In the six weeks that I have spent pursuing the noble art of filling column inches I have touched on many aspects of the dramatic life of Oxford, giving each the due reverence and respect it deserves. The time has now come to enter the realm of the meta-column, a self-reflexive self-conscious exercise in analysis and pretention. Oh yes. My pen is poised to decimate myself, and my fellow reviewers.
Last week (insert ultra-hip link to last week’s column here, online editor. I need the hits) I revealed I joined the Oxstu Drama section to console myself for failing to act well. This is true, but I was also dragged kicking and screaming onto the paper by a friend of a friend of a dog who ate the cat who ate the rat who lived in the house that Jack built. Basically, I fell into this column by accident, and got stuck. For my fellow critics it was no such thing.
The results of the extensive interviews I have conducted with my imagination my fellow critics have shown that drama critics are an incestuous bunch. Not literally (though all the Greek drama around might suggest otherwise) but it is pretty common for a critic to also be an actor/director/producer/playwright/spawn of Satan (this last refers only to the Dep Eds of the section). Some of them are just really interested in drama and want to prattle on about it. Others are in it for the fame and the glory. Yet more are here because of the free tickets they get for shows. A few write to plug their own show.
But let’s be honest, most of them are here because they haven’t figured out how the Oxford Theatre Review website works yet.