Advertorial

According to a theory first posited by Aristotle, and not properly understood by me, simple elements can combine to create complexity and emergent properties: qualities of self-organisation and connection that could not be predicted from the basic components. In the case of humans, consciousness is an emergent property of evolution, the thing that comes along and spoils all the fun of the body by thinking about it. Criticism does something similar for the arts, emerging whenever more than one performance is competing for punters and their hard-earned cash.

The Shimmy was set up both as an advocate of dance and a place to explore new ways of writing about it. Part of this process is the analysis of the function of criticism itself.

The earliest editorial policy on the Shimmy Skinny was not to print any review in the hard copy of less than three stars. This decision is part of our commitment to advocacy: we'd rather tell you about things we have enjoyed. Besides this, dance faces a struggle in the Fringe: it is under-represented, limited by the venues available - most shows have to be small scale for economy. The ethos of Edinburgh in August is about the short, cheap work. This does undermine any choreographer who fancies hitting a big theme at length. Booting hell out of a company just to demonstrate how clever we are is unlikely to encourage experimentation or risks that are already threatened by the credit crunch.

Those who enjoy scathing attacks can find them on the Skinny website, where our reputation for generosity is undermined by our comments on Kitty Cointreau's Brahaha. Another decision was to write personally, and make it clear where the writer was coming from. Hopefully, even a two-star review gives some idea of the bias of the writer, and allows a reader to ignore the opinions if they are clearly not ones that they share.

My own review of Frances Rufelle is a case in point. For many, this is a rare treat to see a star of Les Miserables in an intimate venue, covering her favourite songs. For me, the polish she lends the tunes wastes the intimacy, and I'd rather be squirming uncomfortably at The Tiger Lillies, hell's own house-band. I console myself with the idea that, like consciousness, I am an emergent property, unpredictable but part of the ongoing evolution of performance.

The EIF is now gearing up: at least here, the big dance companies can have some. Even if it mystified the poor audience expecting some nice dancing, The Tempest was a stunning testament to dance's power to evoke abstract ideas and tackle tough questions. From a selection of simple elements - Maori culture, a painting of an angel, the comments of a German Marxist, Lemi Ponifasio welded together a complex beast that conjured the cataclysms of history and slowed time itself to a painful crawl. It offered no easy answers, only posed questions and challenged. Rather like criticism.