I greatly appreciated A.O. Scott's NY Times piece last Sunday, under the headline "Everybody's a Critic Of the Critics' Rabid Critics." (And not just because he had kind words for me and Dennis, though I most certainly appreciate that, too.) The article was about the curious reception of "Inception" (before it even opened), and the critical rush to proclaim it either a masterpiece or a disaster. As if it could only have been one or the other.
Scott's review of the film itself, like my initial response and many others, was ambivalent. I love his summation of the critical reaction (and reaction to the critical reaction) in his final four paragraphs, which I quote in their entirety:
So maybe I was subconsciously splitting the difference. Or maybe -- like the Nolanistas and anti-Nolanistas who had come before -- I was just trying to give an honest account of what I had seen. In the end I don't believe that the smitten first responders were simply bedazzled by hype, nor that the second-wave skeptics were merely being contrarian. Just as critics need to operate in good faith, so should consumers of criticism proceed from the assumption of good faith. We may be wrong, but we tend to say what we mean. It's a responsibility of the job, as well as one of the perks.
Nonetheless, over the first weekend of the release of "Inception," I braced myself for brickbats for both sides. Either I had been suckered by the Hollywood publicity machine, or else I was blind to the visionary genius of a great artist. And some e-mail messages and comments on the Web site did express those views with varying degrees of eloquence and coherence. But for the most part the conversation had shifted away from the criticism of criticism toward other, more relevant matters. What did the last shot mean? Is Cobb still in a dream at the end? Whose dream is it? What's going on?
What is odd about these questions, which shrewdly invite a second viewing, is that they seem to come at the end of the argument about "Inception" rather than at the beginning. Film culture on the Internet does not only speed up the story of a movie's absorption of a movie into the cultural bloodstream but also reverses the sequence. Maybe my memory is fuzzy, or maybe I'm dreaming, but I think it used to be that "masterpiece" was the last word, the end of the discussion, rather than the starting point.
But in this case we end up with where we should have started, wondering what the movie is about, what it means, puzzling over symbols and plot points. It's almost as if we're all in a movie that's running backward, like "Memento." Which was totally overrated. Unless it was a masterpiece. I'm going to have to see it again.
Regular readers of Scanners will instantly see why I find this analysis so gratifying, as it speaks to my deeply held beliefs about the art and craft of criticism itself -- things like: a movie critic's opinion is worthless unless it's supported by evidence from the movie; ad hominem is not a form of argument; of course critics have motives for saying what they say, but all that matters is what kind of case they build; of course critics are going be selective (and subjective) in citing examples to illustrate what they like or don't like; and, as I repeated just last week, whether somebody likes or doesn't like a movie is the least interesting thing they could possibly have to say about it -- because if it isn't, there's nothing to talk about. An opinion tells you something about the person who holds it; film criticism is the practice of exploring, analyzing and interpreting the film. (I can't believe I just crammed all those aphorisms into one paragraph.)
Now, let's take the case of A----- W----, the polemicist whose very name is a distraction from legitimate criticism because, like the tantrums of A-- C------, his ravings consist almost entirely of paranoid fantasies and nonsensical insults. Paul Brunick, who is in the middle of an ambitious examination of online film culture for Film Comment (Part One, "The Living and the Dead: Online versus Old School," is now live, along with an "annotated user's guide to the best film-crit blogs and websites," cross-posted at The House Next Door), recently conducted a line-by-line autopsy of an ostensible review of "Toy Story 3" by A----- W---- ("Hating the Player, Losing the Game"):
By my count there are about three declarative statements in this entire [five-paragraph] piece that are not categorically inaccurate. The rest is a seething tissue of factual errors, self-negating examples, glaring elisions, logical inconsistencies, specious industrial analysis, mystifying rhetorical constructions and basic grammatical errors. It speaks for itself.
(Reminds me of analyses of Bill O'Reilly and Glenn Beck spewings.)
While finding that the review "contains practically nothing (nothing!) in the way of analytical insight or emotional truth," Brunick concludes:
Is [W----] being sincere? I think so. I think he sincerely despises his "shill" colleagues and the "brainwashed" audience. I think he sincerely sees himself as a maverick outsider to the media establishment ("They don't see what I see, where I'm coming from--they couldn't") and that he is sincerely invested in this narcissistic fantasy to the exclusion of most everything else. Reading [W----], I am constantly reminded that the human intellect, which we often analogize to a courtroom judge dispassionately weighing arguments and evidence, actually operates much more like a lawyer-for-hire, rationalizing and enabling our emotional narratives. What makes [A-----]'s reviews perversely fascinating is that he is so obviously intelligent, yet this intelligence has been harnessed to the warped imperatives of an increasingly frustrated personality. Where your average critical hack job is just banal, [W----]'s ability to disconnect the dots exerts a kind of bizarro brilliance. Try to take any of his recent reviews as seriously as he insists and you'll find yourself, like Alice and the Red Queen, running in hermeneutic circles, getting nowhere fast. It makes for mediocre criticism but lurid psychodrama.
Glenn Kenny sees another bogus form of argument coming down the pike for those few who still notice A----- W----. An ominous feeling came over him after he made the mistake of trying to make sense of W----'s review of Todd Solondz's "Life During Wartime":
Now I understand that, around the time of "Transformers 2" if not well before, [A-----] traded a more-or-less conventionally "contrarian" stance for an extremely aggressive Bizarro World ("Us do opposite of all earthly things!") approach to film criticism; it was no longer enough to condemn that which was largely embraced by the critical community, such as it was; [W----] now took up as his duty the slathering of thoroughly irrational praise on certifiable dogshit. None of this would matter if people just stopped paying attention to [W----] entirely, but one peculiar bit of blowback from the situation is that [W----]'s praise for a particular film can now be used as a cudgel against that picture by those who aren't as enthused about it. Hence, someone such as myself can be put into a position of defending Solondz's film not only from attacks against it, but from [W----]'s praise of it.
Just today, Kenny writes about (mostly New York-based) movie writers (I don't know if they qualify as "critics") who drive him up the wall and wonders if he's objecting more to what they write (or, god forbid, tweet) or simply who they are. He began with a quotation from Herbert Spencer: "There is a principle which is a bar against all information, which is proof against all arguments and which cannot fail to keep a man in everlasting ignorance--that principle is contempt prior to investigation."
All of the above raises crucial questions for criticism but, as I keep saying, motivations for opinions are irrelevant; what matters is how well they are expressed and argued. As GK says:
I'd think we all agree, though, that prior to unleashing one's contempt, a critic ought to do what lawyers call due diligence, and have a pretty thorough understanding of what they're lashing out at.
I certainly have tried to do that throughout my career, and in all my different manifestations as a writer; lay out precisely why I've come to a particular negative conclusion. And sometimes I keep some arguments and evidence in reserve; extra material, as it were, in the event that backup is needed. Which in the give and take of the internet, often is. But then, what's left? Once the contempt has been expressed, the reasons for it articulated, what's in the dregs?
Sometimes I think the act of writing criticism involves a concerted effort to overcome the deficiencies of the human brain. Because, as we see all the time (most obviously in politics), that's the way we're wired. Jonah Lehrer cites a study by Princeton political scientists Christopher Achen and Larry Bartels in which they concluded that "Voters think that they're thinking, but what they're really doing is inventing facts or ignoring facts so they can rationalize decisions they've already made."
Or, as Michelle Cottle says in The New Republic, "Increasingly no one cares about (or recognizes) the difference between marshalling facts to make your argument and just completely making shit up."
But there is a difference, and that's why I think Scott, Brunick and Kenny are all onto something important about the dynamics of contemporary film criticism. Brunick correctly states in the introduction to his dissection of W----'s review that "not all opinions are equal":
Reviews should be challenged on the grounds of descriptive accuracy, clarity of expression and intellectual consistency. More ephemeral qualities like fairness, usefulness and originality can be grounded in textual evidence and comparative criticism. No one's opinion is more objectively right than any other, but there's no question that some are better argued, better supported and ultimately more interesting.
(Please see my posts, "Opinions: Are they really worth a damn?," "Oh yeah? Well, I criticize you back!," No right to an opinion," and so on...)
What it comes down to, I think, is this: Chicken-or-egg arguments are a waste of everyone's time because 1) by definition they can't go anywhere except 'round in circles; and 2) they shift the subject from the movie to the person.
So, let's say you are (in Scott's terminology) a "Nolanista" -- that is, someone who has generally liked/admired the work of Christopher Nolan in the past. Is there really any significance in saying, "Well, of course you liked 'Inception'! You're biased!" I mean, if your argument is in good faith, wouldn't you assume that this person's "like" for Nolan was based on seeing Nolan's movies? It's either that or he/she first decided to buy a "Team Nolan" t-shirt, espouse a liking for the fellow -- and only subsequently, also, see some of the films he made.
Of course, the same goes for the opposite tack: "You didn't like that movie because you don't like that director/actor/writer/gaffer!" Well, one should have enough sense to assume that people develop their likes and dislikes based on past experience, so what kind of bullshit argument is that? It's obvious and self-evident, isn't it? You know what I don't like about directors I don't like? It's the same thing I like about directors I like: their movies. Now, can we talk about something real?
This is why I try to keep terms like "agree" and "disagree," "like" and "dislike" out of my vocabulary on this blog. First of all, who cares? Second, they're too vague to be of much use in a discussion. In a post called "On liking and disliking" a couple years ago, I cited some questionable assumptions about how critics choose examples from the movies they're writing about:
I've been trying to imagine a conversation about a movie that would include the argument: "Well, you only point that out because you liked the movie." Or, "You wouldn't have noticed that if you didn't already like the movie." In response to all the stuff I wrote last year about the many moments of brilliance in "No Country for Old Men," I don't recall anybody saying, "Well, you wouldn't have liked that if you didn't like the movie."
As long as the discussion focuses on "like" and "dislike," it's not going to get us anywhere.
Another insipid and meaningless rhetorical device is to base or blame an opinion on something other than the movie -- like, say, the budget, or the box-office, or the star's salary, or some tabloid story. If a critic hasn't cited evidence and built an argument, then any opinions expressed are worthless for those reasons alone. Speculating about other possible motivations just makes the accuser irresponsible, unable to focus on the matter at hand.
We keep hearing that on the Internet "Everybody's a critic." Not true. Maybe everybody thinks they are entitled to publish an opinion, but don't confuse the expression of moods with the practice of criticism. Let's get back to talking about the movies...
ADDENDUM (07/29/10): I wanted to add one other item to my list of non-arguments: the charge of "hypocrisy." Accusing someone of not living up to their own standards is fine (and don't we all fail to do that at some time or another, being mere mortals?), but it does not refute, or even necessarily address, what they're saying. It's just another evasive tactic, an attempt to shift the argument from the subject to the person.
- - - -
Footnote: My gratitude to Paul Brunick for citing Scanners as one of the web's best film criticism sites, and especially for this:
A formalist at heart, Emerson will spend weeks at a time analyzing isolated aspects of cinematic style: opening shots, close-ups, long-take staging. And he isn't afraid to revisit his past favorites again and again, obsessively attempting to pin down what it is about certain films ("Chinatown," "Fight Club," "No Country for Old Men") that he finds so compulsively watchable.
For a writer, there's nothing better than when somebody notices what you're trying to do!
86 Comments
The idiotic frenzy consists entirely of left-over dark knight fans. Trust me on that. TDK is designed to produce the exact reaction it got. Its drudging self-serious is imbued in every inch of the film--it demands to be called a masterpiece whether it is one or not. This is why Inception's stunted fans lasted only for a little bit, compared to the dark knight where it will last forever.
What are you trying to start here, Bob?
Your definition of its "design" could apply to thousands of movies.
Right on, Jim. Thanks again for providing the kind of thoughtful commentary almost no one else does. Your blogging and the writings of atheist Sam Harris have me fascinated by the ideas of good and bad arguments. Do you know of any decent books or on-line sources with compendiums of sound and unsound logical/rhetorical strategies? If not, how about writing one yourself? You can call it THE BOOK OF BAD ARGUMENTS. You can list examples of common fallacies in thinking and expression and help educate a whole new generation about the traps we're all prone to falling into or glossing over. Because the stakes aren't so high when we're arguing about movies, but they couldn't be higher at the ballot box.
Except that Sam Harris only makes really bad arguments . . .
I actually find the wikipieda "List of fallacies" page quite a good reference.
Me, too!
In defense of liking and disliking
Stating likes and dislikes may not be the stuff of deep analysis in film criticism, but it can have a useful place in regular conversation.
Saying that I really liked* "Viridiana", for instance, might reveal something of how I view the world...depending on how I interpret the movie. And I thoroughly enjoy asking new acquaintances to list a few favorite movies. It gives me a little insight into their tastes, the way they view movies in general, and maybe something of their worldview.
But, yes, the internet has created an environment where declaring something a masterpiece or total disaster is more important than talking about the movie itself.
Sadly, the internet (and distribution trends) have made it more difficult to see a movie casually, at your own pace. If I see "Inception" six days into its run, I feel that I'm terribly behind everyone. Only this week did I finally catch up with "Antichrist" and "Tetro", and who do I have to talk to about them now? Perhaps this is a part of the rush to declare a final stance on this or that movie. We know that we must write this opinion in stone, because by next Friday we'll be on to something else.
*Actually, I love "Viridiana". But now we're getting into ranking terminology, which is another problem entirely.
Affection and disaffection have their natural place, of course! You just hope that somebody can bring more to the party than that. I often liken it to one of the cardinal rules for improvisational comedy: If you're going to say or do something, be sure you add information to the scene. Another of my pet peeves are reviews that tell you to see or not see something -- which really means that the reviewer liked or didn't like it. The writing should convey that information without bullying you around and telling you what to do. (And I love "Viridiana," too.)
Thanks, Jim, for your continually enlightening pieces. I am new to film criticism and I am constantly fighting against the urge to give in to the hype. I try to always talk only about the film itself when I review a movie, and that is the only thing that matters. I absolutely love movies. Watching a movie is one of my favorite things to do, but its so easy today to get caught up in reading about movies, waiting for movies, and to forget about actually enjoying the art.
Jonathan Rosenbaum, in his piece on Manny Farber, said a most interesting thing about his writing. I wouldn't remember it verbatim, but his comment observed that most often in Farber's writing one couldn't make out if he was praising the damn thing, or criticizing it. That line has always, always stayed with me. When Paul says the ideal ought to be a jury system, with 12 men honestly arguing on a piece of evidence, I believe that might be what he meant too.
There are several reviewers out there who's entire review could be better expressed as a Facebook-style "Like"/"Unlike" button. And it is a waste of time for everybody involved. Of course, it is the toughest part of writing when one's opinions are not overshadowing the observations. We can pretend to be 12 men, but after all, we are the judge. And I guess, that is the best form of film criticism. Argue like 12 men, and decide like a judge. Opinions do matter, they of course do. By constantly exploring and discovering our arguments, we not only understand the brains behind the film, we also understand a bit of ourselves too. At the end of every analysis, I find myself more self aware. That is why a critic like Stephanie Zacharek, who in her review of Gangs of New York might have summarized the modern-day Martin Scorsese in the most profound manner possible, is so valuable.
Curious thing, and I would want to ask you - If Hannibal Lecter were flesh and blood wouldn't he be the greatest film critic ever?
I thought it was noteworthy that all four of the pieces (including mine) quoted above used the courtroom language of "arguing a case." For me, the best writing (which is a way of exploring and clarifying thought) is also a process of discovery (to use another courtroom term). As for Dr. Lecter, I'm not entirely sure what you're getting at, but I think I see a metaphor for film criticism in the image of him removing the top of Ray Liotta's head and eating his brains in "Hannibal." I'm just not sure what it means...
I think what fascinates us, to a reader, or to a viewer, is never the what, but the how. We wouldn't give a rat's posterior to simply who the guilty was in any of those Sherlock Holmes tales, but what we love most is the analysis, and how he is guilty.
I think that is the best part of arguments, of journalism, and film criticism. I think court arguments are probably the closest universal metaphors for analytical arguments and judgments.
And much like these analyses, I believe film criticism is a form of psycho-analysis too. Why would a filmmaker frame a shot in a particular manner? How could a filmmaker like Martin Scorsese be so irresponsible in using a methodical right tracking shot to have that Nazi soldiers massacre in Shutter Island? What does that say about him, and his art, and about the movie in question? Why would a film like Crash first show the Matt Dillon character as a ruthless bugger, then show his ailing father, and then show his good self. All of that you do Jim is psychoanalyzing, and like your best stuff (review of Antichrist), you are second guessing the film's intentions, versus what is being shown on the screen. I think that is where film criticism becomes an art, a science, and I believe Hannibal Lecter (a fictional Sherlock Holmes) would have been absolutely devastating. Oh but I was just being silly, you know.
@Satish: Not surprisingly, I am a huge fan of Manny Farber's writing, and I think the way you invoke him here is spot on. It wasn't so much that Manny never responded to critical hype; he was one of the first critics to regularly take up a position that's now de riguer: defending formally exacting, richly detailed "genre" films (what he once called "cowboy-soldier-gangster films") and lambasting self-congratulatory, muddled, middlebrow "prestige pictures."
But you're absolutely right that, at the end of the day, he was more interested in description than evaluation--or taxonomic categorization, or theoretical abstraction. Farber's writing has this imagistic richness to it, an uncanny ability to find verbal correlatives for non-verbal elements (mise-en-scene, physical performances, editing, camera movement). He thinks INSIDE the films, where so many of these facile critical debates are primarily oriented to the OUTSIDE: critics are pretentious, fanboys are idiots, etc, etc, ad nauseum. The films become little more than ammo for strafing some audience demographic, however illusory.
@Bob: Did you not just read the article? 'Stunted fans'? 'Idiotic frenzy'?
I have not seen Inception, but I like the fact that in a big summer 'blockbuster', there has been this sort of discussion about it.
Another terrific piece, Jim. And I really, really enjoyed your thoughtful analysis of the film in your earlier post ("Inception theories"). Stellar work, as always.
Long time reader.
First time commenter.
Illuminating as always.
What do you make of this?
http://www.amidworlds.com/that-glorious-bastard.html
Thanks for this, and for your other series of posts dealing with Inception, and with film criticism.
It seems to me mostly that Inception is less like traditional entertainment and more like a parable or a koan. It's less important whether you liked it or disliked it, than it is whether it made you think and whether it started an interesting discussion.
Agreed! I really liked this piece.
And on the bright side, ad hominem arguments at least signal an aversion to cognitive dissonance, so it could be worse.
But seriously, whenever I consider criticism, I remember that video that you posted a while back about emotional reaction vs. critical thinking; I mean, it's right there in the word. There's "I liked Salt, especially Jolie's performance, the action scenes, and the paranoid atmosphere" and there's "Salt is a heightened thriller that investigates patriotism/nationalism in an increasingly globalized world, as argued by its sadistic childhood flashbacks, the concept of the USSR as a nation long dead still spawning soldiers, and the specific nationalities' roles in saving the world." (Trying not to spoil.)
The latter review of Salt does not tell anything of its quality or merit. You describe what the film is about, but have not discussed its quality.
How did the film make you feel? Why was it able to make you feel like that? What are its influences? Does it just merely imitate these or be inspired by them yet still be unique?
Well, for one, I only had a sentence to play with. It was a sample thesis that would obviously need expounding upon in a full review. Since Salt was simply an example for a discussion of criticism, I didn't think I'd take up the thread elaborating (though if you're curious, I found Salt not only thrilling but genuinely emotionally evocative, if you can believe it, all of which I somewhat briefly detailed in my review, which I'll link to from my name).
But more importantly, I think that what a film is about is its most important quality. Which sounds kind of arbitrary, but what is film (or any art) if not an expression. So what is being expressed, a thesis, strikes me as the essential characteristic, and one that more than a few professional film critics completely neglect. Moreover, you can have somewhat objective arguments over what a film is saying and how well; not so much with how a film made you feel.
Very good piece.
There is a bit of personal hypocrisy though. You go to such lengths to promote well-reasoned discussion and researched argument, but then you snipe away at non sequiturs like Ann Coulter, Glenn Beck, and Bill O'Reilley.
It's really the only obnoxious part of this blog. Honestly, the overt politicization of film criticism probably pushes conservatives away from engaging in the culture. It's a shame that intelligent critics like yourself feel the need to bloviate about politics when you could be opening the door for more people to the ever-shrinking world of film criticism.
And for the record, I agree with what you said about the three Fox News demagogues.
Mike, that's what the hyperlinks are for. Each of those names is linked to a previous post that applies the same standards of argument to things these polemicists have said. Not their politics, their logic. And not that it matters, but I've done it with those on the left (like Keith Olbermann and Bill Maher), too. It's not about what "team" they play for, it's about how they've crafted particular arguments. That's exactly what I mean when I say: "If a critic hasn't cited evidence and built an argument, then any opinions expressed are worthless for those reasons alone. Speculating about other possible motivations just makes the accuser irresponsible, unable to focus on the matter at hand."
I also appreciate what I'll call the Cadre of Eggheads argument, named for a term in Owen Gleiberman's pan of Synecdoche, New York (I think...maybe it was Inland Empire). Anyway, you probably get the gist: This movie sucked, but a select group of fans will call it the greatest thing since sliced bread.
There's no accounting for evidence, just summary dismissal, and in cases like that, a preemptive straw man. It's kind of like the saying "the exception proves the rule," which, no it doesn't, but whatever. It's also a lot like ad hominem in that, because it's accounted for your conclusion, it can dismiss whatever argument you present. And the critic can sleep well knowing he doesn't have to consider any viewpoints beyond his own.
Watching "The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo" the other night, of all things, made me realize what it was about "Inception" that turned me off so. To me, plot is usually the least interesting part of a film, and it's almost always the least interesting part to discuss. And "Inception" (just like Dragon Tattoo), was ALL plot and very little else.
Bob K, thanks for the most concise, incontestable (and really, diplomatic) criticism of Inception that I think I've read thus far. You're spot on.
Incidentally, I didn't see the movie Girl with the Dragon Tattoo - but your take on it was a problem I had with the book.
A little off-topic with subject of criticism - but I wonder if our expectations of plot can sometimes get in the way of our enjoyment of certain films... I'm thinking of Winter's Bone which was highly praised and was marketed/reviewed as a tense, suspenseful Southern Gothic. If anything, it's more of a European, almost documentary character study - which it did well, but left me feeling somewhat disappointed... So on one hand I feel like Winter's Bone was rather overrated - but on the other I think that I probably owe it another look in light of misplaced expectations. Certainly what it does, it does very well...
A.O.Scott says – “…Maybe my memory is fuzzy, or maybe I'm dreaming, but I think it used to be that "masterpiece" was the last word, the end of the discussion, rather than the starting point. But in this case we end up with where we should have started, wondering what the movie is about, what it means, puzzling over symbols and plot points.”
He makes a real fantastic point, and one that I believe ought to be one of the commandments upon film critics and scholars and aspiring ones should build their passion.
But then, Jim, herein lies the catch. What is Scott tending towards? I would say a liberal stance, where discussion and arguments are the key, where opinions are not preset but arrived at, and where the only currency is observation. A place where usage of every adjective ought to have a justification alongside. You might say it is an ideal world I describe.
But then, do we, does any one of us, actually come to the page with such a stance, or such a bend? I mean, Jonathan Rosenbaum starts one of his latest articles on Hitchcock’s Rear Window with –
Alfred Hitchcock’s greatest movie, Rear Window, is as fresh as it was when it came out, in part, paradoxically, because of how profoundly it belongs to its own period.
Rosenbaum has explained why the film feels fresh, but to a reader now, why would he already hammer down the verdict – “His Greatest Film”. A scholar is already laying down the end of the class. We, students here, have no role to play, and the writing might not leave any room for arguments to the “greatest” tag.
I might single out Rosenbaum, but we all are guilty. A.O. Scott himself assumes an authoritative stance rather than an investigative one. Michael Sicinski makes no such pretensions, and he makes clear that this is his space, and this is HIS OPINION.
My question is – Does Scott’s point really hold any significance? I know the point is absolute gold, but we’re all built in with our opinions (which might as well be verdicts). Sometimes, we just feel WE KNOW (Make that Arial 14, Bold, Underline, Italics). If I might come to you as a student and ask you the worth of Hitchcock’s Vertigo, would you calmly lay down arguments, or would you start with – “Vertigo is a masterpiece that……..” . I suspect, it might be the latter.
Or maybe, Scott means to say that a “masterpiece” was applied to a movie much, much later in time. But then, sometimes, we instantly fall in love with a film. You did with Nashville. I did with Rachel getting Married. I say, both are masterpieces. After all, these adjectives, they’re subjective aren’t they?
Well, to get back to the courtroom example, Jonathan Rosenbaum begins his piece by making a claim for it and then goes on to build his case. Nothing wrong with that! Scott was talking about the development of the online discussion, not a particular review or piece of criticism, and how the emphasis was initially on making broad judgements, without getting into what the movie actually did or meant. I'll often see a movie and know how I feel about it immediately; then I try to explain what I saw that provoked my reaction. But other times I may not be entirely sure how I feel until I've sorted through the evidence (and sorted out my feelings) in the process of writing and clarifying my thoughts.
I finally understand why you use dashes: you don't want to give the people any free press. I've wanted to talk about J--- W-----, who made a broadly panned movie called C------- K---- and promptly threw every fallacious argument in the book at anyone who dared criticize her movie. And she TROLLED everyplace she could, including Rotten Tomatoes, spewing more and more meaningless sh*t about how everyone who unfavorably criticized her was wrong and her movie was being judged unfairly and deserved special treatment! I always refrained from talking about it because I wouldn't want to give her any free publicity, but maybe I now have a way.
Thought-provoking as always, but I have a question: are you interested in any philosophy except epistemology? I haven't read too many of your pieces on films you love -- unlike other critics', your negative impressions are more interesting to me -- but the few I've read, you seem to enjoy framing them as epistemological pieces.
I think, Jim, you're trying to make something objective that simply is not. Yes, of course someone has to have reasons for their opinion. But the exact same fact, or observation, from a film can be evidence for why the movie is great for one person, while being evidence for why the movie is bad for another person.
Let's say we have one person who thinks E.T. is a masterpiece, while another thinks it's a mawkish, sentimental melodrama.
Person who loves the movie says, "Look at the last scene, where E.T. is leaving on his ship. That scene makes me, and many other filmgoers cry. If the movie can make us cry that much about a little alien which is essentially a kid in a costume, then clearly the movie is doing something right."
Person who hates the movie responds, "But I hate that scene. Everyone just stands around crying...and saying goodbye...and crying...and saying goodbye again...and John Williams' music swells, and swells, and they cry again, and they say goodbye again, and it just goes on and on and on. The music and the crying is desperately TRYING to make us feel something. It's bashing us on the head, telling us to be sad, and that just turns me off. Spielberg is just pushing emotional buttons like he always does. It had no effect on me at all."
These are both perfectly valid criticisms of the movie, and yet they are both purely subjective. You and I can both be sure in our heads that the second guy is an idiot, but that's just us being arrogant. I've actually had this exact argument with people, not about E.T., but about Schindler's List, and the scene where he breaks down and cries. For me, and most other people, this scene serves as catharsis, and we find ourselves weeping along with him. For a select few, the scene is mawkish and sentimental, and ruins the movie. I firmly believe these select few are idiots, but it IS a completely subjective issue. We are not RIGHT for being moved by the scene any more than they are RIGHT not to be.
So, how can movie criticism, when it comes down to it, be anything but subjective? It's not like criticizing something functional, where the arguments are based on how well something works. Film criticism pretends to be logical, but ultimately, either you're moved by E.T.'s parting, or you're not. Either you're moved by Schindler's regrets, or you're not. Either you're moved by Cobb's regrets over his dead wife, or you're not. (And I was - deeply moved.)
Jason,
I think you make a good point about one or the other response being RIGHT. It seems to me what Jim is getting at--and in any case, what I think--is that a person should be able to point to the things in the movie that support why is more than mere like/dislike.
To look at your E.T. example, the first person should be able to articulate (to some degree) what the something is when he or she says "the movie is doing something right." Your second person marshals some support for being unmoved because of the way the scene is edited and scored.
It seems to me that your first person, whose response is ultimately as right as the second person's is responding more in the like/dislike realm than your second person who is moving into criticism. Person one could cite exactly the same elements as person two, of course, but value them differently. Then, if they are going to have a fruitful conversation, they'll both have to articulate why they feel (subjective) the way do about how they've each valued those elements. So long as they stick with what's on the screen (or compare with other movies), I think they'll be OK.
SM
There's a role for ad hominem arguments.
A person - let's call them X - who is sick, and is treated with a very large dose of cold medication, may become very emotional. They watch the menu of their "Meet The Spartans" DVD, and break down in tears. They have an honest and real emotional reaction. When called upon to defend their reaction, they cite the swell of the music, the carefully calculated use of elements from the movie playing across the menu in an aesthetically pleasing manner, the use of the Golden Ratio in the design of screen aspects, and the striking use of primary colours.
The menu of the "Meet The Spartans" DVD is not the greatest film of all time, and can probably be agreed on as such by any panel of people in their right mind you care to assemble. Yet a person has claimed it is, and defended it by reference to rational and relevant arguments.
There's a role for ad hominem arguments here. It's relevant to say that X is suffering from a chemical imbalance affecting their subjective aesthetic judgement, and it's relevant to claim their arguments are a rationalisation of a previously formed viewpoint rather than a dissection of it.
And to the extent that variable chemistry plays a part in ALL our judgements, it's relevant in the subjective field of reviewing to attack the reviewer. It's relevant to say, "X just has bad taste." It's relevant to say, "X's aesthetic judgements don't line up with human-normal." It's relevant to say, "X's brain is just so far from what we expect from a rational audience that he's incapable of giving meaningful commentary about entertainment, no matter the particular words he chooses and the order he assembles them in."
It's harsh, but true.
That is a most intriguing argument for ad hominem arguments. But while "You're on drugs!" may well be 100 percent truthful and accurate, it's not film criticism. Neither is "You have bad taste," unless you can offer a definition of bad taste and then show how X fits it. Have you ever read a good critic rhapsodize about a movie you think is terrible? The critic may be absolutely wrong, as far as you're concerned, but still offer some illuminating observations about the movie and allow you to see it (temporarily, at least) through his/her eyes. And if that's the case, it's the sign of a good piece of criticism. That criticism is subjective (one person's account of an experience) goes without saying (I hope). But re-read the quotes from Paul Brunick's piece, above, about how some cases are better made than others.
But, Jim, isn’t the Meta-Review also a valid part of film criticism? I’ll use that (brilliant) Paul Brunick quote from above: “the human intellect… operates much more like a lawyer-for-hire, rationalizing and enabling our emotional narratives.” Part of a logical discourse CAN be to attempt to identify the emotional narrative driving an argument. Doing so does not defeat the argument, but it can illuminate our reactions and give them context. Sometimes we can even learn to appreciate art in different ways when we understand better the source of our gut reactions. Surely that is in line with the goals of flm criticism.
Greg, I’ll argue that what you’re describing is not an ad hominem argument. It is indeed relevant to say “X is on drugs”, but you not claim (I think) that “X’s argument is therefore false”. We can validly question whether an altered state of person X has prompted them to form an argument they might not otherwise make without it being an ad hominem attack. Granted, statements like “you just think so because your mind is altered” are usually going to be taken as personal insults, but that does not mean they are by definition ad hominem.
Well said -- and Brunick shows exactly how conduct the "meta review," by doing a close textual analysis and seeing what conclusions can be drawn from it:
Citing X's chemical imbalance only supports the conclusion 'X is untrustworthy in this matter'. It does not support the conclusion 'X is wrong in this matter'. In other words, it supports a conclusion about X, but not about the proposition X is defending. It's not ad hominem in the first instance; it is ad hominem in the second.
To support the conclusion 'X is wrong', one will need to marshal reasons against X's own reasons, to show that they fail to add up to the conclusion or that other reasons outweigh them in this judgment.
Reference to X's chemical imbalance will do no good in this regard. Though it may be a perfectly apt explanation for X's odd judgment, it is no argument against it.
As your commentor, Mr. Naidu pointed out earlier in the thread, Manny Farber is the critic who I woefully strive to emulate. I enjoy HOW he writes. I usually DON'T agree with Farber's conclusions. But the way he often attacks components of films he does like, or conversely, praises parts of films he does enjoy is one of the tensions which make his work interesting.
Movies (moreso American movies) are the output of a committee. Sometimes I love some of what that committee has produced, while other times I don't. I constantly have to remind myself to look at films this way, since I tend to be an auteurist. But when I look at one of my recent favorites, THERE WILL BE BLOOD, by a director I've liked but not adored, it becomes simple to understand what it is I do like about it. I'm a sucker for great acting and Day-Lewis' performance is arguably one for the ages. Resonant music gets under my skin, and Greenwood's score might possibly have made the movie for me even if it had been directed by Dennis (GROWN-UPS) Dugan. So even an auteurist has to concede that films are (to paraphrase Shakespeare) made up of more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in my philosophy.
Hey Jim, do you remember this?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2m3ojn325H0
Gene & Roger lay out everything that I feel film criticism should be.
Wonder what most reviews would be like if the reviewer pretended the movie had been lost for 40 years, and was now unearthed after being lost and forgotten? Take it out of its time, remove the hype, just focus on what this film said in its day...
For a splendid example of this, seek out reviews of Jean-Pierre Melville's 1969 film Army of Shadows (and the film itself!), which was virtually unseen until just a few years ago.
Haha, but if you're an auterist, then of course you're going to be wearing a "Team [Whoever]" T-shirt as you walk into [Whoever]'s newest movie.
And that's OK. As long as we can get past the mere "disliking/liking" (or "sucks/rules") brand of "criticism."
I agree with the spirit of your argument, and maybe this is an obvious statement I'm making, but in the end I think all evidence still comes down to what you like. For me, while watching Inception, I kept thinking "this isn't 'cinema'" because for me cinema is the use of the camera's framing and movement and the way those shots are edited in order to comment/illuminate/transcend the action on-screen. Every shot in Inception was merely functional, shot so that we can see what the actors/cgi environments are doing. A wide shot is used so we can see movement more clearly, a close-up is used because a facial expression is too subtle for a medium close-up. I want to see films where the camera and editing do more than this. In "The New World" for example, the camera and editing bring a whole spirit, a life to the action on screen that could not be expressed in any other medium. I feel that Inception could function just as well as a novel, graphic novel, or videogame.
To me, this is pretty damning criticism for a film, especially a film that's supposed to be about where dreams and reality meet, but this is only because it's what I like and look for in a film, and other people look for the opposite, and are irritated when anything distracts them from the on-screen action.
But I'm glad I saw Inception because just watching the film made me realize a lot about my thoughts on film in general. To me, a film is about the cross-over between dreams/mind and physical reality. The ghostly images in Tarkovsky's Nostalgia or Stalker are much more fascinating because they are both clearly physically real places and images resembling the shifting, murky texture of a dream. Nolan's images in Inception are too clearly phony, too literally dreamlike, that they there is no tug of war between dream and reality, between the mind and the outside world. It's just reality.
I do think Nolan has achieved this tug of war between dream and reality in Memento (the way Shelby's reality shifts based on information he can no longer remember) and The Dark Knight (particularly the final scene with the Joker, the way the Joker, upside down, appears to float, looking like the demon/spirit/magician he has acted like for the entire film. This crossover between a very real, literal world and the spirit/dream world was exhilarating for me).
But that's just what I like, and what I get the most out of when I see a film. When I told people my favorite part was the final Joker scene in The Dark Knight, they usually responded that their favorite part was "when the truck flipped over" or something banal like that.
I get what you're saying, use evidence in one's arguments, but I think when it's broken down far enough, it still comes down to "well, I just don't like that."
Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying! We're inclined to have some kind of emotional response to what we see (and you describe my feelings about what I love in the cinema when you describe "the use of the camera's framing and movement and the way those shots are edited in order to comment/illuminate/transcend the action"), and the critic's job is to describe it in such a way that conveys why he/she was affected. The thing I keep saying over and over is that too many go about it backwards, as if the "like/dislike" came before the actual movie. For the purposes of criticism, it's too vague to just say you liked or disliked an entire movie, which contains so many elements. The critic needs to single out particulars and justify/explain what he/she is responding to. You'd think that would be pretty simple, but apparently it isn't.
Maybe this is a very low-level observation, but a 'review' and 'film criticism' are two different things to me. I can read a review, and that will tell me what the movie is about, other movies it is similar to, and whether the reviewer liked it or not. A proper film cricket will not stop there.
As Annette Bening says in "The Kids are All Right" (a movie I just saw and loved): "Right on." One of my early Scanners posts (2006?) was about just that. Reviews can be criticism, but criticism isn't limited to reviews. When we're talking about journalistic work, produced on deadline, I like to think of reviews as the first drafts of film criticism.
Sort of a different topic, but how would you see Kael stacking up based on these parameters? I used to read her writing because I got a kind of weird pleasure out of being frustrated with her. Her writings were so often primarily about how a filmmaker had disappointed her by not repeating himself/herself or delivering what she had been in the mood for the evening of the screening. For example, her review of 2001 and many subsequent Kubrick films are often about how the film isn't as funny as Dr. Strangelove, as if that were Kubrick's ambition. I'm not trying to use her as an argument against what you're saying because I agree with what you're saying, just curious. Based on past posts I'm not 100% sure what you think of her.
"For me, while watching Inception, I kept thinking "this isn't 'cinema'" because for me cinema is the use of the camera's framing and movement and the way those shots are edited in order to comment/illuminate/transcend the action on-screen"
Funny, I had the exact opposite reaction. I felt that Inception IS cinema.
The moment I really felt this was at the climax with all the four levels edited together, showing you what was going on at the same time. You can put that into words or even try to storyboard it, but it won't have the same affect was watching a fluid film, jumping back and forth without a moment to break. Plus, you won't have the sound of the intense score anywhere else that makes your (at least mine anyways) heart beat.
And even outside of that moment, the film was very much within the realm of cinema. The Paris sequence for instance. The CGI is breath-taking and FEELS real, even though you know it isn't. I know logically that it isn't real, that it's just CGI. When I think about the scene it doesn't feel real. But when I watched that scene, it very much does. That to me is cinema, or at least part of it. Making you feel a reality that doesn't exist. No book or graphic novel or song has done that for me. Heck, many films don't even do that. But Inception did, for me at least.
The one thing I will say is that Nolan's camera work is perhaps not the best in the non-action sequences. It's very standard medium shots throughout. He doesn't try to fool around with closeups or some long shots or even try to move the camera around like he did in The Dark Knight (see the scene where Batman, Gordon, and Dent meet on the rooftop. That's a brilliant scene where you just have the characters talking but the camera movement adds a whole level of intensity).
However, I felt most of the action sequences had great movement, specifically the chase sequence in the streets. Also, the pan/close-in at the end of the film is well executed. Builds up the moment perfectly to where you get on the edge of your seat.
I can see your point on the CGI in Inception, but for me it's the opposite. I know it's CGI that's been manufactured over the course of months so I don't have much of a reaction to it. (is this a form of "inception?" If I didn't have in my head the seed of the idea that everything is CGI in modern cinema, would I be more amazed?). The images of a Fellini film, even one whose story doesn't really work, like Satyricon, has such a greater effect on me because it's not so much about what we're seeing (a street folding in on itself, for instance) as how we're seeing it (Fellini's composition/staging/lighting) that makes it leap off the screen. As they say, different strokes...
What you mention about Dark Knight is a bit amusing to me RJDH, because I think the posters conveyed that line between dream and reality better than the movie did!
In this one, the building had to have been leaning forward for the windows to be looking down like that. And why are there reflections on the floor, anyway?
http://www.doobybrain.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/12/the-dark-knight-poster-1.jpg
This is another one where the perspective is way off. The Joker must be a giant for this to work:
http://the-reviewer.net/wp-content/uploads/the-dark-knight-joker-poster-500w.jpg
In both cases, your eye immediately tells you the image is correct but only on closer inspection do you realize how off it is. And really, in both cases the poster blur the line between reality and dream in a way that underlines the characters and their roles very well.
Those images are interesting in their (intentional?) imperfections, and I think you're right, at least regarding the film as a whole, but I also think that a single image can be a bit easier to make dreamlike than a moving image. Maybe I'm over-simplifying, but think of a Dali or Bacon painting. Those are dreamlike IMAGES, but if someone took Dali's "The Persistence of Time" and made it a landscape in a film, that in and of itself wouldn't necessarily make the viewer feel like he/she were in a dream. I think it takes an acute ability to manipulate TIME in order to make something dreamlike when working with moving images.
A charge of hypocrisy is a charge of inconsistency. That's not a non-argument, and it's certainly not a species of ad hominem. It's saying that you can't consistently endorse a set of statements you have endorsed. That puts one in the position of having to retract something that you've said.
A charge of hypocrisy can be ad hominem, depending on the conclusion defended. For instance:
1. X says eating meat is morally wrong.
2. X eats meat.
3. So, X is a hypocrite.
4. Therefore, eating meat is morally okay.
The inference to 3 is perfectly cogent. X is indeed a hypocrite. But the inference to 4 is out of bounds. X's hypocrisy has no bearing on the truth of the judgment itself. Here the charge of hypocrisy is ad hominem, as it often is.
How much of postmodernism do you buy, in that one can't use arbitrary standards?`John K's blog is interesting because it seems one of the few places on the internet, besides your and Ebert's to unabashedly use rigourous standards for media, specifically animation. He uses this particularly for shows like Family Guy and South Park, though I love the latter. Like you, he defends animation because he loves the subject. This has been covered in Ebert's blog in Transformers.
Also, what critics influenced you?
Professional opinion-making. It's serious business.
Yeah, if you take it seriously. I do.
Ha. Terrific discussion.
I think the problem also lies with the very consumerist mentality of mainstream criticism wanting to package films into easy categories like "Good", "Bad" and "So-so" (in the same way people are frequently packaged into neatly disposable "ideologies"). It seems as if movies aren't allowed to simultaneously be good and bad, with their internal tensions intact. That is, movies being problematic when seen through one critical prism and glorious when seen through another (all with solid evidence, of course). I'm, right now, thinking of The Wild Bunch, The Searchers etc.
We, the audience, get scared on seeing large blocks of text (The Onion article on this is hilarious) and keep searching for the bottom line - do we see the film or ditch it? Will this be assimilated into pop culture or not? I'm pretty sure that the middle paragraphs of most lengthy reviews are rarely read. A fanboy (for the lack of a more moderate term) might say a long review is great as long as the review mentions explicitly that that particular film is great, preferably in the opening or closing lines. He'd diss the review if it indicated early on that it was being negative about the film. And vice versa for a film he hates. I think that's one reason you find "masterpiece" either at the beginning or the end of a review. The quality of the review itself is neglected in such cases. We want fast-food answers to foster fast-food movie experiences. But the truth is that there's no bottom line.
When blockbuster movies have become transient mass-cultural phenomena, it is inevitable that mainstream reviews will be constructed around judgments and idol-worship rather than analysis and understanding.
The irony is strong with this one.
All plot? This isn't necessarily a bad thing. In fact, I'd argue that an emphasis on plot above all else is part of what the entire thriller genre is about. And part of why the genre persists in being so popular in Hollywood films. I've always argued that Nolan's main aspiration was to build a better thriller, which he usually does. And which is why I find the all-plot INCEPTION far more interesting than the all-plot THE SYMPATHETIC ASPERGER'S GOTH CHICK WITH THE DAGGONE TATTOO. In the latter film, I knew pretty much where it was going for most of the story. Now, a thriller doesn't have to be all plot. There are masterpiece exceptions to this, like Le Carre's novel TINKER, TAILOR, SOLIDER, SPY -- stories that manage to immerse you in a world and make you care about characters and still keep you on the edge of your seat with a thrilling plot. But a thriller that ignores or undersells plot does so at its peril. I'd even argue that Scorsese's THE DEPARTED, a good film, is still not as good a thriller as its source material INFERNAL AFFAIRS, for exactly these reasons. Scorsese cares more about the characters and the world than the plot. A perfect approach in a film like GOODFELLAS, not so much in THE DEPARTED. There's nothing wrong with dismissing a film as uninteresting to you because it's "all plot." As long as you qualify that by admitting that you have no special interest in all-plot or plot-heavy or plot-centric narrative -- that is, thrillers. Now, to say INCEPTION is badly plotted is something else all together and, if you provide evidence, a perfectly valid argument against it.
Just as critics need to operate in good faith, so should consumers of criticism proceed from the assumption of good faith. We may be wrong, but we tend to say what we mean. It's a responsibility of the job, as well as one of the perks.
This is not only untrue, it's repeatedly proven extremely dangerous when applied to such things as the reading/watching/listening of news reporting. We need to assume good faith? Uh, no. We don't. Give us a reason to. Never give us a reason not to (as many critics did with Inception). The only reason Scott gives here is - just because. Because he says so. Because it's a responsibility of his job. As if everyone in the world at all times fulfills every responsibility of his job, as if news media of various kinds haven't proven over and over again their perfect willingness to abdicate that responsibility even where much more than a movie's gross or critical reputation is at stake. What world is AO Scott living in that he can write that paragraph?
Of course we all know we live in a world in which we should approach media (whether movies or journalism) critically -- that is, with critical thinking skills, not knee-jerk negativity. But Scott defines what he means by "good faith" (and, remember, he's talking about movie criticism, not news reporting). "We may be wrong, but we tend to say what we mean." He's not talking about being "wrong" about the facts (what's actually in the movie), but about the critical evaluation. So, what he's saying (and I think he's quite right) is that "good faith" means you should assume critics are relaying their own experiences with a movie... until you detect some reason to believe that they don't actually mean what they're saying. "Good faith" simply means (what was Reagan's term?) "trust but verify."
Thought I'd share this. A friend of mine said something rather brilliant about Inception today, which sums up the phenomenon well.
He said he came away from the film feeling like it was a masterpiece, but couldn't tell if he came to that conclusion himself or if the idea had been planted in his head (by the marketing, the press, the fan reaction, and by Nolan himself).
The movie as metaphor for its own hype cycle...I wish I'd come up with that one myself!
That's what David Edelstein said in his review:
http://nymag.com/movies/reviews/67155/
You mean I should read the review that everyone's talking about and not just the reaction to it? What a crazy idea!
Do you believe we should teach critical thinking in kindergarten? If we did, you wouldn't have to go through the trouble of explaining why you analyze movies, ad hominem attacks would greatly subside. Of course the $64,000 question is would it work.
And yes, if given the chance I would implement it.
Ah but in the film criticism business, good faith is more than that. For instance a critic who went hype-busting with his Inception review doubtless still technically 'meant' what he wrote in the review. The good faith/bad faith deal is in WHY he meant it.
It can be incredibly hard to determine any of this with any accuracy, and to separate 'bad faith' in this sense from simple unavoidable subjectivity/personal taste, but sometimes such as in this recent case it becomes very obvious.
For instance (and this opens up a can of worms, but never mind), there is a review of Ebert's I read fairly recently that I consider to have been written in bad faith (no critic is immune!): it's his To Kill a Mockingbird review. I had just seen the film for the first time, admired it (but had no longstanding love for it, ie wasn't affronted when I read Ebert's review), and was surprised to see Ebert review it with an intentionally cynical eye, calling it a myth about a heroic white liberal and so on. It seemed to me, with the advantage of being very aware of Ebert's politics and personal history, that he was, consciously or unconsciously, being hard on this movie in just this way in order to spare himself somewhat, or prove something to someone or to himself, since he himself is the very picture of a "To Kill a Mockingbird"-ish brave white liberal.
It's very hard to articulate, but - sometimes you can tell that something else is going on in the review. And again, maybe Ebert really did feel those things about To Kill a Mockingbird, just as maybe all the hype-busting Inception reviewers really felt that way about Inception. But it's the 'why' they felt that way that constitutes the bad faith.
These are very fine distinctions and I'm not expressing it very clearly, but I hope you can understand what I mean.
OK, I'll just stick with what I said above, though: "If a critic hasn't cited evidence and built an argument, then any opinions expressed are worthless for those reasons alone. Speculating about other possible motivations just makes the accuser irresponsible, unable to focus on the matter at hand." To ascribe through insinuation "other motives" to a writer, without saying what they are and specifically what it is in their writing makes you suspect them, reeks of McCathyite tactics to me: "Hmmmmm, you're guilty of something but you won't tell me what it is! Therefore you must be guilty of it!"
I just - disagree. Sometimes you can just smell it. Have you ever read Tolstoy's criticism of Shakespeare? He cites evidence, he builds arguments, expertly, because he's Tolstoy. It's also an example of one of the all-time bad faith attempts at criticism in the history of literature. (A good critique of Tolstoy's critique was written by, I think, Orwell.)
There are simply some instances in art criticism of any kind where someone able to think critically, who is very familiar with all the players involved and film/lit/music/etc criticism in general, can tell something is off, that there are ulterior motives (even if the reviewer is unconscious of them). I don't think you'd deny any of that. The only real question is whether or not a review written with unconscious ulterior motives is technically written in bad faith (although it is EFFECTIVELY written in bad faith).
It's a sticky issue. I don't think I can take it any further without repeating myself, so I'll leave it here, but, food for thought.
There is no other way to put this: but I find Paul's comments disturbing and anti-intellectual. Per Roger Ebert's review of To Kill a Mockingbird, almost all film academics (of which I am) who I've talked to about the film have expressed virtually the same reservations. Are they guilty of the same motivations of which Paul absurdly and without evidence claims "It seemed to me, with the advantage of being very aware of Ebert's politics and personal history, that he was, consciously or unconsciously, being hard on this movie in just this way in order to spare himself somewhat, or prove something to someone or to himself." This is essentially a what time did you stop beating your wife type of accusation. It assumes guilt without which it's not possible to present a counter-argument. No offense, Paul but I suspect you are very smart but profoundly intellectually immature since you like to imply motivations you can't reasonably prove. And why, because a critics disagrees with you? Perhaps you should actually argue why Ebert and many people I know are incorrect about To Kill a Mockingbird by discussing the film. I'll give you the benefit of the doubt (something you don't seem willing to do for others) that you are capable of doing so.
As for Inception, a film I quite disliked, the hype had nothing to do with why. I see hundreds of movies a year so I can actually focus my attention to what's onscreen as opposed to beyond when assessing my enjoyment or, when called for, engaging in critical analysis. While such offscreen factors do have an impact, assuming that they are the determining factor of those critics who disagree with you is childish.
You point about the uselessness of "I like" and "I don't like" is nicely made in Nelson Goodman's essay, "Merit as Means." The point applies to all criticism, not just movie criticism. Who cares if a painting is "good" or "bad" (or liked or disliked by the critic) if the aim of art criticism is to clarify the artist's intent or the viewer's response? Who cares if Keats is a greater poet than Byron or vice-versa is the point is to understand Keats' metaphors?
I might add that the need to cite reasons, to avoid ad hominems, to make sense (unlike A--- W---), and so on, are requirements of all writing, indeed virtually all communication, not just film criticism.
Absolutely. This blog is primarily about film criticism, so that's where I tend to focus. Many artists understand that once they put their art into the world, they're done with it. It's no longer their private vision, but now interacts with others. The artist may or may not choose to offer some clues as to his/her intent to help the viewer (or listener or whomever) to interpret it, but those don't really matter, either. All that matters is what they achieved, what is actually there. It's no coincidence that artists are often the least reliable judges/audiences of their own work. They're sometimes too close to it to see it clearly...
What I'm proposing or suggesting is neither pro- nor anti- intellectual, although I would say it leans more towards being pro-intellectual, since it asks a reader not to take criticism at face value or to pretend that there is such a thing as true objectivity in criticism.
But you're right in that it largely involves "unintellectual" skills such as intuition. I've read thousands of Roger Ebert's reviews. I've read hundreds of his essays. I'm familiar with his personal life and his stated values, and of how he comes off and is perceived. I read his To Kill a Mockingbird review, and all of that knowledge of Mr Ebert led me to conclude that consciously or unconsciously he was operating in bad faith in that review. It's true that my gut made the initial report; but my mind verified it.
ps
Call me childish all you want, but it's impossible to respect someone posting with the name you're posting with, especially when, using that name, you take up the position of the mature, affronted brain valiantly fighting off anti-intellectualism. It's an obscure movie blog - use your first name, not a name designed to make us all quiver in fear at your learning and give a false authority to your silly opinions.
I'll disregard your irrelevant personal attacks since, again, you seem interested in not giving anyone the benefit of the doubt (What you speciously defend by calling your intuition.) But if you must know, my choice of name is due to largely personal stories or inside jokes rather than any deep affinity for the philosopher. Read into what you wish but you're wrong. Moreover, what grounds do you have to object to accusations of your bad-faith? I mean, after all, you have no problem throwing it around so why are you not suspect to it?
On to the relevant point. You write well when you say " It's true that my gut made the initial report; but my mind verified it." But how did your mind verify it? Certainly it couldn't have unless you divined Roger Ebert's intent or read his mind. You are in fact proposing mysticism which is why your comments about Ebert are anti-intellectual. Moreover, is everyone who agrees with Ebert operating under bad-faith regardless of how different their personal backgrounds are? Or let's assume they are all operating under bad-faith? So what? I don't see how that necessarily negates what is being said.
The other problem is that you are operating under a simple notion that criticism is mostly about evaluation or ranking which is why the reference to Tolstoy's Shakespeare criticism doesn't work (especially since as critical pieces they are great). How could you possibly know whether he was operating under bad faith? Again, I am not sure what standard of verification through argumentation you are operating under except one that is mystical or anti-intellectual.
So you have intuition. Great but that alone doesn't make for interesting criticism or serious discussion. All it does is send us down rabbit holes of logical fallacies and turn us all into Armond White.
Wow, someone did not read the article at all.
Nice piece Jim. I've read your site for years and am not afraid to admit that, as a Nolan fan, it hasn't always been easy. But I appreciate the way you approach films. To be honest, I think there's a certain clashing of taste over the Nolan issue here. Nolan is a raging NT-rational and his approach to filmmaking is, as you say, exceedingly literal and didactic. Some people enjoy that, some people (myself included) enjoy his devotion to putting his themes smack bang in the text and action. My girlfriend for example appreciates thematically strong work that invites close analysis and she loved Inception. One could certainly argue over his subtlety but I don't think he's lacking in things to say. I think his obsession with puzzle-box type plots also attracts a certain audience that enjoys obsessing and pulling apart stories (and it's no coincedence that his films often feature obsessed protagonists who can't completely trust their ability to process their environment through a skewed psyche; perhaps an indication on Nolan's part of his own fear in trusting his own intellect?). That's either going to be your bag or it won't.
I also want to address a particular issue with his style briefly, if only because it's something I've always thought hasn't been addressed in the articles - and their resulting comments - you've written. His films have a relentless pacing and momentum (recently driven, it's been said by some overbearingly, by Zimmer's propulsive scores) that, again, appeal to a certain audience who, with minds constantly whirring, thrive on the steady flow of stimuli, and it's a style I think certainly has made his films reach a larger, mainstream audience. I honestly think Nolan's insistence on constantly moving forward, rarely lingering, always feeding new information and avoiding underlining certain moments comes from, dare I say it, a certain "Britishness" on his part. I get the impression Nolan dislikes drawing attention to the moments that scream out to be isolated and admired in and of themselves. A great example is the shot of the Joker leaning out the cop car window, a shot I believe you've earlier said you felt should have been allowed to breathe more. I think Nolan feels uncomfortable letting these moments take over his films and draw attention to themselves, that there might be a certain garishness to the indulgence. It's a rational, self-effacing approach and definitely not passionate in the truly unabashed manner that we're used to associating with great "artists". Overall I feel like a lot can be read into Nolan himself through his approach to filmmaking (a self-evident statement if I've ever seen one) and the impression I get is of a very clever, rational-to-a-fault man who frankly is embarrassed or rejects the flourishes of a typical artist. But I will say that I think these types have every right to be making films as well; filmmaking isn't exclusively the domain of passionate humanists. There's certainly room and an audience for more literal, plot-oriented rationalists.
Anyway, there's been a lot of Nolan conversations on this blog and I've abstained till now so I suppose I had a bit to say and have probably done so at the worst possible time, when the conversation ought to be focused more on the discussion at hand. I think it's important to always consider that we are emotional creatures first and, though we may be loathe to admit it, I think we rationalize after the fact almost exclusively. And, like you say Jim, perhaps that's the more interesting part of the discussion, rather than the more emotional "like" or "dislike" initial reaction. I also think skepticism and empathy is healthy, which is to say any good conversation benefits from coming from a position of fallible authority and trying to understand the other side's point of view. Due diligence, as you say.
Thanks, Kim. There are certainly legitimate arguments to be made from love -- and those are probably the kinds I most enjoy. I like seeing a movie through someone else's eyes, even if I don't share their enthusiasm. I saw "The Kids are All Right" over the weekend and it would be quite challenging for me to try to convey how beautifully observed it is, how Lisa Cholodenko seemed to know exactly when to cut away from an actor's expression... but I think it was just thrilling to watch. Others will not share my appreciation for these things, but that doesn't matter because they're right there in the movie!
Your contention ends up being that, if someone states an opinion and backs it up with technically acceptable arguments (however ludicrous the opinion or the arguments, however obviously insincere - so long as there are facts available and room for the person to make the argument and state the opinion without ever quite being OBJECTIVELY incorrect), it can't be in bad faith, or wrong. This is actually why Tolstoy's attack on Shakespeare is the perfect example, since it shows your standard of judging good faith/bad faith operating in the real world and failing miserably. Tolstoy was obviously full of it. Not that Shakespeare is infallible or even to everyone's taste, but the Count's assault was obviously undertaken in bad faith. Yet your own standard would hamstring you, or anyone, reading Tolstoy's criticism. It would make it impossible for you to judge it at all or interpret it except where there were actual factual errors in the argument.
Orwell: "One's first feeling is that in describing Shakespeare as a bad writer he is saying something demonstrably untrue. But this is not the case. In reality there is no kind of evidence or argument by which one can show that Shakespeare, or any other writer, is 'good' ... Properly speaking one cannot answer Tolstoy's attack. The interesting question is: why did he make it? But it should be noticed in passing that he uses many weak or dishonest arguments. Some of them are worth pointing out, not because they invalidate his main charge but because they are, so to speak, evidence of malice."
I encourage you (and really anybody commenting in this topic) to read Tolstoy's entire attack on Shakespeare, and Orwell's entire analysis of it.
Whether an argument is right or wrong has nothing to do with someone's motivations for making it -- that is, whether it's made in "good faith" or "bad faith." That's exactly what I'm saying. Refute the argument with counter-examples (entire college curricula are devoted to the richness and resonance of Shakespeare's language, so that isn't hard to do -- you can take a few lines and write a book on how much poetic complexity can be mined from them). But to say Tolstoy didn't mean what he said does not even address what he did, in fact, say. (And I do look forward to reading that piece.) Unless you're saying that he meant it satirically, which is a different form of argument. And you can attack Tolstoy's motives until the cows come home, but that has nothing to do with what Shakespeare actually wrote. In the end, somebody can be absolutely accurate in their criticisms, be arguing in good faith, and still be wrong for any number of reasons. Maybe they are distorting or exaggerating the importance of their criticisms, or maybe they just don't appreciate certain qualities that you see as far more significant. That's where taste and judgement come in (and yours may be quite different from the critic's), but those are personal qualities. I'm saying a counter-argument is more effectively made if you keep the focus on the work rather than some critic of the work.
As I said earlier, as far as the idea of "Inception", I liked it as 1/3 of a movie, that is, as a first act or a volume 1 of 3; they planted the idea, now the guy has to reject the idea in the real world, and then act 3, they deal with the paradoxes of the idea; "Inception" had no paradoxes of messing around with someone's head.
Regarding your invoking of two differing opinions on the final scene of "E.T."...that's an excellent point you make, because I myself have had my reactions to that scene evolve. When I first saw the film, I was a teenager, and felt that Spielberg was laying on the schmaltz to a ridiculous degree. Upon revisiting the film, I found myself moved nearly to tears. Clearly the only thing that changed was my personal experience and reaction to the film...which only proves that immediate responses like "like" and "dislike" are inadequate at getting to the heart of what a film is doing.
A critic doing his or her job would, in my opinion, give an idea of how they reacted to the scene (and the film as a whole), but more importantly, they would illuminate some of the things Spielberg and his filmmaking team were doing, while perhaps also making some speculative leaps about the themes at play. One could comment on the rhythmic matching of John Williams' score to the editing of the close-ups; or perhaps speculate that one of the reasons so many people were moved by Elliott's goodbye to E.T. is that, in a way, he is effectively saying goodbye to his childhood and preparing to cope with the Earthbound adult world. Or a critic could mention the auteurist connection by paralleling this ending with the ending of "Close Encounters"...in this film, a child decides to stay on Earth, while in "Close Encounters", a man (presumably with far more responsibilities) can't resist boarding the mother ship and exploring the universe.
Sometimes reading an analysis of a film won't sway a viewer's opinion immediately (nor should it), but by giving the viewer something to think about and look for if they choose to revisit a film, a critic has done a great service.
There is nothing wrong whatsoever with a director returning to similar themes throughout his body of work, but I'm routinely disappointed with the way Nolan shoots his films. After seeing INCEPTION, I believe he would have gotten some much needed insight and inspiration by having first watched SPELLBOUND by Alfred Hitchcock, THE TRIAL by Orson Welles, and STAY by Marc Forster. I have a hunch that THE TRIAL was the type of film INCEPTION would have liked to have been. Instead of shooting with such a literal frame of mind as Nolan does, those three films weave a much more engaging and immersive visual fabric in terms of how each shot is composed, how shots relate to each other, and a prevailing mood and tone set in surreal, dream-like, and necessarily cinematic experiences, while also creating a sense of suspense around the main characters' conflicts. As you once said in a post about THE HURT LOCKER: "philosophy becomes visceral sensation." Heck, almost any film by Fellini does a better job of connecting with (and concocting) the nature and consequences of our subconscious and inner dreams and demons.
I've yet to see a shot by Nolan that actually engages me with a particular point of view, reference, or insight into what he's doing as author. Look at a movie like A SERIOUS MAN by the Coens in which every shot is necessary, and necessarily shot the way it was. Look at SHUTTER ISLAND by Scorsese which treads on more obviously similar themes as INCEPTION, but from shot to shot, moment to moment, you realize you're in the hands of an author equipped with an entire tool box of cinematic history and style with which to fill his canvas his way. These are films that entice, unfold, and digest like a delicious meal by chefs who want to engage the people who pay to sit in their restaurant, instead of just offering a prix fixe.
I was just reading an excellent interview with Matthew Friedberger of the band Fiery Furnaces, and I thought this one passage in particular was very nice, and also germane to the discussion here:
"The fun of making this kind of music is you do have to give it up to people who are not going to listen to it in the same spirit that you made it or listened to it—that’s a given. And that’s the good thing about it; you get to put it out in the world and people make other things with it, and you get to benefit from that. You get the benefit of that experience, and it’s a very interesting experience personally.
You want a rich misinterpretation. Sure it’s more gratifying when people say what you want to be said about you in the way you want it to be said. But that’s not how it works, and so that’s why negative reviews are more satisfying to read sometimes; because in positive reviews they like it in ways that you don’t, that you think make it ridiculous, and sometimes in negative reviews they dislike it in a way that makes you think, “Oh yeah, that’s what you are trying to do, that’s right.”"
Much more in the link:
http://www.assemblyjournal.com/2010/07/sounding-off/
That's really good: "You want a rich misinterpretation."
Jim have you seen this brilliant "Inception Characters Don't Understand Inception" movie yet?
http://www.collegehumor.com/video:1939332
It's basically the sequel to "The Dark Knight Is Confused"...
Sorry for commenting so late on this entry, but I just read Jonah Leher's latest post, which I found fascinating and relevent. Maybe our immediate "like" or "dislike" reactions are more "true" than our later reasonings and rationalizations. It feels to me as if film criticism can often get caught up in analyzing how a jam spreads even though that has nothing to do with how it tastes.
I don't take anything A.O. Scott says about "Inception," or Nolan for any value, and I'll tell you why. In one of their At the Movies web exclusives, when Phillips compared the ending of "Inception," to the ending of "Blade Runner," Scott burst into snobbish laughter (that's the only way to describe it), saying something like, "well, that ending took 25 years to figure out, I don't think this one will take quite as long." Later, in a web exclusive that promised to be a spoiler-laden dissection of the film, he proved that he...didn't have it figured out yet (no biggie, neither have I).
So, my question is, why is Scott so sure that "Inception" is a far more simplistic and easy film than "Blade Runner"* if he...doesn't fully understand it yet? Answer: because he's biased. Either for "BR" or against Nolan**.
*Not the deepest or most complicated movie ever made...in fact, you could make a case that it has some of the same flaws as "Inception" (weaker characters, generally uninvolving emotionally). But it was made in 1982, when Scott was at the still impressionable age of 16, so maybe that has something to do with it...
**There's this line, from his "Inception" review: "...just as the desire for a certifiably great superhero movie led to the wild overrating of 'The Dark Knight.'" Spoken as if it's some historical event we've all witnessed in exactly the same way. I wonder how many arguments I could win by saying my opponent's desire for a good movie is causing him to overrate the one I don't like.
Leave a comment