Dr. Carolyn Lee reflects on a different cliché each week. Recently, in her blog, Now You See it, Now You Don’t, she dives into the lost and occassionally found. This week Carolyn explores the cliché, there’s no accounting for taste.

Learn more about Dr. Carolyn Lee on her biography page or investigate 29 more clichés in her latest book, Keep Your Eye on the Ball And Other Clichès to Live by. 

There’s No Accounting for Taste

I went to see a performance of Riverdance some years ago. It was in a huge arena, filled with all manner of humans who had come for all kinds of reasons. This spectacular show features traditional Irish music and dancing. The choreography is dazzling, the talent extraordinary. Dancing is a significant part of Irish culture, and this troupe travels the world sharing that unique art form with audiences from Dallas to Dubai. It seemed to me that this particular audience was lukewarm that night. There was applause after every number, of course, but the Riverdance spectacle didn’t generate the kind of response I expected. And then, well into the second act, a line of good-looking, well-built male dancers wearing tight leather pants and jackets took the stage. Their athleticism and artistry was stunning—but it wasn’t until they suddenly ripped off those leather jackets and exposed their very impressive bare chests that the audience just went crazy. I was astonished—and embarrassed. Bare chests are what excites an audience? Well, there’s no accounting for taste. 

In the late seventies I saw Gwen Verdon and Chita Rivera in the Broadway production of Chicago. Chicago is a pretty raunchy show, but, in the hands of these professionals, it was classy. They were so good, so smart and clever, that they rose above what could have been smutty and vulgar, and put on a show that was charming and, in a way, elegant. A few months later, I saw a local production of Chicago. These people chose to take the low road, and the jokes and asides and visual gags that had seemed clever and funny in the New York show looked cheap and just kind of nasty. And the audience loved it. They roared with laughter, and the show was so popular that it was held over for a second week. Again, I regarded all this with my mouth open.  

There were people in both of the audiences I have described who would take issue with me and claim that their responses were entirely appropriate. Maybe they’d even call me a prude or abysmally out of touch with current reality. Certainly, they could point out that our tastes differed, our preferences lay at opposite ends of the aesthetic spectrum.  

When I was teaching acting, I began each new class by reminding my students that their grades would depend, ultimately, on my opinion of their work. I would offer a thoughtful, experienced, educated opinion, but an opinion, nevertheless. If they couldn’t live with that, they should go take geometry, where their grades would be determined by the impersonal, unbiased numbers they achieved on examinations. 

I also explained to them that I was basing my opinion on some objective criteria regarding performance in the theater. My reaction to their work wouldn’t just be, “Do I like it?” or “Do I not like it?” I had to make the judgement—“Is it good?” or “Is it bad?” Often, after two students had performed a scene in front of the class, their peers would applaud loudly and tell them how good they were. “Oh, you just gave me goosebumps,” someone would say. Or “You were so funny; I laughed ‘till I cried!” Frequently, it was my unfortunate responsibility to walk to the front of the room and say, as kindly as I could, “You know that scene that you applauded and thought was so good? Well, it wasn’t good. And it wasn’t good for the following twelve reasons.”  

I was reminded on these occasions that my students not only had to learn how to act; they had to learn how to observe and evaluate acting. They had to learn to distinguish between what was good and what was not good. When I watched scene work in class, I could, in my mind’s eye, see the way that scene should look. I could vividly imagine the good version of the mediocre work I was seeing. That young, inexperienced audience could not do that. They couldn’t really imagine a better, finer rendition of that same material. I believe that, if I had been able to put before them a wonderful version of the scene they had just applauded, they would have been able to tell the difference. I think they would have had an “Oh! Now I see. Now I get it!” experience.  

We’re in very dicey territory here. Yes, of course, there is taste; there is preference. But at some point, one must acknowledge that there are also objective standards by which one can judge acting or any work of art. I have heard people express the opinion that, if an audience responds positively to a work of art, that means it is good. Maybe, but not necessarily. A positive response simply means that the audience liked it.   

What one thinks and feels about art is one’s opinion, one’s taste. But there is something going on that is more objective than taste, more impartial than preference. The audience with which I saw that local production of Chicago liked it. Does that mean that it was an artistic triumph? Or that it was even “good”? I don’t think so.  

Want to Read More? 

Check out Dr. Carolyn Lee’s blogs on her website, she features a new cliché each week or you can order her new book, Keep Your Eye on the Ball And Other Clichès to Live By. Want to know more about the woman behind the words? Read more about Carolyn here. We hope you enjoyed this article learning more about the cliché, there’s no accounting for taste.