Smile, Smile, Smile I Didnt, I Didnt, I Didnt

Clive Barnes

“Smile, Source Smile, Smile” > > “I Didn’t, I Didn’t, I Didn’t”

The theater world often resembles a battlefield. Critics and playwrights engage in constant combat. Words serve as their weapons. Usually, critics write long, detailed essays. They analyze acting, lighting, and scripts. However, some critics choose a different path. They wield brevity like a scalpel. They destroy entire productions with just a few syllables. The review quoted above is a prime example. Clive Barnes wrote it for The New York Times in 1973. He reviewed a musical titled Smile, Smile, Smile. His response was devastatingly simple. He mocked the title. He rejected the show’s premise. He did so in six words.

This specific review represents a unique art form. We call it the “poison pen” review. It relies on wit rather than depth. It aims for a laugh at the artist’s expense. Readers love these reviews. They are memorable. They are quotable. Yet, they raise serious questions. Is this criticism? Or is it merely cruelty? To understand this phenomenon, we must look back in history. This tradition did not start with Clive Barnes, Influential Theater Critic, Dies at 81. It has roots that stretch back centuries.

The Origins of Critical Snubs

We can trace this sharp wit to the eighteenth century. Two literary giants clashed during this era. Alexander Pope was a famous poet. He decided to translate Homer’s Iliad. This was a massive undertaking. He spent years perfecting the English verses. Finally, he finished the work. He presented it to Richard Bentley. Bentley was a renowned classical scholar. Pope eagerly awaited his verdict. He hoped for praise. He expected validation.

Bentley’s response became legendary. Source He did not write a long essay. Instead, he delivered a backhanded compliment. He told Pope the verses were “pretty.” However, he delivered a crushing blow next. He said, “You must not call it Homer.” This remark devastated Pope. It denied the work’s authenticity. It reduced a masterpiece to a mere trinket. .

This interaction set a precedent. It showed that a critic could dismiss a work in one sentence. The critique was technically accurate. Pope’s style differed greatly from Homer’s. Yet, the delivery was brutal. It focused on wit over kindness. This style of criticism grew popular. Writers began competing for the sharpest insult. They valued cleverness above all else. Consequently, the literary world became a more dangerous place.

The Rise of Newspaper Brevity

The nineteenth century changed how people read. Newspapers became the primary source of information. Editors had limited space. They could not print endless pages of text. Therefore, brevity became a virtue. Critics had to adapt. They learned to make their points quickly. This constraint birthed a new style of review. The “one-liner” began to appear more frequently. It suited the fast pace of daily news. It also entertained the casual reader.

In 1864, a Scottish newspaper highlighted this trend. It reprinted a review from the Boston Post. The critic reviewed a mystery novel. The book was titled Duley Carleon. The reviewer did not discuss the plot. He did not analyze the characters. Instead, he simply exclaimed his exhaustion. He wrote, “One hundred and twelve pages more of mystery and murder!” The exclamation point said everything. The critic was tired. The book was repetitive. The review saved the reader time. It was efficient. It was also dismissive.

Later, humor magazines joined the fray. Punch magazine in London loved theatrical puns. In 1867, they reviewed a play featuring Miss Terry. The critic made a simple joke. He called her “a-Dora-ble.” This played on her character’s name. It was not a deep analysis. However, it was catchy. It stuck in the reader’s mind. This marked a shift. Criticism became entertainment. The review existed to amuse the reader. The play itself became secondary.

The Art of the “It Was” Review

As time passed, critics became bolder. They started using the playwright’s own words against them. This technique requires quick thinking. It turns the production’s marketing into a weapon. In 1913, a London critic perfected this method. He reviewed a play by Jerome K. Jerome. The program described the show as “an absurd play.” The critic seized this opportunity. He did not argue. He simply agreed. His review consisted of two words: “It is.”

This brevity is breathtaking. It confirms the playwright’s description but changes the tone. The playwright meant “absurd” as a genre. The critic meant “absurd” as an insult. The review is circular. It requires no external evidence. The play condemns itself. This style became a trend. Critics looked for titles they could mock. They sought setups for their punchlines.

Another famous example occurred in 1917. A critic named A. B. Walkley reviewed a show. The play was titled A Terrible Night. Walkley did not describe the plot. He did not mention the actors. He simply listed the title. Then, he added his verdict. He wrote, “Quite so.” This is elegant destruction. He agreed with the title literally. The night was indeed terrible. The audience suffered. The critic suffered. His two words validated their pain. He transformed a title into a factual statement.

Mid-Century Minimalism and Cruelty

The twentieth century saw this form reach new heights. Critics in the United States embraced the style. They competed for the title of “shortest review.” In 1896, a Denver editor set a high bar. He reviewed a performance of Hamlet. The actor was a preacher named George C. Miln. The critic did not discuss Miln’s acting range. He focused on time. He wrote that Miln played Hamlet “till twelve o’clock.” This implies the performance dragged on. It suggests boredom. It says the actor occupied the stage but did not inhabit the role.

Later, a Chicago critic reviewed a play called A Moral Crime. He used the “It is” technique again. He wrote, “It was!” The exclamation point adds energy. It suggests the play was a crime against the audience. It frames the production as an offense. This is hyperbole. However, it is effective. The reader understands immediately. The play was bad. The experience was painful.

Wolcott Gibbs contributed a famous entry in 1965. He reviewed a farce titled Wham!. His review was a single word. He wrote, “Ouch!” This is onomatopoeia. It suggests physical pain. It implies the play hurt him. It transcends language. It is a visceral reaction. The reader feels the critic’s suffering. It is funny. It is also cruel. The playwright surely felt that sting.

The Clive Barnes Legacy

This brings us back to Clive Barnes. His 1973 review of Smile, Smile, Smile is a masterpiece of the genre. It uses repetition. It mirrors the rhythm of the title. “I didn’t, I didn’t, I didn’t.” The structure is perfect. The sentiment is clear. The title demands a reaction. The critic refuses to give it. He denies the show’s command. He resists the forced happiness of the musical.

Barnes was a powerful critic. His words carried weight. A review like this could close a show. Producers feared him. Actors feared him. Yet, readers loved him. He was witty. He was sharp. He made criticism fun to read. He understood his role. He was not just a judge. He was a performer. The review was his stage. He performed for his readers.

Other critics followed his lead. One reviewer assessed a play called The Cupboard. He wrote one word: “Bare.” This is a double meaning. It references the nursery rhyme. It also describes the production. The play lacked substance. It was empty. The critic used a pun to deliver a death blow. These reviews are like haikus. They condense complex feelings into minimal space. They require skill. A clumsy insult fails. A sharp one lives forever.

The Ethics of Critical Destruction

We must pause to consider the ethics here. These reviews are entertaining. We laugh at the wit. However, they are also destructive. A play involves dozens of people. Actors rehearse for weeks. Designers build sets. Writers toil over scripts. They invest money and time. Then, a critic dismisses it all in two words. Is this fair? Does it serve the art form?

Some argue it does not. They say these reviews are ego trips. The critic prioritizes their own cleverness. They want to be famous. They want to be quoted. They do not care about the artist. They do not offer constructive feedback. A review saying “It was!” teaches the playwright nothing. It offers no path to improvement. It is purely punitive. It treats the theater as a joke.

On the other hand, some defend the practice. They argue that bad art wastes time. The audience pays money for tickets. They deserve honesty. If a play is terrible, why waste words? A short review saves the reader money. It warns them away. Furthermore, theater is a public act. Artists put their work into the world. They invite judgment. Sometimes, that judgment is harsh. The critic serves the public, not the artist.

Recommended Reading & Resources

For further exploration of Clive Barnes and related topics, here are some excellent resources:

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Conclusion

The debate over these reviews will continue. Artists will always hate them. Audiences will always enjoy them. The tension is permanent. However, one thing is certain. These reviews endure. We forget the long, thoughtful essays. We remember the savage one-liners. They become part of theatrical lore. They survive long after the plays close. Clive Barnes ensured Smile, Smile, Smile would be remembered. Ironically, he saved it from oblivion. We know the title today only because he hated it so briefly. In the end, the critic’s wit outlasted the art itself. The pen truly is mightier than the sword.

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