There are a couple of points I’d like to address. First of all, I do not believe that there is an inherent difference between descriptions (“This is what happens”) and our intuition (“This is what’s going on”). Both are acts of perception on the part of the consciousness based on the illusion on the screen. The meaning of the film, the allusion of the illusion if you will, is intrinsically a sub-conscious affair. If such an allusion is dominated squarely by the id, which in turn is ruled solely by the pleasure principle, i.e. emotions, then the descriptions and our intuitive reasoning are squarely affected by the super-ego. The distinction I am trying to make, albeit superficially ambivalent, relates squarely to the way film as a form is put together: to understand what’s happening is to understand our intuitions. Whereas the two might very well be on separate plains of understanding in literature (even that, I believe, is debatable), they are bound together in the very essence of the process of telling a story in film. Here, I’d like to quote from David Mamet an observation that I have previously shared with you, Jim:

"All film is, finally, 'a dream sequence.' How incredibly impressionistic even the worst, most plodding, most American movie is. Platoon really is not any more or less realistic than Dumbo . Both just happen to tell the story well, each in its own way. In other words, it's all make-believe. The question is, how good make-believe is it going to be?"

As such, the final product we experience is, by definition, an intuitive thesis. The only purely intellectual framework that we can apply with regards to film criticism would include its technical aspects.

Newspaper criticism is different from retrospective reviews on film blogs or journals in that they serve, essentially, a workmanlike purpose: to tell the audience whether the film in question is any good or not. All reviews combine, nolens volens, a combination of the intellectual and the emotional: for that is the only way to understand film. The best ones acknowledge this. Literalness (logic), in its purest form, would transform film from a work of art to an amorphous non-entity.

What I mean by that is leads directly from the point raised by António Damásio, that (i)t is thus even more surprising and novel that the absence of emotion and feeling is no less damaging, no less capable of compromising the rationality that makes us distinctively human. Not only that, but the lack of emotion or intuition renders film meaningless. In its simplest description, film is a story told in cuts by the succession of uninflected images. The operative word is uninflected. For example:

Shot: A man walks down a corridor. CUT TO
Shot: A shot of footsteps. CUT TO
Shot: A hand turning a doorknob. CUT TO
Shot: The man in the first shot enter a room.

Without an intuitive analysis of the four shots in question, it is impossible to comment on the scene. In fact, without intuitive rationalization, the scene doesn’t exist. Basic storytelling devices of Eisenstein and Griffith may have been ingrained in our communal consciousness, but the fact remains that at the core of such perception, lies an intellectual as well as emotional reaction. Even the most bookish of analyses has to revert back to emotions. We may be able to split the atom, but we are unable, even the smartest of us, to undo that effect.

(I have a few further thoughts, but I’d like to read other commenters’ takes on this - particularly insightful - post)

Once again, Ali, you couldn't have gotten this thread off to a better start -- and at last that Mamet quote has made it to this blog! (I've been saving it for... something.)

My distinction between "This is what happens" and "This is what's going on" may not seem very significant in linguistic terms, but here are a couple of examples, off the top of my head, of what I mean by it:

What happens: Noodles (in an opium den) takes a hit on a pipe, rolls onto his back and stares; then smiles.

What's going on: It's ambiguous, but you feel a mixture of (ambivalent?) emotions: He's remembering, repressing, escaping...? Can you pin it down? Would you want to?

OR:

What happens: An ape, having discovered the idea of a tool/weapon, smashes an animal skeleton with a femur and throws it into the air. Match cut to a satellite in orbit.

What is going on: It's a leap not only eons into the future, but between images/ideas. One tool/weapon "becomes" another. From "The Dawn of Man" to modern technology -- how have Man and his tools evolved? At the same time, the cut from inside the Earth's atmosphere to somewhere beyond it, from sky to field of stars, and the opening strains of the "Blue Danube" waltz, raises goosebumps. Can all that -- and more -- possibly be happening in a single cut? (Yes.)

In each case, the first is descriptive, the second intuitive.

BUT, as anybody who's been reading this blog knows (and one reason I quoted Damásio regarding the functioning of the brain), I fully concur that "Both are acts of perception on the part of the consciousness based on the illusion on the screen." An experience is an experience -- whether it's a first-hand one, a vicarious one, or a vicarious-vicarious one (something I was attempting to grapple with in my post on "Three kinds of violence"). That's why I keep harping on the notion that film -- which takes place in somebody's head (the filmmaker's, the character's, ours) -- isn't something best taken solely at face value ("Was that part real, or a dream?"). The illusion and the allusion are one. (That goes for poetry and literature, too, of course. Words have resonance, connotations, multiple meanings that can co-exist...)

I was thinking of trying a thought experiment: analyzing a movie that I admire but that doesn't move me (I'm thinking "There Will Be Blood") as though I felt it should work -- even though it leaves me unconvinced. I guess it would be a form of role-playing. I think my analysis could be completely accurate, as far as it goes, and make the movie sound resonant and mysterious and profound and even moving. Yet I don't feel these things about "TWBB," much as I've wanted to (both times I've seen it). Would such a piece ultimately convey my subjective POV that the picture is studded with brilliant moments that don't cohere into a particularly powerful or meaningful experience? Or would it simply depend on which moments I concentrated upon -- the ones that I think "work" or the ones I think fall flat? Why does one person find a moment deeply stirring and electrifying, when another finds the same moment hollow and superficial/artificial?

I'm eager to see where this goes...

Analysis is the step that follows the immediate experience of a movie. I don't think there is enough analysis in criticism in the sense that I don't think most critics are very good at doing anything with their feelings about a movie. The one major exception would be Jonathan Rosenbaum, who seems to know more or less exactly how he feels about a movie, and is able to nimbly think his way through the implications of those feelings.

Huzza for the provocative post.

On this issue I like to go back to C.S. Lewis' "An Experiment In Criticism." What does the artwork (movie) invite? Reception or use? Is the open-minded viewer merely stimulated, or has the art invited reflection? A TV commercial invites use; an artful movie invites reception. We may think: Ah, but I can write a dissertation on the art of TV commercials, but what art is that? One of flash and sheer emotionalism. Would it not be more worthwhile to write a dissertation on Citizen Kane, which thrills the viewer and invites reflection on the fundamental questions of humanity?

Lewis argues that 'taste' is not a helpful paradigm, that our understanding of art rests on this balance: reception or use. Is it possible to just use a movie like Citizen Kane? Yes. But the responsibility of the art lies on the viewer, who should receive it as the artist intended, on its own terms.

Another example. David Bordwell recently blogged about his love for National Treasure. I do not regret telling you that I have not seen that movie. However, I think it is not too much to say that his analysis is academic--the work of a theorist--and not particularly invited by the movie. The movie is meant for use. This is not a condemnation of it as a bad movie for people with bad taste; the movie may, in fact, be very enjoyable. On the other hand, one may watch The 400 Blows without reflecting on it, but I expect that doing so would require napping through most of the movie.

The implication for a critic's responsibility, then, is to understand the medium/history/form well enough to educate a general audience on the merits of an artwork as relating to use and/or reception.

I have not explained Lewis's argument as thoroughly as I would like. An Experiment In Criticism is my favorite book; after the tortures of High School it, and a few great teachers & books, rescued my love for reading. Do not worry about any offensive Christian evangelism in the book. Although Lewis' religion certainly informs his worldview, he wrote this book without any religious invocations. It is a masterpiece, and I recommend it highly.

Jim – Those are very good points.

Regarding the two examples you give, my observations of “what’s going on” in both cases do not differ from yours, but (and this is the beauty of criticism and analysis: the recreation, the evocation of a momentary experience – sense memory for the soul) the feelings might very well be different. However much (if at all) one might be in touch with their own emotions or intuitive reactions, one thing is for certain I will never know what you (or anyone else) feels watching a particular film. This is not a mushy expression of modern man’s inherent solitude: it is the simple fact that emotions experienced by one person belong only to them. Their expression through language, physical, verbal whatever, dilutes the intrinsic reality of the emotions in question. Besides, as you also ask in the original post, would one want to air them? Can one? One of the finest works of Turkey’s most famous poet, Nazim Hikmet, starts with a question he asked of his (equally famous) painter friend Abidin Dino: “Can you paint me a picture of happiness, Abidin,” he enquires. On the surface, it might be a tad maudlin, but it’s pertinent to our discussion, nonetheless.

The essential job of the critic is to evoke the sense of the movie itself – but they have to do that through their personal, inward-bound, appreciation of the work. Thus, criticism cannot help but be subjective. The injection of literalist objectivity, I believe, detracts from the truth as understood by the critic, thus devaluing the criticism itself, and having an adverse effect on the film, too. One of the Opening Shots entries was for Superman: The Movie. I seem to remember your recounting a story of how, during a dinner party, you argued that the scene where Superman turns back the time to bring back Lois from the dead is one of the most romantic sequences in the history of film, when a companion dismissed the sequence, and averred that such a feat was illogical. That person, blinded by purely non-intuitive rationalization, missed the point. Carrying on that conversation to understand how that person FELT during the scene would be pointless. And the same point applies to “emotionless” reviews.

I’d also like to talk about secondary viewings, the finale of The Sopranos, and “the perpetual present tense(mentioned by you a few times)” and how it relates to criticism. But in due course.

As usual a fascinating discussion, Jim, and you raise so many points that I'm not sure where to begin in responding. So for now I'll settle for making a perhaps quibbling distinction between different types of technical aspects in film. You say:

"Sort of reminds me of the technical specs for a recording. The various numbers and measurements can tell you something, but they don't reveal anything about the music."

But the specs you quote from that Steely Dan album aren't really even "about" the music. They seem to be specs regarding the creation of a vinyl master for pressing a record, which would be analagous to, say, the creation of a DVD transfer, rather than the creation of the film itself. At the point described in those specs, the music (or film) has already been made, and it's just a matter of getting it ready for mass distribution. While there's a lot to be said for a good vinyl master or a good DVD transfer for maintaining or presenting the qualities of the artistic work, I doubt that many people would say a DVD transfer has aesthetic qualities in itself.

In a good film, the technical components involved in creating the actual film (the camerawork, the editing, the sound design, etc.) are facets of both the emotional and intellectual experiences of the film. It's impossible to separate out this kind of technical quality from the immediate experience of the film, since the technical aspects create the immediate experience of the viewer. But there are other technical elements that, while equally important in making or showing the film, don't have as much bearing on aesthetic or emotional reactions.

In regard to the main thrust of the discussion, I think a lot of critics do tend to separate emotion and intellect, or at least try to -- even if it's impossible to truly do, critics can and do focus on one or the other in their writings. I'd hold up Ebert as an example of a critic (who I usually enjoy reading) who definitely tilts towards emotion and immediate experience as opposed to abstracted analysis of the film. On the other pole, Jonathan Rosenbaum (who I also like reading quite a bit) sometimes focuses so much on the political/social ramifications of a film's ideas that I'm left with little idea of what the film actually "felt" like while watching it. Both approaches are worthy, and neither critic is wholly either emotional or analytical, testifying to the impossibility of truly separating the two even in critics who tend to lean in one direction or the other. But it's worth thinking about whether there are truly any critics (or viewers) who can seamlessly combine the two approaches. It's definitely difficult to engage in deep analysis of a film without becoming abstracted from the immediate experience, and it's no easier to remain engaged with a film's surfaces while still unpacking how it does what it does.

Just some preliminary thoughts, and I'm looking forward to reading more in this discussion.

I don’t think we can draw any definitive conclusions. Films that are entirely intellectually are more interesting as after thoughts rather than in the moment experiences. And films that are entirely emotional are forgotten once the emotions that were stirred up subside. Of course, there are no absolutes, but I think this is a fair general statement. David Bordwell has talked about why one may be attracted to a moment in a film while another person is bored. I recently watched Bergman’s Autumn Sonata with a friend, and while I thought it was an excellent film, he absolutely loved it. He comes from a divorced family and was able to relate to the familial disconnect more. Or at least that’s the conclusions we drew. I also recently watched The Color of Pomegranates and that film did nothing for me emotionally. I guess I appreciated it, and was definitely thankful of it because the filmmaker was a direct influence on Tarkovsky. The intellectual part usually comes after the viewing of a film, however with Pomegranates I just didn’t care so much. Was it my emotional disconnect or am I being close-minded? But, with certain films, and in my opinion the most rewarding, we are given time to intellectually ponder its intentions and our reactions. This brings me back to Tarkovsky whose camera lingers on images long enough for us to exercise our internal philosopher. He combines these moments of reflection with an indelible tone and mood (which elicits a stronger emotional response than plot). Something needs to be felt. Most films move quickly from shot to shot that we need to piece together the chain of events before we can intellectually anaylyze it, although, this piecing of events is intellectual in itself. But it’s not the kind of intellectual I think we’re trying to talk about.
Godard once said: “I don't think you should FEEL about a movie. You should feel about a woman. You can't kiss a movie.” Luckily for us Godard fails at this philosophy. While his films certainly call attention to themselves, we are emotionally involved because Godard’s personality is imbued in every frame. And, being that his films deal with contemporary issues, we can relate. I guess we could make a scale between document (I’m not referring to documentaries) and escapism. The former being a document of ones ideas, sub-conscious desires and so forth, with no emotional response. But, ultimately, I don’t really know.

What is happening: I'm typing a comment.

What is going on: My head is exploding because I have 3,475,297 things I want to say on this and I'm at work.

To address your original questions at the end of the posts, and in part reply to Jeff's reactions to J.Rosenbaum I would say that I would much rather get the emotional response first and the analytical response later. The problem I see with criticism (and for once I am calling out not just mainstream media critics but all of us, me, you, critics, bloggers, commenters without blogs) is that one is viewed as elite and the other is viewed as pedestrian.

I know many people who appreciate the arts (movies, literature, theatre, painting, music) and much of their appreciation comes from avoiding over-analyzing it. I know others who appreciate the arts and can't get enough analysis of a subject.

So when I go through the blogs I find that there is a smug aloofness with some blogs and a goofy "I Love Movies" with others. Some critics and bloggers bemoan that there is not enough "long-form" criticism and yes, I can enjoy a well written engaging lengthy piece on a film or a book but much of the time two things occur: 1) It feels like the writer just likes seeing his pontifications in print to let us know how deft he is at analysis and 2) The movie watching process starts to feel less like the joyous experience that art can be and more like dissecting a frog in class.

So I'll take the emotional reaction first, and then analyze it in my head or with friends later. I think the two best examples of these mindsets are Roger Ebert and Jonathan Rosenbaum. Ebert seems very emotional a critic at times, throwing four stars at a movie that makes him smile for more than five minutes and Rosenbaum often seems like a pre-programmed android designed to give lesser reviews to movies that actually develop characters and magnificent reviews to films in which two men stare at a balloon for two hours saying nothing. Rosenbaum at times seems like a parody of the automated critic who sees art as a series of steps and not as a whole in its final result. I love Rosenbaum's writing and enjoy some of his snarky takedowns but I swear there are times when I feel he has no passion for film at all choosing to always analyze, never feel.

The opposite occurs with Ebert. Sometimes I think, "Good lord man, stop giving four stars to every movie that has one 12 second moment that makes you feel warm and fuzzy inside. The rest of the movie sucked!"

I'm sure there's a middle ground, some kind of Ebertbaum creation that contains the best of both. But I don't like that the emotional criticism is considered as lesser to the long-form criticism that details every frame of a film until surely it is impossible to watch that film ever again and enjoy it by letting it simply wash over you.

I think both are valid and one does not outrank the other.

And now it's my lunch break and I realize that this comment is rambling and probably makes little to no sense. Like Ali I'll see some more before re-commenting and try and get my thoughts together.

Another thought-provoking article in your continued discussion and critique of the business of film criticism. Not being a critic, I am clearly on the "feeling" side of the issue.

It had occurred to me long ago that when I explain to others why they should go see a movie that I think is fabulous or worthwhile, when I try to get them to see it too, I may sound like I'm intellectually arguing for its merits, but I'm really justifying my own emotional reactions with words and sentences. Sometimes I employ fancy theories or big words (eg, existentialist, postmodernist, blah blah), but it's always the case that I first have an immediate gut reaction to a movie (or a book, or a painting, whatever), and the explanation and argument (like or dislike and why) comes much much later.

Not being a professional critic or an academic, I have a street-person's skepticism toward what I consider to be overintellectualized approach to art. Language itself is an abstraction of more primal "things" that go on in our head and body. The universe of primal "things" are much bigger than what language can encompass and sometimes more powerful -- like fear, desire, shame, pain. Even smaller than the universe of language is abstract thoughts humans somehow made up. In a chapter in Gladwell's book "Blink", he retold the phenomenon that too much focus and excessive use of abstraction can smother and distance a person's innate instinct. It makes me wonder if years of teaching and writing academic analyses and theories may cause long-term damage to the emotional and instinctive mechanisms in some critics or scholars' brain. How much instinct do they have left? Are they at the point of unable to be moved and touched?

What you describe about TWBB -- it might be profound but it does nothing for me -- is a feeling I encounter all the time in movies. I don't believe it's something to worry about. "All the other smart critics, whom I respect, think this way. Am I less smart for not feeling the same?" Heck, NO! I say. To reach collective consensus on the value of something so subjective as movies is dreadful enough, but to reach agreements on the basis of reason and abstract argument would be soul-numbing horrible, even fascist.

A particular movie, or story, or artwork, can move a person while doing nothing to another. This is frequently because of the differences in the viewers or recipients rather than the quality of the movie itself. It's about resonance. The individual concerns and inclinations and expressions (a lot which are outside the language universe to start with) of the filmmaker is specific and can cause resonance in some audience who share some similarities with his concerns and thoughts and feelings. There are other equally smart and rational audience members who simply don't share these feelings and instincts and concerns. So the product does less or nothing for them. No amount of theories and intellectual explanations can change that.

I have wondered whether a person with divorced parents would understand Hamlet better or like him more than a person with happily married parents, or whether a childless young person is less likely to be moved by King Lear than an old person with adult children. The viewer has his or her own baggages which affect his or her perception and reaction to a particular movie or story.

Take TWBB for example. The parts that I think are effective and even heartbreaking are the father--son relationship between Danial Plainview and H.W. I was disappointed by how it fizzled in final confrontation in the dark room. I was not moved by the religion--commerce symbolisms for whatever reason, but I suspect it has something to do with my lack of interest in theology. Or that my instinctive reaction toward No Country for Old Men is influenced by my own attitude toward death and the lack of experience with it around me. Who knows? Most of our own subconsciousness is not necessarily hidden from us, but it is inaccessible to words and logic and reason. I wish smart people can give a bit more credence and respect to the world beyond word-driven analysis. Sometimes words can take us further, not closer, from the truth.

I don't want to promote gender stereotypes. I do think there are proportional differences in how men and women perceive the world. I believe that more men than women are attracted to abstract concepts and ideas and theories and analytical thinking, while more women than men are keen on individual feelings and tendencies, empathy with another's emotions, intangible relationships and interactions between individuals, what we call "the vibe."

A good example is Nicole Holofcener's "Friends with Money." Usually I'm pretty good at articulating my gut reactions to a movie, but this one stumped me. Yet I knew I understood it. A female friend who also saw it said, "Ebert got it all wrong." I have not read a male critic who sounds like he "gets it." Nevertheless, my friend and I totally recognize and identify with the dynamics among the female characters.

I guess this is what I have been thinking about in the different ways men and women tell and perceive stories. I don't mean that I as a woman does not appreciate or even be moved by lofty and profound ideas or that men cannot create or like quiet and intimate probing into people's heart and mind (David Gordon Green comes to mind). The problem I have is the dominance of one side over the other within the movie-making and movie-appraising system, a standard that tends to look down on smaller, more intimate concerns that are without lofty and abstract ambitions, works that do not suit academic analyses.

With regards to changing attitudes toward a film over time. I wasn't the same person the first time I saw 2001, I was much younger and my enthusiasm for film outweighed my taste. The second time I was blown away by not just the mastery of form but also the emotional content, something I think is largely overlooked in discussion of the film. It's a film that, along with many other things, suggests our destiny is in the stars. This holds great weight in my consciousness. Someone else who may be centered on something else may have a different reaction to the film based on what they hold dear. I remember the first time I saw John Carpenter's the Thing I didn't like it because, when I was younger, I didn't like films that had what I would call an unhappy ending. Seeing the film later in college I was stunned. It was like seeing the film for the first time because I wasn't an eight year old who liked comic books and cartoons and had become accustomed to ambiguous or unhappy endings and saw that it's not whether or not the hero wins but where the story goes and what that might imply. Age, experience, and a more informed opinion will color reviews over the years. I have also found that I've become much more sentimental in my old age. Films that I loved as a kid, and that I still love, seem to have a stronger emotional impact, the dream of seeing Romeo and Juliet again for the first time...almost. But for this particular debate I'll quote Martin Scorsese, "The first time you see a picture go with your gut. Save the analysis for the second viewing". And I guess if you don't feel like seeing it again that would say a lot.

Jeff, you make an excellent point. One really simple way to talk about this would be the gross-out comedy where you laugh while it's unspooling and then later on you feel guilty for having been made to laugh at something so crass.

Jim-

Thank you thank you thank you for this post. Also, before I forget, could you please recommend other books on this topic, or topics, which you discussed in this post.

Also, thank you, others who have commented and stated my thoughts more eloquently than I can.

I would like to add the following (hopefully coherent point:

I am becoming interested in the subjective and objective elements of film and how they interrelate. If all films are dreams, being performed in us as they are performed before us on the screen, then writing about films would be bringing these dream-films into the light of...well it depends on what light is shown upon them. But one thing is for certain, what will be analyzed will be the experience of ourselves.

To invert a commonly quoted phrase of Andre Bazin's "cinema is [SUBJECTIVITY], in time." By watching a movie and then talking about it, we are analyzing our experience of something (something that achieves our wishes and desires or does not) in time, BUT it is a time sculpted by the filmmaker(s), and this sculpting must have intent, whether it be intuitive or intellectual. In that sense, to expand on Bazin's quote, "Cinema is the Subjective in time that strains towards Object-ivity of art" It stands between ideas, dreams, emotions, (timeless elements) and the reality of the work in time, in the period in which those ideas and emotions and dreams are first born. Film is the shadow that T.S. Eliot speaks of in the quote a the beginning of this post.

Do I make sense?

This is awesome that someone's gotten to this topic, one that is very important to me. I struggle with this dilemma many times at the movies, and I'm glad someone is exploring this subject in-depth. Thank you for this, Jim!

Pauline Kael, as others have implied here, was always a "gut-reaction" kind of critic, and certainly that led to a lot of exciting writing (not to mention that famous "Fear of Movies" piece, where she took to task supposedly "tasteful" moviegoers who she figured were merely afraid of being carried away by the power of cinema). Personally speaking, though, I think it's always been part of my own nature to be somewhat skeptical of my gut reactions, only because, once you're far removed from the experience of watching a particular movie and can somewhat more dispassionately reflect on it, sometimes you may not like so much what you feel about a movie you loved watching in the moment. So you might rely on your gut now...but what if you watched it again later and found it less impressive? Does that mean your gut reaction was necessarily wrong or misguided? Was that gut reaction more based on visceral emotion rather than hard intellect---the surface excitement of a film rather than whatever depths it may or may not contain? If it was more emotion than reason, then how much stock should one really take in the gut reaction, ultimately---esp. in a movie one disliked which, decades later, is considered a classic?

I'm still not sure; I'm just asking. All I know is, rather than necessarily sticking to a hard and fast rule, I take it one film at a time and see where my various thoughts and emotions lie for each---and to what shifts in perception and thinking they may or may not lead.

That probably sounds like a rather shallow conclusion to make (but maybe it just sounds deep and considered), but maybe it's the best any intelligent human being can do when looking at art in general.

P.S. Jim, your Godard quote at the beginning of your post reminded me of Sam Fuller's famous cameo in Godard's Pierrot le fou. How did he define cinema? "In a word: emotion."

I'm not a professional critic by any stretch, but I do review films, and I try to do so by analyzing their politics and content over formal and emotional considerations; in fact I try to avoid strong verdicts- though obviously verdicts naturally arise; the subjective nature of the enterprise necessitates it.

I try to avoid academic writing though, and I don't dig super deep; I’m not looking for Lacanian subtexts or for metaphysical and philosophical meanings. I’m just discussing certain ideological tendencies in movies, traces of the commercial nature of the culture industry as well as political predispositions of writers and directors.

Even when I reviewed "Rambo" I tried to avoid a strong gut reaction- I disliked it, but that's not what I'm interested in. I’m interesting in its political and social meanings.

I don't review films this way because I think all critics should. I believe films provide different kinds of experiences: emotional, aesthetic, technical, political, personal, etc. I don't think all film makers set out to say anything about the world, nor would I suggest that some subconscious desire drives their work in an ideological direction. I think there is a pure filmic experience measured completely in emotion.

I can shut down my brain and allow a movie to wash over me. But I find that most film critics are talking about that kind of response, and yes, ignoring the ideas and meanings, in the word the intentions, of movies. So much culture and media is produced that is never subjected to any kind of analysis or even thought.

So many ideas are flowing through the public consciousness that are completely ignored, mainly because many people in the United States have a nearly allergic reaction to the very idea of introducing ideas and politics into what they consider mere entertainment. It’s like “Juno.” The idea of discussing the abortion issue in it is taboo among most of the public; it is assumed out of hand that “Juno” is just a comedy and doesn’t contain such ideas, but to me this is underrating “Juno” (full disclosure: I don’t like “Juno”) and film comedy as a genre. Why can’t “Juno” contain political ideas and why are audiences so phobic about discussing this kind of content, or any content, in entertaining movies? This isn’t the critical discussion worth having, but it’s my approach.

I started reviewing movies because I am interested in this kind of discussion and I didn’t see it taking place. I saw a lot of gut reactions, and worse, superficial, snarky summaries (courtesy the weekly press). Among the better critics I see a lot of great analysis when it comes to form , writing or performance, but again, very little about what film makers are trying to say.

I forgot to mention: the Gondry 'trailer' is hilarious. But I'm failing to see the connection to your point, Jim. Maybe I'm too stuck in the jokes, but are we reading a bit much into it? And I think, Jim, you'd agree that if Be Kind Rewind's protagonists had given us the original experience of their recreated movies, it would be an entirely different, probably lesser one. And I wouldn't feel much of anything for the DeNiro close-up if I hadn't seen Once Upon A Time In America...which may be the point...

What I'm driving at is, the object of art that we place our subjective views on exists outside of ourselves; the object does not differ from person to person. The people differ.

"What happens: An ape, having discovered the idea of a tool/weapon, smashes an animal skeleton with a femur and throws it into the air. Match cut to a satellite in orbit."

But of course this is all interpretation. What really happens is that a brownish blackish thing is on screen with a whitish cylinder, sound of certain frequencies is emitted, and then suddenly there is a blackish background and another white cylinder.

Even the act of identifying an ape on screen is an act of interpretation; what's on screen is not, and never was, a real ape or a real satellite. You interpret the what and the why simultaneously. It's all a little head-spinning when you think of it. "What is a movie about?" is always a tricky question, because it's "about" the story and the themes and the shots and the music.

Phil: Exactly! The movie itself creates its own context, and we may see/remember it differently even if we're sitting next to each other when we watch it. (Which isn't to say that we shouldn't pay attention to the evidence of what's actually there, only that we may interpret or see it differently.)

The association I see between this post and the Gondry clip (and the tagline from the movie used at the top) is that, no matter how "objective" we are about the evidence in front of us, the movie that matters is inevitably going to be the one in our heads -- the experience as we perceive it, not the object itself. (Back to epistemology again!) I have no idea whether (subjectively speaking) Gondry's movie is any "good" (haven't seen it), but the idea intrigues me on a couple fronts: 1) the role the viewer's imagination plays in the experience of a film (including our willingness to "suspend disbelief); and 2) once we've already seen a film (some of the renters in Gondry's movie appear to be repeat viewers), how much do we "see" in further viewings, and how much does our brain simply fill in (like what happens when we enter a familiar room and most of it is simply reconstructed from memory, without our actually seeing it anew -- the brain's way of avoiding perceptual overload). The homemade movies (and this trailer is a DIY version of a trailer released earlier) play on memory -- in some way existing in relation to the original films the way, say, a jazz performance may regard an original melody: You experience both the familiar version and the variation on it at the same time.

William B: This is purely subjective, but I love the thought that goes into comments like the above. I'm a lucky blogger to have such participants.

All I ask from any critic is that he be sincere and have something intelligent to say. Emotion is guarenteed. The aforementioned things are not. I'll take this opportunity to share what I think all movies are essentially about: People. Has a movie ever been made that had no actors, no people, just things? I've never seen one. And even if there are a few no-people films in existence, they were still made by people, which means that something is being communicated by a person to the audience. So when a person watches any kind of film, regardless of their taste or intellect, they are looking for something to relate to, and this motivation is an emotional one. I'm convinced that the most cool-headed intellectuals in the world, including guys like David Sterritt, are emotionally driven. Otherwise, movies would be a bore to them. A critic can get as in-depth and intellectual as he wants, but notice that it's not just logic that fuels his viewpoints. And as I well know, Jim, you find it laughable when a person says a critic should keep his opinion out of his review. I find it just as laughable when anyone says that a critic should keep his emotions out. Especially if it's a critic saying that. The following is from the Answerman archives on Roger
Ebert's site:

Q. I was put off by your opening sentence: "I don't know what I'm supposed to feel during 'The Squid and the Whale,'" Huh? Shouldn't you be asking what you are supposed to think during the film? I don't read your film reviews to better understand what makes Roger Ebert tick. To dismiss the point of view of this film because you, personally, wish you had had "cool" parents just like these kids is a dumbing-down of your role as a critic.

What I wish you had reviewed was a film that thoughtfully explores the unintended consequences of divorce in a culture that collectively and individually tries to assuage its guilt about the effects, particularly on children. Divorce, like death, may be a part of life that we have no choice but to accept, but prevalence alone does not mitigate the affects of divorce on the children who are the civilian casualties.

Jane Levin Kroboth, Charlottesville, Va.

A. You make a good point about the underlying subject of the film. But I think "feel" is the correct word. Movies are essentially a medium of emotion. Intellectual arguments are more suited to the written word; movies persuade us not by what they argue, but by how they make us feel.

One purpose of a critic is to be open about exactly what he or she actually felt, instead of retreating into abstractions. When I saw "The Squid and the Whale," I was not thinking about the unintended consequences of divorce; I was thinking that for all its faults, the family functioned pretty well to produce useful and creative children, including the director of the film.

(Me again) On that note I think my case is closed. Yes I value intelligence. Yes I value analysis. Yes I am in love with logical thinking. No I do not for a second buy into the "thought" that emotion falls out of the equation.

After reading all these posts straight through, I can barely remember my name, let alone what I wanted to say. But it had something to do with asking what connection there could be between this discussion about objective vs. intuitive viewing of films and your often cited complaint that movies nowadays are "too literal".

Isn't THE essential aspect of film noir the viewer's expections going into the film?

When presented with the scenario of some sort of mystery, and the characters of a male protagonist and his supposedly loyal lady friend, and the atmosphere of a lifeless city, the viewr is already watching a film noir in their head. The question of whether its a good film noir depends on whether this particular example resonates (the word that Jun empasized in his post) in an intriguing way with idea of film noir (which it should be granted is always changing depending upon our cumulative experience of this genre of film)

What do others think about the films as genres. How do the expectations of genre play upon the prejudices of viewers. I have my thoughts on this but I would appreciate yours more.

This is a fascinating discussion, worth having for what it reveals about the world view of each commenter. But ultimately I think all of us -- including David Sterritt -- are headed toward the same destination by different means.

Jonathan Rosenbaum, A.O. Scott, J. Hoberman and David (who's a friend of mine) write in a somewhat more detached, rueful, above-the-fray style, but ultimately you get the sense from reading them that they liked or did not like, maybe hated, a particular film -- and if they're writing with clarity and force, we understand why they liked or didn't like the film. Manohla Dargis, Armond White and David Edelstein, on the other hand, put the emotion right up front; they let you see the gears of feeling turning as they try to unpack the movie.

To put it in movie star terms, there are basically two kinds of critics: classical Hollywood actors and Method actors. Critics in the first group are circumspect about openly expressing emotion; critics in the second group foreground their passion and then work backward into the analytical part of the job.

One in awhile you find a critic who combines the two modes -- James Agee comes to mind. But even Agee varied from week to week and review to review; sometimes he seemed more cooly scientific , other times like a street preacher climbing up an orange crate and declaiming his passion to the masses.

Not only are both approaches perfectly legitimate, they complement each other; one could even say they complete one another. Moviegoers who read only one type of criticism are depriving themselves of the full spectrum of human response, and eliminating the possibility of being provoked or challenged by an unfamiliar vantage point or mode.

I do appreciate how the explosion of web-based criticism has pulled back the curtain that used to hang between readers and reviewers, and showed that the great and powerful Oz -- which is the apparition that entirely too many critics strove to resemble, pre-Kael -- is just an individual pulling levers.

Kael's great contribution to criticism -- more valuable than many of the analytical feats her detractors blast her for not being interested in achieving -- was that she provided a counter-example to the above-the-fray mode, the "gentleman critic" voice that was the de-facto template for most newspaper and magazine criticism in this country, and still is. Whether you loved what she had to say or thought she was completely out of her mind, you always sensed that there was a person there, not a facade; that in turn emboldened regular moviegoers to trust their own opinions, and seek out new input (films, history books, other critics, maybe even a film course or two) that would give them new tools by which to understand and explain the gut reaction they had after the lights went down.

I think that a great --not good, but great -- movie is one that synthesizes three basic elements: intellectual appeal, entertainment value, and emotional appeal. So many critics, though, seem to fixate on one of these three (Pauline Kael only values entertainment, Roger Ebert only values emotion), and intellectual appeal is often left out. To say that thematic depth is as important as the other two is not being pretentious, though. Even if people say their favorite films are lightweight comedies or passionate romances, the ones that really stick with them (whether they realize it or not) are the ones that make them think. A movie does not need to be pretentious to make you think, like 2001: A Space Odyssey. It can be a simple presentation of a battle between good and evil, like No Country for Old Men.

Jim - I'm just curious about something with this post and I'm just asking/thinking out loud so if there's no response to it I won't interpret it one way or the other. I've noticed a fair amount of commenters have mentioned Ebert as well as many other critics. My curiosity is this: Does it make you uncomfortable as his web editor to respond to comments about him? I'm just curious. I have a strong belief that neither you nor Roger would give a damn as you both seem like two of the most secure and mature writers on film I have come across but after I left my comment I thought, "Maybe I shouldn't have written that." I thought maybe in some way I had put you in an uncomfortable position and that's something I most certainly did not intend nor something I would choose to do.

This discussion (along with some of the recent "Junobashing" threads) had raised some interesting questions for me:

- Has admiring a movie becuase it made us laugh, cry, or think become passe' amongst "serious" film folks?

- Is "liking" a film for no particually jusitifable technical reason something fit only for the rabble?

- If the "artistic worthiness" of a film is determined primarily by analysis of it's technical prowess, then what differentiates film from say accounting or electrical engineering?

It's been my experience that competent and observant "insiders" from any pursuit can find considerable intellectual and/or aesthetic satisfaction in a job well done. This is as true for the "serious" auto mechanic as it is for the "serious" architect.

Certainly there is an admiration and appreciation for a well-made automobile that stands quite apart from the sensation of driving it. However, to omit the sensation of driving from one's final opinion is, in my humble opinion, largely missing the point.

When I listen/read to "informed" cineophiles provide appreciations of films that essetially amount to a shot-by-shot technical analysis, I always feel like I'm missing half the story. Sure the single unbroken shot in "Russian Ark" is an amazing technical achievement, but given a choice between watching it again, or seeing "This is Spinal Tap" for the umpteenth time, which one are you really going to choose? With one "vehicle" you comment on the amazing design and craftsmanship, but you never take off the cover and let it out of the garage. With the other, you hop in for a road trip.

I'm not trying to argue for either measurement - I think both the "head zing" and the "heart/gut zing" are crucial to successful art in any medium. Unfortunately criticism (being after all, just words) is best suited to examination of the "head zing" - the technical appreciation. Thelonious Monk captured this idea very well when he said "Writing about music is like dancing about achitecture". (Wasn't it Truffaut who said the best way to comment on a movie was to make another movie?)

Indeed, despite the rough treatment Ebert and Kael have been getting here, their longevity and popularity (especially outside the narrow circles of the film clique) is likely rooted in the following:

a) They lack the "appropriate intellectual shame" most critics display when it comes to 'fessing up to how the film made them FEEL - the "heart/gut zing".

b) They are much better writers than most critics, so they're better able to communicate the effect of that "heart/gut zing" to readers (including less seriously film-obsessed folks).

In the internet age (where an unlimited number of critics now have an unlimited number of column inches with which to work), it seems that "serious" film people are perpetually in danger of crushing even very good films under the sheer volume of words being written about them. In an effort to bring legitimacy to our chosen form (and validation to our own opinions regarding it) we feel the need to smother every offering in so much analytical gravy that often one can hardly taste the original meat.

This is (at least to me) very sad, especially given how this tendency has played out in other artistic arenas. Is it only a matter of time before we're paying ten dollars to sit in a pitch dark room for four minutes and thirty three seconds (a la John Cage) so we can all blog afterwards about what a towering statement it was?

Matt: Nothing fascinates me so much as ambivalence. I try to take a methodical, empirical, rational approach to movies -- knowing all the while that it's impossible (and probably useless) to be 100 percent detached. You're so right about Kael vs. the voice of the "gentleman critic," not so much "objective" as disengaged. (The NYT's Bosley Crowther was one of those fellows -- I always imagine him looking like an elderly, bloated Lionel Barrymore with a waxed gray mustache -- who wrote about movies as if he were watching them from the next room.)

Jonathan: Not to worry. Roger Ebert is my friend and someone for whom I have enormous amounts of affection and respect. But that doesn't mean we can't disagree ("Crash," "Million Dollar Baby," etc.). I think Roger does a miraculous job of achieving that balance of analysis vs. honest emotional response. It's the "honest" part I think is most important -- not hurling down judgments from on high but truly engaging with the film itself as thoroughly as you can.

George: I'm sure some of us overvalue "difficulty" at some point or another in our lives. I know I have at times -- but I think it was the feeling that the film was somehow beyond my grasp that probably excited me. Some pleasures are worth putting forth the effort to appreciate them. And yet, as you say, is there anything more satisfying and enjoyable than a classic romatic comedy with Cary Grant or Gary Cooper or James Stewart or Henry Fonda -- and Barbara Stanwyck or Miriam Hopkins or Katharine Hepburn or Irene Dunne or Jean Arthur? I think not. And you don't even have to "work" for it.