I Almost Skipped the 'Best Show Ever' Because of One Bad Review. Here's the Lesson.
The Paralyzing Power of a Bad Review
Have you ever been excited about something—a movie, a book, a new hobby—only to have your enthusiasm deflated by a single, sharp-tongued opinion? One person's dismissive comment can be enough to make us doubt our own judgment and walk away from an experience we might have loved.
A recent trip for a poetry class in England taught me this lesson in an unforgettable way. An unexpected encounter with a review for "Paddington the Musical" revealed some crucial truths about who we should listen to, how to spot authentic advice, and what it truly means to find—and share—our own voice.
Always Ask if the Critic Has Actually Seen the Show
While planning my trip, I was thrilled to discover that Paddington the Musical was set to debut in London's West End after five full years of meticulous planning. As a fan of the lonely Peruvian bear with a fondness for marmalade and a simple tag reading, "Please look after this bear," it sounded like my kind of show. This was supposed to be a trip about finding my voice through poetry; I didn't expect the first lesson to come from a theater critic.
Eager for confirmation, I consulted Google and found exactly one review, by a critic named Alexander Lman. Its title was a gut punch:
Paddington the musical is an abomination.
I could hardly bear to hear those words. The review only got worse from there. It was caustic, negative, and easily the most scathing critique I had ever read. Assuming this expert was to be trusted, I immediately changed my plans and decided I would attend the Christmas concert at St. Martin in the Fields instead.
Months later, at the Roundtop film festival, I was introduced to an actress by her father, the owner of the Big Easy Golf Club. She had just returned from performing in London, so I asked her what one show she would recommend. Her answer was immediate and enthusiastic: "Oh, without a doubt, Paddington the Musical." She said every actor and musician in the city was raving about it. By then, of course, the show was sold out for months. The official previews had happened, and the real reviews were all raves, with most calling it the "best show ever."
Silly me. I listened to the wrong critic. It was then I realized something critical: Alexander Lman, the one I had trusted to tell the truth, had not actually seen the show. He wrote critically about something he did not know. The lesson was painfully clear: before you accept criticism, first verify that the source has direct, authentic experience with the subject.
Trust the People Who Pat Their Hearts
By a stroke of luck, I managed to get a ticket. I was seated next to a woman who had flown all the way from Australia just for this show. As the performance unfolded, it was clear this was one of the best musicals I had ever seen in my entire life. The audience clapped, shouted, and expressed their joy after every number.
But my neighbor from Australia did something different. After each song, as the rest of us applauded, she would quietly and gently pat her own heart. It was a gesture of pure, personal connection. Only poetry, only song, only Paddington could evoke that kind of response. It was a perfect illustration of a principle I learned in my poetry class:
"Poetry is that which arrives at the intellect by way of the heart."
Her response was not an intellectual critique; it was a deeply felt experience. This is the second takeaway: seek out and trust the responses of those who are genuinely moved. Their heartfelt connection is often a more reliable guide than a purely critical analysis.
A True Voice is Truthful, Helpful, and Hopeful
This experience of discerning between a false critic and a true heart got me thinking about how we find trustworthy voices in all parts of our lives, a challenge as old as scripture itself. The prophetic voices of figures like John, Mary, and Jesus offer a framework for knowing who to trust. A true, worthwhile voice can be identified by a simple, three-part filter.
It's Truthful: It is grounded in reality and direct experience. It’s seen the show. It’s talked to the creator. It understands the plot and the point.
It's Helpful: It aims to build up, not just tear down. It replaces pointing fingers with patting hearts.
It's Hopeful: It imagines a better way forward and inspires movement toward it.
The critic's review was none of these things. It wasn't truthful because he hadn't seen the show. It wasn't helpful; it only sought to tear down. And it certainly wasn't hopeful. In contrast, the woman patting her heart was the embodiment of a truthful response. This framework is a powerful tool for evaluating the critics in our own lives and serves as a guide for our own voices.
The World Needs to Hear Your "Barnacle" Poem
In my poetry class, my favorite fellow student was Tom. He was a spiritual seeker, shy and soft-spoken, and had a delightful sense of humor. His father is the famous British poet Cliff Yates, but when I asked if his father had instilled his love for poetry, he surprised me. "No," he said, "it was my mother. When I was small, she would sing to me and she would read poetry to me."
I loved Tom. One night, we were invited to share our favorite poems, and I shared a silly one from a book of poems written by dogs, If only you knew how much I smell you. My selection went: "Expensive shoe. I ate it because it smells like you." Tom got the giggles and couldn't stop, which soon spread to the entire class.
But I noticed Tom was hesitant to share his own work. I began to sense that some critic had attempted to silence him. My suspicion grew when we gathered on our final night to share the poems we’d written. Tom was a no-show. I was devastated.
It wasn’t until we were waiting for our trains home, sitting on a bench in tiny Oakhampton, that I was able to coax a poem out of him. There, he shared a short piece he’d written called "The Barnacle."
The ocean's mysteries, so plentiful, have never persuaded the purposeful barnacle to catch a current into the unknown. What does it care If the seas are bluer with sunlit rocks where predators are fewer, it's always been a watcher, not a doer.
In that moment, Tom found his voice. His story is a reminder that even if we feel small, stuck, or unsure like the barnacle, it is never too late. The world needs our unique perspective.
Find Your Voice, Trust the Source
We are constantly surrounded by voices—some that build us up and some that tear us down. The key is learning to discern between uninformed criticism and authentic, heartfelt experience, between those who point fingers and those who pat their hearts.
In this holy season, may you find your voice. And may it be truthful, helpful, and hopeful as revealed by the source and not the critic. But most of all, may this voice be yours, inspired in the intellect, by way of the heart.
