. So, while he is more calm and rational he explains that even though he may say “open the door” he wants his friends to know the best thing they can do for him is to not grant this request.

Immediately after the opening, insecurity may set in. Driven by that insecurity, the artist may say “tell me what you really thought, what you actually, honestly, totally believed” and he may actually believe that is what he really wants to hear.

On the phone the next day, Sondheim is in that rational frame of mind like Frederick before going in to the room with the monster. He knows that he may beg his friend to open the door, but he also knows that they mustn’t.

Sherrerd, we would only call it sycophancy because it’s o.k. to bemoan artists being insufferable. Apply the same advice to any hard fought for achievement that any “regular folks” may experience. Take away the context of the opening night of a Broadway play, and replace it with your niece working all year on the high school year book- the year book is finally released and she’s sharing it with people wanting to celebrate her achievement. Your best friend spends months organizing a fundraising event for cancer research- maybe you can point out problems with the event, or other more worthy causes, or inefficiency in the organization getting the money to where it will help the best- no matter what, your friend has just spent several months working hard on something that was important to him. You just celebrate the achievement.

[Trinopus]

Tell me the truth…but be gentle.

You don’t have to say, “God, it was awful.”

You can say, with a sad expression, “Well…” (That’s enough, right there!) “I have to say, while there were some nice bits, the ending didn’t seem to work, and I never found myself liking the protagonist. The first-act closer was good. Very strong.”

etc. Try to be balanced and supportive. It’s a friend!

If you’re writing a review for a blog…then just be honest, all the way. “Sorry, everyone, but this was his worst production ever.”

Don’t lie to me! That could result in my thinking I’d done it right, and repeating the formula!

[Sherrerd]

@bienville

…Sherrerd, we would only call it sycophancy because it’s o.k. to bemoan artists being insufferable. Apply the same advice to any hard fought for achievement that any “regular folks” may experience. Take away the context of the opening night of a Broadway play, and replace it with your niece working all year on the high school year book- the year book is finally released and she’s sharing it with people wanting to celebrate her achievement. Your best friend spends months organizing a fundraising event for cancer research- maybe you can point out problems with the event, or other more worthy causes, or inefficiency in the organization getting the money to where it will help the best- no matter what, your friend has just spent several months working hard on something that was important to him. You just celebrate the achievement.

In re the underlined bit: I call it sycophancy because of the restriction Sondheim places on the feedback: that the feedback must be “I loved it.” It’s nothing to do with being an artist or with interacting with an artist.

Of course, as you reasonably point out, we don’t know for certain that Sondheim was quoted correctly. But if that is what he said, then…he’s asking for sycophancy, not merely for courtesy or support or celebration of an achievement.

All the examples you cite do count as courtesy/support celebration…but in none of your examples is anyone being commanded to say ‘I loved it.’

As others in this thread have been saying: yes, save the critical remarks for some other time and place; on opening night, say something nice or say nothing. This is fair and kind and injures no one’s integrity (one can always find something nice to say). One could say ‘all your hard work has paid off’ or ‘you’ve achieved something you’ll always treasure’ or simply ‘congratulations’.

But “I loved it” is a statement of one’s own taste and judgment. To be asked to misrepresent one’s own taste and judgment is not a fair request.

If Sondheim was misquoted–if all he said was on the order of ‘please say something nice’ or ‘please save the critical analysis for another time’–then he’s not requesting sycophancy. But if he DID state that the only acceptable feedback is “I loved it,” then he is requesting that all who interact with him behave in a sycophantic fashion. (That’s my view, anyway. If you don’t love it, you don’t have to say that you love it.)

[Kimstu]

@Sherrerd

In re the underlined bit: I call it sycophancy because of the restriction Sondheim places on the feedback: that the feedback must be “I loved it.” […]
But if he DID state that the only acceptable feedback is “I loved it,” then he is requesting that all who interact with him behave in a sycophantic fashion. (That’s my view, anyway. If you don’t love it, you don’t have to say that you love it.)

“Sycophantic” is not a very appropriate term for this, IMO. A sycophant is someone who is being obsequious or flattering for the sake of their own personal advantage. They flatter or praise someone because they want to get something out of them.

If Sondheim was quoted correctly, what he was asking for was not “sycophancy”, but simply praise. He made it very clear that “if you don’t love it, you don’t have to say that you love it”, but in that case you need to avoid him:

If you come to my show and you see me afterward, say only this: “I loved it”. It doesn’t matter if that’s what you really felt. What I need at that moment is to know that you care enough about me and the work I do to tell me that you loved it, not “in spite of its flaws”, not “even though everyone else seems to have a problem with it”, but simply, plainly, “I loved it.” If you can’t say that, don’t come backstage, don’t find me in the lobby, don’t lean over the pit to see me. Just go home, and either write me a nice email or don’t. Say all the catty, bitchy things you want to your friend, your neighbor, the Internet.

I don’t really see a problem with that. Yes, it would be a marginally better world if artists were invincibly strong enough to handle negative feedback at all times. But if an artist happens not to be that strong, I don’t see how it’s any horrible violation of integrity for him to declare “Under this particular set of circumstances I simply CAN NOT handle negative feedback of any kind, so if you have any, please stay away from me.”

People who insist that their integrity requires them to inflict their negative opinions on others no matter what the circumstances, because “honesty”, generally tend to come across as kind of dickish rather than admirably principled. If you’re not a reviewer or a prize judge or something, nobody really cares whether or not you’re being completely honest in stating your opinion on a work of art or entertainment.

In short, “if you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all”, at least in the presence of the composer. There are lots of other venues where you can air your not-nice opinions to your heart’s content.

[Little_Nemo]

As a general rule, I agree that you should offer honest criticism when asked for it, even if it’s negative.

But I feel there are exceptions to this rule. There are situations where only praise is appropriate. A maternity ward, a wedding reception, or a funeral are not places to deliver critiques. And I can see adding opening nights to that list. They’re situations where something’s been done and can’t be readily reversed so you might as well put a positive spin on things for that one day.

[scabpicker]

I completely disagree with Sondheim here. If you didn’t like my art, and I ask if you did: tell me, and tell me why. Otherwise, I could just talk to myself, and wouldn’t have to go through the effort of knowing you. Heck, I wouldn’t have even had to write it or perform it to get those accolades. If you don’t want an honest response from the person, just say “I hope you enjoyed it”, and don’t ask if they did.

If my choices that displeased you were important enough to me for me to repeat them, I will. You make the art to satisfy yourself, first. Expecting everyone’s taste to align with yours is so many forms of idiotic.

[Procrustus]

Bricker, you know that moment when you just finish closing arguments in a trial and you’re waiting for a jury verdict? I get two kinds of comments then: 1) You were great, you really wrapped everything up and made all your points, or 2) you should have done x, y, or z. I only want to here #1 at that point. I have no problem with Sondheim’s comments. When you walk off the stage (and for the next hour or two I’d suppose) you’re not in any emotional state to take in anything but praise.

[Sherrerd]

@Kimstu

“Sycophantic” is not a very appropriate term for this, IMO. A sycophant is someone who is being obsequious or flattering for the sake of their own personal advantage. They flatter or praise someone because they want to get something out of them.

That’s a fair distinction. Some of those Sondheim was interacting with probably had no personal advantage to gain from pleasing him, and for that reason (as you argue), ‘sycophancy’ wouldn’t be what Sondheim was requesting in those cases. But some that Sondheim would command to say “I loved it” probably could benefit from being on his good side—and those folks are being asked to act as sycophants.

Of course, all this depends on confirmation that Sondheim was quoted correctly. It’s all hypothetical until we know that.

@Kimstu

If Sondheim was quoted correctly, what he was asking for was not “sycophancy”, but simply praise. He made it very clear that “if you don’t love it, you don’t have to say that you love it”, but in that case you need to avoid him…

I’m not so sure. Again, if he was quoted correctly, he does seem to be requiring that “I loved it” be the one and only communication he will accept. Some people might be able to successfully avoid him and thus would be free of the requirement to say “I loved it,” but such avoidance might not always be possible.

@Kimstu

I don’t really see a problem with that. Yes, it would be a marginally better world if artists were invincibly strong enough to handle negative feedback at all times. But if an artist happens not to be that strong, I don’t see how it’s any horrible violation of integrity for him to declare “Under this particular set of circumstances I simply CAN NOT handle negative feedback of any kind, so if you have any, please stay away from me.”
People who insist that their integrity requires them to inflict their negative opinions on others no matter what the circumstances, because “honesty”, generally tend to come across as kind of dickish rather than admirably principled. If you’re not a reviewer or a prize judge or something, nobody really cares whether or not you’re being completely honest in stating your opinion on a work of art or entertainment.
In short, “if you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all”, at least in the presence of the composer. There are lots of other venues where you can air your not-nice opinions to your heart’s content.

I don’t think that anyone in the thread has taken issue with any of this.

No one, for example, is claiming that their “integrity requires them to inflict their negative opinions on others no matter what the circumstances.” So with this last chunk of your post, you’re not stating anything that counters any other positions taken in the thread (so far, anyway).

[Bricker]

@Procrustus

Bricker, you know that moment when you just finish closing arguments in a trial and you’re waiting for a jury verdict? I get two kinds of comments then: 1) You were great, you really wrapped everything up and made all your points, or 2) you should have done x, y, or z. I only want to here #1 at that point. I have no problem with Sondheim’s comments. When you walk off the stage (and for the next hour or two I’d suppose) you’re not in any emotional state to take in anything but praise.

Sure, I remember those types of moments.

But guess what I’d never do: tell a friend, “I beg you, plead with you to tell me what you really thought, what you actually, honestly, totally believed, about how that summation went.”

[Bricker]

@Kimstu

I don’t really see a problem with that. Yes, it would be a marginally better world if artists were invincibly strong enough to handle negative feedback at all times. But if an artist happens not to be that strong, I don’t see how it’s any horrible violation of integrity for him to declare “Under this particular set of circumstances I simply CAN NOT handle negative feedback of any kind, so if you have any, please stay away from me.”

People who insist that their integrity requires them to inflict their negative opinions on others no matter what the circumstances, because “honesty”, generally tend to come across as kind of dickish rather than admirably principled. If you’re not a reviewer or a prize judge or something, nobody really cares whether or not you’re being completely honest in stating your opinion on a work of art or entertainment.

In short, “if you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all”, at least in the presence of the composer. There are lots of other venues where you can air your not-nice opinions to your heart’s content.

Yeah, i get that. As I said in the OP:

@Bricker

I get the idea that you don’t seek out the composer to tell him his play sucked. But I stop there. I don’t continue down the path to the point where the composer “beg[s] you, plead[s] with you to tell [him] what you really thought…” and you are still obligated to say, “I loved it,” as opposed to something approaching honest or neutral feedback.

You don’t track down the composer with anything but praise. But if he seeks you out, and begs you to tell him the truth as you see it… I feel like that’s beyond the bounds of courtesy to demand only praise.

[Procrustus]

@Bricker

Sure, I remember those types of moments.

But guess what I’d never do: tell a friend, “I beg you, plead with you to tell me what you really thought, what you actually, honestly, totally believed, about how that summation went.”

I think he was exaggerating to make a point. The point being, you don’t have permission to bring me down at that moment, no matter what I say.

[JRDelirious]

@Procrustus

I think he was exaggerating to make a point. The point being, you don’t have permission to bring me down at that moment, no matter what I say.

So this may be one of those things that people are somehow “supposed to know” without anyone having to tell them? I could buy that.

But many people do operate from the premise that someone should NOT “beg” for the truth if that’s not what they mean, and there is no reason to make them feel the onus was on the respondent to “get” that the opposite was what was expected.

OTOH in art/showbiz circles it’s probably near axiomatic that creators and performers are in a semipermanent state of fishing for compliments and looking for validation, and unlike in other environments of human interaction, it’s ***not ***looked upon badly there.

A simple “what did you think” can be politely replied with “I see you are seeking a different direction from your last piece” or “You really took chances” or “I know you really put in a lot of work at this, I’m so glad to see it open”. When people ask “come on, I want to hear the truth, be honest, spare me nothing, tell me what you saw wrong, I can take it”, best strategy IMO is to still reach for the noncommittal can-be-parsed-any-way answer, but, if he keeps insisting and cajoling, he’ll be taking a risk.

[RealityChuck]

I can see part of the point: on opening night, it’s more polite to stick with positive comments, but that can be easily served by saying “congratulations” and saying nothing more. A smart artist would know better than to press for an opinion. People are allowed to dislike a work on opening night and, if pressed, then they should give an honest opinion. They can blame their own failings (“not my type of show, I’m afraid”), but Sondheim should have known at that point not to ask how they liked the show: if they wanted to comment, it would have come from them, not from his asking.

Sondheim was just being a dick. It wouldn’t have been the first time.

[Inner_Stickler]

I think it’s entirely appropriate for Sondheim to not accept criticism on opening night. So he’s dramatic about it. That’s not surprising given it’s theater.

[choie]

I totally understand Sondheim’s point. And Inner Stickler is right–yeah, he’s being melodramatic, he’s using hyperbole. He’s in the theater. That’s kinda what people in the theater–hell, most performing arts–do. (And as mentioned earlier, this is someone “quoting” him, and I bet paraphrasing as well.)

I’m an author and a singer, so I’ve got a double whammy of artistic insecurity/temperament. Yes, the first hours right after I’ve finished a massive project, where I’ve stripped bare to reveal my vulnerable soul to the world, are a weird, pulsing, vibrant, edgy place. They often leave me on an emotional precipice teetering between “oh God I sucked” and “holy crap, what a high, how did I manage that?”

Those first hours are not the time to give me a critique. Say something nice, congenial, just “congrats,” anything positive you can muster.

The next day is when I’m in a proper frame of mind to start the inevitable critical appraisal of my work.

Now, in real life, do I actually ever get the perfect, understanding responses mentioned above? Sometimes yes, sometimes no. When people do say the “wrong” thing, I deal with it. As I’m sure Sondheim deals with it (or dealt with it–who the fuck is really gonna criticize Sondheim at this stage?). But that doesn’t mean that we can’t ask for, or hope for, a more understanding, sensitive response.

In this (quite possibly apocryphal) anecdote, Sondheim’s trying to make a point to people who are his friends and supporters. A plea for what he’d consider the ideal reaction in the immediate aftermath of one of his productions’ opening nights. I don’t think there’s a thing wrong with it.

[Trinopus]

@choie

. . . I’m an author and a singer, so I’ve got a double whammy of artistic insecurity/temperament. Yes, the first hours right after I’ve finished a massive project, where I’ve stripped bare to reveal my vulnerable soul to the world, are a weird, pulsing, vibrant, edgy place. They often leave me on an emotional precipice teetering between “oh God I sucked” and “holy crap, what a high, how did I manage that?”

Those first hours are not the time to give me a critique. Say something nice, congenial, just “congrats,” anything positive you can muster.

The next day is when I’m in a proper frame of mind to start the inevitable critical appraisal of my work. . . .

This is sensible. And it seems to be one of those generalizations that has a significant core of truth: artists (of all kinds) do seem to have a stripe of insecurity. Anyone who knows artists, and anyone who knows you, personally, should know when to speak gingerly, and when to try to give meaningful constructive criticism.

Little Nemo is right, in that a lot depends on the context.

A maternity ward, a wedding reception, or a funeral are not places to deliver critiques.

Here is wisdom! And an opening night at the theater, or the day a friend has just finished a book or poem or painting, are also in the same category.

Still, I stand by my advice: be as honest as you can…as nicely as you can. And try to balance any negative criticism with complimentary ones. (I call it the “Bing and Bang” system. For every Bang – “This part doesn’t work” – try to match it with a compensating Bing – “I really liked this part.” That little spoonful of sugar makes the cod liver oil go down.)

[Orr_G]

On the one hand, in the abstract I can’t help but to agree (mostly) with Bricker, here. Be generally supportive of your friends after a performance, sure, but if they, point blank, beg you to tell them what you really think, then that’s a different situation.

But, on the other hand, that’s not what happened. At all.

Even given the humongous degree of flexibility required to comprehend the situation as it actually happened given that there is very little reliability on the part of the reporter (I mean, really, that’s a fucking detailed as hell phone conversation, if we were to believe it went down that way) - that’s just not what happened.

These young goofballs were invited by Stephen fucking Sondheim specifically to see one of his plays, and were taken out to dinner afterwards. By Stephen fucking Sondheim.

They said nothing, not a goddamned thing after the show. They said nothing, not a goddamned thing, while waiting for their table (probably just a minute or two, given that they probably had reservations with Stephen fucking Sondheim). They had some drinks, and probably some appetizers, and they said nothing, not a goddamned thing about the show Stephen fucking Sondheim wrote, directed, whatever, and then invited them to see.

What the FUCK is wrong with these dweebs?

Even if the show was as bad as, say, a Pee Wee Herman midget lookalike reading an old phone book, you fucking well say something when it’s Stephen fucking Sondheim who produced it and personally invited your twenty-something know-nothing ass to the fucking show.

Twenty minutes into the meal, Stephen fucking Sondheim wasn’t asking, “So, tell me, really, what did you think of my show?” in a direct or an off-hand fashion. He was boggling, laughing, gritting his teeth and fuming at these yahoos. “So, what did you think of the show?” he asked, his voice dripping with venom.

And this moron doesn’t even get it at that point. He posts on his blog or whatever that Stephen fucking Sondheim was being a weenie.

Bull fucking shit.

IMO, Sondheim was far too gentle in ripping this guy a new one when he called the next day and tried to enlighten the moron. Although I doubt we can accept that the conversation occurred as reported, even if Sondheim were so inarticulate and disorganized as it would seem, we could excuse that because he must have been thoroughly flummoxed at the sheer density and insensitivity of the young man in question.