‘He urged me to “cease my foul pork scratchings”’
I was biffed on the head by David Storey in 1976 after describing his play Mother’s Day as “a stinker”. But that rankled less than sustained verbal assaults by Jonathan Miller late in his career. He once sent me a New Year’s Day card urging me to cease my “foul pork scratchings” and told an interviewer that ideally directors should be reviewed by their peers rather than “nonentities like Michael Billington”. Better a Storey thump than a Miller moan. Michael Billington
‘A big-name writer called me the c-word’
When I stumbled into journalism, I didn’t expect that my writing would ever cause anything nearing controversy. I wasn’t covering war or politics or anything hard-hitting – I was mostly getting beer spilled on me at gig venues or watching the latest TV dramas aimed at “the youth”. I certainly wasn’t expecting a humble TV review to cause one of my first journalistic imbroglios. Being labelled a “cunt” and a “piece of shit” by the creator of one of the BBC’s biggest dramas wasn’t particularly nice, but it also confirmed for me that my job was to write for my readers, and no one else. And happily it also gave me a good excuse to skip over yet another dubious series of the show in question. Hannah J Davies
‘He responded with a song that described me as “poo-face”’
In 2005, when I was the Guardian’s comedy critic, I gave an up-and-coming comedian called Tim Minchin a one-star review for his show at the Edinburgh fringe, dismissing him as “a bog-standard standup with a silly voice and a few good songs” and suggesting he should be tarred and feathered because of the way his show overran. He responded with The Song for Phil Daoust, describing me as a “fucking poo-face” who “should quit and get a job that you’d be better at / Like killing yourself, you fucking cunt”. The only bit that bothered me was the line “I hope one of your family members dies”, because it was aimed at an innocent third party. Other than that … I slagged him off in the platform I had access to, and he did the same to me. What’s sauce for the goose, etc. And he took the trouble to spell my name correctly, which was nice. Phil Daoust
‘A tirade of Twitter DMs’
In my experience, dance people are generally lovely. At least to my face. Only once has a major choreographer confronted me about a review, and that was via a tirade of private Twitter DMs. I think a single line had touched a nerve as it wasn’t a terrible review – three stars. Among other less reasonable things, he told me how frustrating it was that I got to have my say publicly while he couldn’t respond publicly without looking bitter. I get it. In true English style, we now politely act as if nothing happened. Lyndsey Winship
‘A turd was delivered to my door’
A turd in a jiffy bag, delivered to my door. Anonymous phone calls telling me I am crap at my job. I’ve been threatened with punches and been given the silent treatment, and over the years I have also done a bit of shouting too, while mostly walking by with a smile. But those who want only adulation, and think critics are parasites, can’t separate art from themselves, and fail to see that once a work is out in the world it is up for grabs – to be interpreted and argued over, praised or parodied or even ignored, which is the worst fate of all. Adrian Searle
‘I get venomous emails from directors – usually male’
When I was a book reviewer, a novelist at a dinner announced to the table she’d never forget or forgive the tepid review I’d written of her book. Now, as a theatre critic, I do a lot of body swerving at opening nights, just in case. Most of the vitriol I’ve received has been virtual, apart from the time a director’s wife cornered me at a party to say, pugnaciously, that I knew nothing. Other than that, it’s venomous emails from directors mostly, and almost always male. The worst case was a dizzyingly long screed sent the night after a two-star review. It was by an eminent director who accused me of serious misjudgment. When I wrote back, he sent me more of the same until I ended up apologising just to placate him. That taught me two valuable lessons: never apologise for an honestly held opinion, and never engage with an angry director. Arifa Akbar
‘I was punched in the face for one line’
I’ve been punched in the face over a line in a piece, and had my interview tape wrenched out of my machine by another irate artist, but the worst response to a review was from becalming 90s shoegaze types Slowdive. The music press was a battlefield in the 90s, so writing in Melody Maker that I’d rather drown in porridge than listen to their album Souvlaki again felt par for the course. Twenty years later, the reformed band were still banging on about it in interviews and I still get the occasional Twitter pile-on even now. Still, their reunited lineup played the London O2 Forum, so I can’t have damaged their career. Dave Simpson