I've had the unusual pleasure of meeting quite a few critics this Fringe. I certainly wasn't going out of my way to make this happen, it just sort of did. I have to say that they were all pretty normal, they didn't attempt to drink my blood, or eat my soul, they didn't even poke me with acid-soaked pens. I also had a really interesting conversation with one about the sleep she loses when she has to give a bad review.
I had never really considered that this might be the case, it seems as if it would be easier to write a bad review. They are funnier and I myself quite enjoy a good rant after a show I haven't liked. It must be hard to put yourself in the position of the theatremaker who has spent months crafting a show and tone down a violent dislike into sensible statements. I have a new found respect for people who achieve this. I promise I will spread the word on my side of the fence that there are good, kind reviewers out there. One day the vulture image will be put to bed.
Of course there'll always be those moments when I'll lose my newfound tolerance; possibly when a French friend has a review that criticises her (100% genuine) French accent. Ah well, to err is human I suppose.