On Film Criticism
Jun 19 '00
"I regard film criticism as an art."
--Pauline Kael
========================================================
This piece is an attempt by me to set down into words my duties and responsibilities as a film critic, along with a few important views that I have adopted on the subject. It is an elastic document if there ever was one; it is open to me for revision and amendment at any time, and, of course, I am receptive to thoughtful suggestions from my readers. It is absolutely not a set of standards for all critics to abide by; to do so would be as ridiculous as it would be oppressive (and, considering my low position on the proverbial totem pole, quite foolish). If I speak at times with a universal voice, it is only because I want to make general statements on the total concept of film criticism.
Considering the subject, in general and in specific, for many years, I can offer only one solid, reliable conclusion. It is this: I am irresistibly drawn to the study of the cinema, and as such, the study of single films. It is my vocation, in the strictest sense of the word, by which I mean that I am called to it by a voice that I cannot ignore. There is no other occupation, aside from the actual making of those films, towards which I feel a greater compelling force. In short, film criticism is something I must do.
To accomplish this, I am continually honing my skills as a writer. Although I use the dynamic, elusively structured English language to ply my trade, there is still a plethora of rules and regulations that must be obeyed if I wish to be taken seriously. Correct grammar, which runs the gamut from knowing the difference between "that" and "which," the proper spelling of "separate" and "millennium," to the alternate uses of the word "comprised" to express the parts in a whole or a whole made of parts, is a necessity. Although there are some rules that only apply on Tuesdays and during foul weather, such as the usage of a comma to end a group of three, or less, beginning a sentence with a conjunction, or two, or whether you are supposed to say "the data" or "these data," conventional grammar can be as strict and unforgiving as Marine Corps basic training.
And yet, is there no room for scribes who prefer a more laid-back, conversational method to criticism, the most ethereal madness? Is there no room for a little soul? In my opinion -- and this is a point that I will repeat and elaborate on later -- the movies are an intense, personal experience, often inspiring passionate, emotional reactions from those who see them. Even the resentment one feels from having seen a bad movie can let loose a fiery invective of words and feelings. The art of filmmaking and the act of moviegoing provokes messy, nebulous responses; reading a thesis paper on the economic infrastructure of Syria is one thing, a critique of Andrei Rublev, quite another.
There is a style to suit every occasion. The duty of a film critic is not to impress their English professors, but to receive the film with all their faculties, and bounce their impressions and perceptions back onto the medium of their choice, whether it is cyberspace, television, the cinema section of a magazine, or a vellum scroll. The only rules that apply to this bouncing process are those which are appropriate to the critic's own style of choice, and the tone of his publication. While sloppiness and a flippant tone are detestable and undesirable respectively, there are times when the constraints set forth by one Strunk and one White can be a little less than liberating, and a little more than constricting.
To wit:
- The film is primarily a visual experience. The key word is "experience." Like any other, it is particular to the receiver and, therefore, impressions and perceptions vary drastically from one person to the next. The essential subject, the film, is the same, but one wouldn't know this by listening to or reading the sundry of reactions from filmgoers.
- The fundamental "duty" of the film critic, however one wishes to put it, is to communicate his or her reaction to the film, by any means available. By hook or by crook, so to speak, the message must be conveyed, and when the criticism is received, it is of vital importance that the reader completely understands the critic's message. Agreement is not the point -- that is a misnomer -- but faith in the critic's abilities is.
- Critics do not write consumer reports. (It might be said that the "reviewer" does, but for the sake of supplying available synonyms for "critic," the two words are considered interchangeable.) Rather, they hold conversations with audiences. "Conversations with their equals," Andrew Sarris wrote, and as the world of ink and cyber-ink contracts ever faster, the number of people we are obliged to consider equal is increasing exponentially.
Relating to those films, I offer these thoughts:
- The film is the film is the film. It is not its marketing department, it is not the book on which it is based, and it is not the reputation of its director.
- An individual film must succeed on its own terms; it must measure up to its own standards. Armageddon, for example, aspires to be a two-hour beer commercial. Mike Leigh's Topsy-Turvy aspires to be an accurate recreation of the life and times of Gilbert and Sullivan. Few would disagree as to which is the better film, but both hit their respective targets.
- By way of corollary, a film can be successful without being effective, but not the other way around. The aforementioned asteroid drama, to paraphrase the Bard of Avon, is all video and audio, in the end a sum equaling zero. The other film, if I may be so bold, is as accessible and intimate as all the other director's features. The great film speaks to its audience, and the audience gives it its undivided attention.
- A great film is great, regardless of its popularity or its performance at the box office. Great films come in all shapes and sizes, but in the final analysis it is an intimate, personal event, on par with literature, music, and all other artistic media. (Roger Ebert submitted that it is a "total art," a fusion of the others.) The effectiveness of the film lies in the effectiveness of the film experience, and it relies solely on what the spectator sees, hears and feels. It is at once emotional, psychological, sensual, and spiritual.
- Many films are "perfect," by which I mean that many films, simply, are what they are. Few great films are perfect. But we do not go to the theater for perfection, but for great experiences. For a beautiful sculpture we are willing to accept a few bubbles in the clay. For a beautiful painting we can forgive an error in composition. Even the eternal Citizen Kane had a few creaky spots, a few silly asides.
A few words on semantics:
- The word "classic": A classic can be, in the movies, one of a few things. First, it is a venerated, beloved masterpiece that has endured the rigorous, pitiless test of time. This requires the consensus of qualified authorities -- professional film critics, historians, and directors. A classic is not, and cannot be, to acknowledge that vile marketing phrase, instant. It can be recent, however, since Webster's Ninth has also made the word applicable to works "serving as a standard of excellence," discounting the time factor. This second definition is dependent on the individual moviegoer, or critic, and is used sparingly, since a tendency towards exaggeration does not do much for one's credibility. There is a third definition, with close ties to the second, as in the following: "The Texas Chainsaw Massacre is a classic." Of course, said slasher is categorically not a classic, in the classic sense, but since the field in which it plays is so small, and since it has a great many fervent admirers, allowances can be made. In this third case, the word "cult," placed in front of "classic," is understood.
- The word "great": This is one of the most frequently used adjectives in my writing lexicon. Aside from a few corrections that were necessary, however, each instance was justified. This is one of those all-purpose modifiers, suitable for a variety of occasions. For example, I might say that I had a "great time," or that a particular movie was a "great big mess." There is one set of circumstances for which I will not use it unless it is absolutely necessary -- when it is used to apply to a specific film or performance. To call a film "great" usually means I am setting aside a place for it on my annual top ten list. I consider Topsy-Turvy to be great, and also Saving Private Ryan and The Sweet Hereafter. To call a performance "great" means that I believe it's worthy of an Academy Award. Furthermore, a great director is someone I have placed in my own pantheon of filmmakers; they include Spike Lee, Steven Spielberg, Akira Kurosawa, Martin Scorsese, and a few others. One great film does not make their reputation, nor does one bad one break it.
- The word "greatest": This superlative, unlike its root word, sees the light of day very rarely when I set pen to paper. Schindler's List, The Third Man, Vertigo, and Fanny and Alexander are four titles on a short list of films that I consider to be the greatest. The competition has been keen, and exaggeration is unacceptable. Moreover, I can say without fear of retribution that Agnes Moorehead gave one of the finest performances recorded on film in The Magnificent Ambersons, as did Jimmy Stewart in Vertigo, as did Gene Hackman in The Conversation. I have a few more names, and one day I will transcribe them from memory to text.
In conclusion:
I regard film criticism as an art, echoing Ms. Pauline Kael as I do on many occasions. When reviewing or critiquing a film, I must honor myself first, the film second. The review is nothing without my reactions. I cannot report how another person received it. This view is selfish, but absolutely necessary. My duty to the film is to do it justice, to give it the respect that it deserves, and the quality I strive for is dependent on expressing my private impressions and perceptions in public words. Paradoxically, my devotion to the cinematic medium is paramount, since it provides me these opportunities. It is my vocation, my art, and my life.
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
Epinions.com ID:
j_christley
|
|
Member: Jaime Christley
Location: Oak Harbor, WA
Reviews written: 107
Trusted by: 64 members
About Me:
[witty remark]
|
|
|
© 1999-2008 Shopping.com, Inc.