Greens, Fruit, and Candy - Hollywood versus Cinema

Back in 2008 I wrote a review on The Dark Knight, claiming that it was a “balanced, perfect chord that Nolan and his cast and crew [struck], a chord that few have touched or even come close to” and that the film “will be legendary by its own respect to the comic and movie medium, and moreover, by its respect for the general audience.” It was my first movie review, and I wrote this final statement without the same knowledge of film I possess today. Watching a unconventional superhero story unfold, being awestruck by Heath Ledger’s haunting performance, becoming enthralled with Nolan’s film noir-esque vision of Gotham – I wanted to defend this movie on a critical level immediately. Commercial success was inevitable, but I didn’t want the movie to become shanked* from the Oscars because of its undeniable popularity; I wanted to defend the movie on a intellectual level, a critical level so detractors and “film snobs” wouldn’t deny Nolan’s Batman lore of the credit I believed it deserved. 

It’s about two years later and I’ve stopped writing reviews regularly in favor of writing on this blog (also, these days I don’t have time watch movies expediently to write a relevant review). I know much more about film today, from its production to its history, and have even increased my regular online reading from Roger Ebert to the likes of Todd McCarthy, A.O. Scott, Emanuel Levy, Michael Phillips, and more recently Jim Emerson, David Bordwell and Dennis Cozzalio (amongst other writers who acquaintances and friends have introduced me to; I haven’t listed them because I usually read a minimum of three to ten articles – depending on the word count or subject – before citing them as regular reads). I’ve even stumbled across books and academic articles on Film Studies across the net, such as Bordwell’s generous free download of his book on Ozu and an entry linking academic papers on Nolan on the blog “Film Studies for Free.” The internet is a vast world out there, and persistent searching (coupled with a undeniably stubborn attitude that is possibly paired with procrastination) leads you to amazing finds. Most recently it brought me to some interesting commentary by film professor, scholar and critic, Emanuel Levy: 

How do you evaluate the artistic and popular dimensions of a particular movie year? For example, was last year, 2009, a good, mediocre, or bad movie year? When can you say with some degree of assurance and coherence that 1959 was a better year than 1958? And what will be the evidence to substantiate our claim that 1939 was the best year in Hollywood’s history? As a film professor, scholar, and critic, I have been struggling with this question for decades.

Levy’s comment and subsequent examples of successful films got me thinking on a tangential thought: how do you critique a commercially successful film? Critics and cinephiles alike talk all the time about independent and foreign films and how they oftentimes receive less attention than they deserve; but on the polar opposite, how are you supposed to talk about films that might possibly get more attention than anyone could foresee? 

I find the these two questions more difficult to answer since it’s easier to highlight the excellent qualities of an underdog film to a wider consciousness than to castigate the qualities of a well-funded, widely-distributed film that’s in the immediate public awareness to any effect. For instance, The Hurt Locker was the lowest grossing film to win the Oscar for “Best Picture” so far, and became well-known because of word-by-mouth reviews by acclaimed film critics around. Then you have the opposite fold, where films like Transformers 2 commercially succeed no matter how much you hack off the shiny lacquer of Megan Fox and Baysplosions hoping that people will realize the movie is a heaping pile of dung. 

Precious minutes of my life were wasted on this. These are moments where I wish I had a TARDIS.** 

Sometimes in my bitterness, movies like Transformers 2 make me wonder if people just prefer to throw away priceless seconds of their lives to see junk food excuses of cinema; but then I hold myself steady, take a breather, calm down and think “whoa there, buddy – people are smarter than that” and my optimism:pessimism ratio shifts back to the normal 55% and 45%, respectively. Call me naive, but I like to believe that people want to see good movies – why else would they going to theaters in the first place? 

Films are an experience, and personal ones too. They tap into our innate consciousness and subconsciousness, and oftentimes the films that we deem “personal favorites” are incredibly revealing of who we are as individuals. For instance, my list of favorite films currently includes Andrew Stanton’s Wall•E in 2008 and Charlie Chaplin’s City Lights in 1931: I loved the elegant and effective simplicity of the physical performances without (or with minimal) sound, notwithstanding the stories themselves which I found uplifting, charming and uncannily sweet. Obviously this sentiment wouldn’t carry on over to someone who’s primarily a fan of, say, Michael Baysplosions, but that goes to show how different and diverse our respective tastes can be. 

Now we’d all like to believe our favorite films are, in fact, great films. However, I prefer to amend this sentiment: favorite films and great films can overlap, but they are not necessarily the same. I say this because films are simultaneously about tastes and judgement. Now personally, I’d love to believe The Dark Knight is a classic, flawless movie that deserves a “great films” slot; however, I’d be in the purgatory of denial if I didn’t acknowledge legitimate criticism about the film’s flaws, and that while the film might be “awesome” that does not necessarily mean it is “great” (as stated by Stephanie Zacharek with regards to Nolan’s Inception). However, when I hear statements like these by Jeff Wells – that a commercially and critically successful film doesn’t need to be nominated for Best Picture to be great, and thus voters should vouch for films that are less noticed – I want to hit my head on the desk and write a letter to the Academy asking “what’s the bloody point of calling it ‘Best Picture of the Year’ if you’re just going to ignore commercial successes anyways?” My annoyance begins boiling again, but then I remember that the Oscars are always politically driven, and as A.O. Scott stated eloquently regarding the 82nd Academy Awards: 

The “Hurt Locker”-“Avatar” showdown is being characterized as a David-versus-Goliath battle, but melodrama and rooting interests aside, it is really a contest, within the artificial arena of the Oscar campaign, between the mega-blockbuster and the long tail. That last phrase, the title of a 2006 book by Chris Anderson, already has a bit of an anachronistic sound, but Mr. Anderson’s idea, shorn of some of its revolutionary overstatement, is still compelling. As digital culture makes more and more stuff available and spills it faster and faster into an already swollen marketplace, some works will establish themselves slowly, by word or mouth, social networking and serendipitous rediscovery.

That hypothesis is likely to be tested more strenuously than before in the movie world. The money to produce and publicize the kind of middle-size movie that has dominated the Oscar slates in recent years is drying up. Cheap acquisitions can be turned into hits — last year’s best picture winner, “Slumdog Millionaire,” being the most recent long-shot example — but there are likely to be fewer luxury goods for the prestige market.

Only one of the current crop of best picture candidates, “Up in the Air,” fits that description: it has a polished look, an established star, a literary pedigree and a medium-size budget. And it looks — all of a sudden, after a strong start in Toronto and in spite of perfectly good box office numbers — like an outlier, a throwback.

Which is to say nothing about its quality. The Oscars are never about that anyway. They are about how the American film industry thinks about itself, its future, its desires and ideals. Right now it is thinking big and small, trying to figure out how to split the difference, and hoping we will keep watching. Wherever and however we do watch.

Can a film be “awesome” and “great” simultaneously? More specifically can a film be commercially and critically successful at the same time? My naive self again would say yes, but would qualify the statement with an additional “–but very rarely does it happen.” I say “rarely” because when faced with inevitable commercial success, wide-release and blockbuster films are more prone to backlash for the very qualities that made it so successful and wide-appealing (note: when I speak about “commercial success,” I’m indicating films that pull in the box office numbers, which by extension is a numerical indicator of the film’s popularity amongst moviegoers, but not necessarily its critical reception). Take Juno, for instance: it was a hit at the 2007 Toronto International Film Festival, yet when it came close to Oscar season there was enormous backlash from people who felt that Juno’s pop-slanging shenanigans were unnatural and unrepresentative of how teenagers actually talk and act, and that the film sent a “immoral” message to teenagers about sex and teen pregnancy. 

I think Juno is a fine movie with slick, witty writing. But do I think it deserves a slot in “great films of all time” lists? In its own respect, I believe so, yes. To be perfectly honest, Juno is not exactly my cup of tea: I like Jasmine tea, but in the end I prefer the taste of Green tea simply because of my personal preferences – and in this case, Juno is Jasmine tea. No, this doesn’t detract away from my appreciation of the film; actually, it compels me to be even more holistic when looking at movies, and to make a conscious effort to differentiate (but not separate) between movies that I believe are great and movies that I personally adore to no end. So if I were to compile a list of movies I believe were “great,” I’d make an effort not only to appreciate films that aren’t necessarily my favorites and what they do well, but to also defend and argue for films that are my favorites if they are also included. This gives me room to relish movies that are cheesecakey goodness and include them in my list of personal favorites (i.e. Kung Fu Hustle) and extoll movies that I find artistically and technically outstanding which also happen to be in my list of personal favorites (i.e. My Neighbor Totoro). I like to imagine the differences, similarities and variance between “great” and “favorite” movies like this: great movies are your greens for cinematic fiber, favorite movies are your candy for cinematic sweets, and movies that great and personal favorites are fruit. 

I don’t bloody care what botanically correct scientists say: the tomato is still a vegetable in my books. And I will chuck it at whomever I wish to do so - Fresh or Rotten. 

We all want our favorite films to be fruit. But realistically you’ll have to admit that your personal favorites will not all be fruit – some will be candy no matter how much you believe otherwise (i.e. Caramel apple). At the same time, claiming that you only enjoy your films of greens ignores a lot of what films of candy and fruit offer. After all, films are also about entertainment: I could sit through countless art films and analyze the brilliance of the auteurs, but if I don’t feel compelled to re-watch it like a hyperactive child it’s unlikely the movie is going to be a personal favorite of mine. A recommended film, possibly, but probably not fruit, and definitely not candy. 

So how many films are actually fruit? Here, I decided to take a cue from Levy’s Four Criteria of Evaluation – 

1. Artistic: Critics choices
2. Commercial: Public choices, films that were popular with moviegoers—for whatever reason
3. Innovative: Films that pushed the boundaries (technical, thematic, stylistic) and had impact on the evolution of film as a singular medium with new potential and possibilities
4. Oscar movies: The five films singled by members of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences (AMPAS) for Oscar nominations and awards.

– and then took a look at the list worldwide box office records of movies, and compared them respectively to their ratings on RottenTomatoes, Metacritic, and Imdb (note: click on the chart and graphs to see the full versions of these statistics, which were taken on 8/9/10; numbers are taken from here, though the numbers have changed with the addition of Toy Story 3 to the “Top 20” list as of 8/10/10): 

Now with my handy dandy Excel skills, I also made some graphs so we can visually see what’s going on here (titles are Y versus X values of graph; note the highest grossing film worldwide is the first value on the X-axis – essentially it goes from #1 to #20, left to right, respectively): 

All of the following findings are under the assumption that box office numbers are the best estimate we can get to seeing how “popular” a movie is – that is, how much people are actually compelled to dig into their wallets and see it for whatever reason, regardless of the critical reception before and after the film’s release. So if we were approximating a 70% as a generally favorable consensus after averaging the critical percentages of Rotten Tomatoes, Metacritic and Imdb for the current top grossers, we find this: only 14 out of the 20 listed films are generally favored by critics and viewers alike, which means that about 70% of box office grossers will be meet some amount of critical success – this group essentially consists of fruit and candy for movies, and that they could perhaps display a minimum of three (or two) traits out of the four criteria for evaluation that Levy presents. 

However, if we were to estimate what percentage of these movies would meet universal acclaim by approximating a minimum 85%, we would find the that only about 5 of the 20 titles could potentially be considered as “great films,” and that only approximately 25% of top grossers could actually be considered fruit and possibly possess all four qualities of Levy’s criteria. 

There are a number of things that could be wrong with these numbers. For one, the worldwide box office numbers in this data aren’t adjusted for inflation, hence the lists consists mostly of films that are relatively recent in film history. Another thing is that these numbers are based off worldwide gross, so it accounts for films that were fortunate enough to be released internationally in addition to domestically – this invariably favors films that get lots of funding from studios, and more often these studios are big time Hollywood players. Lastly, the review aggregates are from distinctly English-speaking, so the “universality” of critical acclaim possibly only covers the general Western hemisphere while not necessarily having the same appeal in the Eastern hemisphere (i.e. the reception of Danny Boyle's Slumdog Millionaire (2008) in America was much warmer than that of India, where the film was located in). Still, I think it’s important to see how box office numbers and critical consensus relate, and based on what I’ve found it all leads back to my original assertion: that it is rare for a commercially successful film to also meet universal critical acclaim. 

However, if we stand back from the standards of critical acclaim and consider more holistically to the standards of favorable acclaim, then my hope and naivete isn’t unfounded: a majority of the top office grossers aren’t bad films. They may not be great, but they’re not bad either; in fact, we could even conclude that they’re the perfect amount of candy and cheesecakey goodness that most moviegoers want when they go to the movies for whatever reasons – entertainment, escapism, evaluative, everything. 

Michael Bay presents Explosions! By Michael Bay. 

In the end, does it matter who got the higher score or raked in the most money? Frankly no; I’ll probably defend my favorite films until my deathbed and hate Transformers 2 for the rest of my life. That doesn’t mean I won’t find flaws or excellence in great, favorite and personal vendetta films either – in fact there’s a certain joy in finding things that could’ve been done better (or worse) in the films that you love or hate, almost as if you’re finding a Easter Egg that the filmmaker forgot they even put in. For instance, who knew you could so excellently incorporate sound effects “pew pew pew!” and classy comedy like humping dogs into a $200 million budget film created by full-grown, mature and enlightened adults like Michael Bay? It’s like they sympathized with my childhood where I counteracted my brothers’ reign of sibling terror with my pointed index finger after my mum told me to suck it up and fend for myself against their shenanigans (“no, I will not buy you a Nerf gun to assassinate your brothers with - go use a stick or something. And stop climbing the stair railing like a monkey - no I don’t care if you’re Quasimodo, you’re going to break off the railing!***”). 

We may never know what truly is “the best film of all time.” Lists will consistently bring up the same movies like Citizen Kane and Casablanca, but even then there’s a certain amount of subjectivism to any “greatest movies” list. Of course they’re always worth pursuing if the recommendation is compelling enough, but the decision is always personal and up to you alone. So while the probability of finding fruit might be low, it’s worth it after getting a palette full of greens and candy for films. 

*I was one hell of an angry cat when I found it The Dark Knight and Wall•E didn’t receive Best Picture nominations that year. Hell hath no fury like a person still without a cat.  

**Props to anyone who get this reference. Even bigger props if you’ve got your own sonic screwdriver. 

***I like to believe this was her loving way of telling me not to fall down to my peril and death. Regardless, I still climbed those stair railings because if anyone was going to be an awesome Quasimodo, it would be ME. 

…

Referenced Articles and Links (ordered with regards to this article)

• The Dark Knight: 2008 - my first movie review

• From Books to Blogs to Books - David Bordwell

• Christopher Nolan Studies - posted and compiled by Catherine Grant

• 1960: Here is Looking at You Movie Year - Emanuel Levy

• The 'Best Picture’ Academy Awards: Facts and Trivia - Filmsite.org

• Is Inception This Year’s Masterpiece? Dream On - Stephanie Zacharek

• Will 'Wall-E’ be be nominated for Best Picture at the Oscars? - Tom O'Neil of Gold Derby (this is a compilation of critics’ opinions on Wall-E’s prospects of a “Best Picture” nomination; search for Jeff Wells to find his quote)

• The Politics of an Oscar Campaign - Peter Bowes

• Huge Film, Small Film: Big Stakes - A.O. Scott

• Jumping the snark: The Juno backlash (backlash) - Jim Emerson

• All Time Worldwide Top 20 - The-Numbers.com

Recommended Articles and Links (no particular order)

• Masterpieces: How to Define Great Films? - Emanuel Levy

• The Top Film Criticism Sites: An Annotated Blog Roll - compiled by Paul Brunick of Film Society of Lincoln Center

• The Fall of the Revengers - Roger Ebert 

• I’m a proud Braniac - Roger Ebert

• Fade In Magazine - A nice magazine that looks into the nitty gritty workings of Hollywood business and the film industry

• Superheroes for Sale - David Bordwell

• Hey, Wall-E: Shoot for the Top (Great animation deserves shot at Best Picture) - Joe Morgenstern

• Trivia: Can The Dark Knight Win the Best Picture Oscar as a Write-In Candidate? - David Chen

Just for Fun (because comedy is the best relief for bitter film memories)

• Rifftrax: Transformers 2 – BATTICAL!

• Michael Bay presents: Explosions! – courtesy Robot Chicken

• Michael Bay Finally Made an Art Film – Charlie Jane Anders of io9

• Cat Safety Propaganda - How I reacted when I learned Wall•E and The Dark Knight did not get “Best Picture” nominations (see, cute little girl is the oppressive hand of the Academy and its innate biases against animation and comic book lore, and the cat is a cat the hell hath no fury like when it is angered… I’m not sure where I fit in here except that the cat’s reaction to cute little girl is more or less how I acted when I heard the Oscar news those years ago)

The Foreign Film (and how to approach it)

Pan’s Labyrinth

Foreign films were once one of the most difficult to find, nearly on par with finding theaters that ran independent films. Now, with Netflix, YouTube and other digital technology, watching foreign films has become much easier to pursue in this day and age – yet still a large majority of the American public shirks away from them for various reasons, the most common being “I don’t want to watch and read subtitles.” And even if there is a dub, sometimes good old ethnocentrism is enough to deter a viewer from engaging in a non-American production. 

Shaolin Soccer

I believe foreign films are essential to one’s moviegoing experience. To disregard them because they are non-American, non-English or from a different culture is to have a fallow understanding of rich cinema; this is nothing short of depriving oneself from a variety of experiences that will invariably supplement and enrich one’s appreciation for the narrative power of film that is both specific and universal. Otherwise, claiming that one is a cinephile without willing to see foreign films is unfounded and untrue (I say willing because circumstances often dictate what one is able to watch). Additionally, American productions have consistently ranked highest in worldwide box office gross; this is indicative of Hollywood’s domineering presence in the world, and how American productions are often at the forefront of popularity, both domestically and internationally. This is not to say American productions are thus less auteuristic, creative or original – all it means is that American films frequently receive the most notice on a domestic and global scale. Thus, it is all the more important to expand one’s horizons beyond the average American fare if one is to truly become a self-proclaimed cinephile. 

The Lives of Others

When I speak of foreign films, I’m talking specifically about non-American and mostly non-English language films (I find this is appropriate since I grew up in the States, and am most familiar with American productions). The term “foreign film” is malleable, specifically defined by what one considers their home country and foreign countries to be. Speaking strictly from an American perspective, I believe foreign films have political, social, historical, cultural, and target audiences distinctly different than what the average American filmgoer expects. This definition also includes English films to an extent, but vaguely so since there are English films that may be accessible regardless of the cultural references they make. Here, I will attempt to discuss how one may consider and critique the foreign film holistically in order to appreciate it as much as possible. My analysis will somewhat segment into social, political, historical and cultural aspects of foreign films respectively, but it must be noted that these distinct aspects are not separate from one another, and oftentimes overlap. Here goes!

The Host

One of the first aspects is to consider the social-political differences that one may not pick up on while watching a foreign film. A recent South Korean film, The Host (괴물, Gwoemul – “Monster”), was one of the most financially and critically successful domestic films in South Korea to date: it’s hilarious, moving, and terrifying – all in one unique bundle. The tone shifted seamlessly from one to the next, a tragedy instantly transforming into a comedy, and vice versa in the next second. Underneath the drama and farce lies a deeply political charge that has historical and social significance to South Koreans: the premise is partly inspired a 2000 incident in which a U.S. military-hired Korean mortician dumped large amounts of formaldehyde down the drain; this added some antagonism against the United States, notwithstanding the environmental concerns raised. In the movie, this is the same reason for the genesis of the monster. The film also references the chemical Agent Orange, code name for the herbicides and defoliants used by the U.S. military in its herbicidal warfare during the Vietnam War; the movie’s equivalent is Agent Yellow, the chemical used by the American military to combat the monster in the final scenes. Additionally, Bong Joon-ho’s film satirizes the South Korean government as bureaucratic, inefficient and callous. The tone shifts could throw off the average viewer who didn’t understand this political and social context, but those who understood such a sentiment could easily appreciate Joon-ho’s idiosyncratic take on a classic monster genre. 

Taare Zameen Par

Sometimes, to fully appreciate a foreign film, you need someone who can explain to you different details and the significance of such throughout the film. Such was the case a few months ago when I watched the 2007 Indian film, Taare Zameen Par (तारे ज़मीन पर, “Like Stars On Earth”) with a good Indian friend of mine. The story is about a young boy, Ishaan Awasthi, who is failing in school because unbeknownst to his family, classmates and schoolteachers, he struggles with dyslexia. His learning disability is unacknowledged by everyone, and only when he is sent to boarding school does a temporary art teacher, Ram Shankar Nikumbh (“Nikumbh Sir”), truly understand and empathize with Ishaan’s troubles and how much psychological and emotional pain the boy has endured. 

During the viewing, my friend would occasionally interject (and sometimes pause the film for full explanations) different bits of information that I found interesting and enlightening: even though the film is as Bollywood as it gets, he noted that the songs (mostly Hindi) were unusually well integrated into the overall narrative, and even translated a few key lyrics that the subtitles didn’t capture; then there’s the classic Indian family that he pointed out, with the strict father and the nurturing mother; there’s also a scene where Ishaan is continuously smacked by his classmates in the hallway, who call him “stupid” over and over again, thus highlighting a significant cultural emphasis on intelligence; and most interesting of all (that I didn’t know prior) was that it is rare for anyone to speak 100% Hindi without any English words thrown in – and such was demonstrated by one of Ishaan’s teachers at his boarding school in one scene. 

Even without my friend’s input I would’ve received Taare Zameen Par warmly; with this additional cultural knowledge throughout the film, I appreciated Aamir Khan’s film that much more, and am even more open to Indian Bollywood films thereon after (in fact, we’re both planning to watch the 2009 film 3 Idiots in the near future). 

Departures

Sometimes foreign films require extra research post-viewing to completely understand what has happened on screen. Such was the case with my initial viewing of Departures (おくりびと, Okuribito), the 2008 film by Yōjirō Takita. I fell in love with the story, cinematography and music during my first viewing, which was with my family as well (both my mother and older brother had seen it prior, and he provided some quiet commentary throughout). The film had such a uniquely sad and remorseful quality that was not overwrought but simply human, and strangely healing at the same time. Most significant of all was that it tackles the idea of life and death, how we define life, and why a dead loved one’s body is so sacred (Viet Le has been in the process of writing a very, very long article on this – I will notify readers and link the article immediately once it is published. We’ve been discussing it for over three months and I look forward to its completion). After finishing the drama, I looked up some additional information about the film’s production, and learned some amazing things: for one, the film took ten years to make (and understandably too, since the topic is on one of the most taboo social subjects of Japan); actor Masahiro Motoki, who played the torn Daigo Kobayashi, learned the art of 納棺 nōkan, “encoffinment,” first hand from a mortician, and learned how to play cello for certain scenes of the movie. I’m still awestruck by director Takita’s sensitivity and his profound approach to such a taboo topic, and how incredibly humane and emotionally gripping the final film came out to be. Unsurprisingly, it won Japan’s top prestigious award of the year and the Oscar for Best Foreign Film in 2009 – and for good reason too. 

The Scent of Green Papaya

Understanding the historical context can be invaluable to one’s foreign film experience. As a Vietnamese American, I can fully empathize and understand the context of films such as The Scent of Green Papaya (1993), Three Seasons (1999), and Journey from the Fall (2006) since they all deal with my cultural heritage that I strongly identify with; in talking about these films to others, I do my best not only to explain the film itself but why certain aspects have a significance to Vietnamese history and the Vietnamese community (i.e. human trafficking, reeducation camps, Thai pirates that raided escape boats, foreigners visiting Vietnam, French-occupied Vietnam, changing social, cultural and infrastructural tides, etc). Taking the time to research and read further on the historical context is, perhaps, crucial if one wants to understand why a film is so beloved and successful in its country of origin. For instance, The Secret of Kells draws lovingly from Irish history, and its aesthetic draws heavily from Celtic mythology; Robert Tan compiled a list and wrote a great analysis on the Irish roots of Kells, which I highly recommend for anyone who has seen Kells already (or is planning to and greatly enjoys history and mythology of any kind). Another great film for worthy of historical research is the 2006 German film, The Lives of Others (Das Leben deer Anderen), a fascinating look into the agents of Stasi in East Germany before the fall of the Berlin wall and German reunification 1989 (I need to re-watch the film – it’s been awhile, and a lot of details have been lost from my memory). 

Lust, Caution

Cultural aspects are always a bit trickier to address when you don’t have someone explain and put things in perspective, and sometimes these aspects are lost in translation or simply can’t be translated at all. For instance, years ago I knew a girl who remarked she didn’t want to see Stephen Chow’s Shaolin Soccer (少林足球) because “it was too weird” despite my enthusiasm for its slapstick and over-the-top premise (in fact, she later added that she didn’t like the idea of “weird ass” kung fu being combined with soccer at all – the comedy and style was completely foreign to her). During my first viewing, I didn’t understand all of the jokes, as some were very distinctly Chinese (a good friend of mine told me later what the jokes were about, but even then I had trouble grasping the punchline). There was a similar problem with Ang Lee’s Lust, Caution (色，戒) in 2007 with American critics, most who concluded that it was a overdrawn espionage that was primarily about sex (some even said the acting was flat, which I completely disagree with). The same friend who enlightened me about Shaolin Soccer’s jokes described the film as “very Chinese,” and after my recent viewing of the film I can see why: the film feels very much like a novel, and relies heavily on the emotions that are not explicitly stated but subtly expressed with small gestures and glances – a style that is very much embedded in East Asian cultural normality, where we often do not say aloud but hint at and quietly understand the visceral nature of socializing. 

Tekkon Kinkreet

Things getting lost in translation are inevitable, and the most profound are often the terms themselves. When the name of the Japanese anthology of Studio 4ºC’s short animated films was released in 2007, Genius Party, there was some backlash from some of the online community who believed the name was arrogant and pretentious; however, it turns out that the term “genius” is actually one of respect for those who do exceptional work, and by no means entails any sense of arrogance or pretension in the Japanese language. A similar problem occurred with the 2006 film Tekkon Kinkreet (鉄コン筋クリート Tekkon Kinkurīto, a child’s mispronunciation of “Tekkin Konkurito” – steel reinforced concrete), a Japanese animated film that relied heavily on wordplay and homonyms. A lot of the clever dialogue was untranslatable, and understandably it didn’t receive a wide English release outside of Japan since only those exceptionally familiar with Japanese culture and language would be able to fully understand the film beyond its premise.

The Triplets of Belleville

On a subtopic of cultural differences, I feel it’s important to address how differently many Americans perceive animated films to be than the rest of the world (as snarkily stated by Mr. Fox at the 2009 Academy Awards and demonstrated by Anne Hathaway’s comments about animated films during the 2007 Academy Awards – the second clip that I cannot find, unfortunately, but remember very distinctly since she was bouncing off of Steve Carrell during the announcement). Foremost, animated films are not a genre, and they are not exclusive to children; in fact, some of the best animated films have incredibly adult thematics, as demonstrated by Isao Takahata’s Grave of the Fireflies (火垂るの墓 Hotaru no Haka) in 1988, Marjane Satrapi and Vincent Paronnaud’s Persepolis in 2007 (I’ve read the book but have yet to see the film, which I heard is an amazing adaptation of an already amazing story) and Sylvain Chomet’s quirky 2003 film The Triplets of Belleville (Les Triplettes de Belleville). Most Americans commonly associate animated films to be pandering exclusively to children, much due to Disney’s tremendous legacy and domination of American animation for over 70 years; additionally, with the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences deeming the awards for animated features as “Best Animated Film,” it essentially reinforces the belief that animated films are completely separate from live-action films. This is a false assumption: live-action and animated films are not separate, and both are very capable of telling amazing and moving stories with their respective strengths and weaknesses. A further demonstration of such cultural differences would be to juxtapose Japan’s equivalent award ceremony to that of the American Oscars, which is the Japan Academy Prize (日本アカデミー賞 Nippon Akademī-shō), also known as the Japan/Japanese Academy Awards. For animated features, the Japan Academy Prize award is listed as “Best Animation of the Year,” which is a subtle but significant difference from the Oscar’s “Best Animated Picture” category; to say the least, the Japan Academy Prize treats animation as technical and artistic prize much in the same vein as “Best Cinematography,” and thus does not exclude animated features from a chance at the prestigious prize, “Picture of Year” (in fact, Hayao Miyazaki’s films Princess Mononoke (もののけ姫) and Spirited Away (千と千尋の神隠し）won this award in 1998 and 2002, respectively). 

Paprika

But back to cultural differences, which can also entail a target audience that may not transfer over easily to another country by virtue of who the artist or work is. For instance, fans of Satoshi Kon would expect nothing less than the inane psychological madness and dazzling, unbounded dream sequences of his work, as demonstrated in one of his English wide releases Paprika (パプリカ) back in 2006; yet many American critics faulted the movie for this very reason, most who were unfamiliar with Kon’s filmography and work up until this point. A similar reaction happened with Shinichirō Watanabe’s 2001 film debut Cowboy Bebop: Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door (劇場版 カウボーイビバップ 天国の扉), which was essentially an extended and exceptionally well-animated episode of the hit and legendary anime series Cowboy Bebop (1998); yet again many American reviewers did not know of its origin or cultural significance, and simply regarded the movie as a practice in jazzy bebop stylization, and nothing else. 

Antichrist

There are times, too, when cultural differences cause a major backlash when foreign films are released domestically. Take for instance the sweet and lovable Amélie (Le Fabuleux Destin d'Amélie Poulain) by Jean-Pierre Jeunet in 2001, which received an R rating from the MPAA due to a 15 second compilation of orgasms – I argue that this was an incredibly unfair rating (especially considering what other PG-13 films have gotten away with, i.e. Coyote Ugly) but alas, such is what the MPAA does when determining what “is” and what “isn’t” suitable for American audiences. Similarly, Lars von Trier’s 2009 film Antichrist was highly successful in Denmark, financially and critically so; yet at the 2009 Cannes Film Festival the film polarized critics, all acknowledging the artistic execution but ultimately divided on its substance and message. There was also the discussion about Miyazaki’s Ponyo not getting the nomination for “Best Animated Picture” despite its outstanding visuals and animation feat; I suppose it must have been a slight backlash from Disney being its sole marketer (a friend of mine commented she thought it was “a weird Disney attempt at doing anime,” which may be indicative of how the public felt) but there was also a distinct xenophobic aspect to the decision, especially considering that The Secret of Kells – which received no wide release prior to the Oscars – was nominated instead (please note I am not lambasting Kells; I believe it is a fine film that equally deserved that nomination as well as Ponyo). And then there was the heartwarming Taare Zameen Par that failed to get a Academy Award nomination in 2009 for “Best Foreign Film” despite being better received in India than Danny Boyle’s Slumdog Millionaire – a sentiment that I agree with full-heartedly – yet some stated it was too long and had too many songs to be worthy of consideration. In the end, sometimes you really don’t know how these things work out, and you just do the best you can to get over this kind of cultural backlash when you watch foreign films. 

Treeless Mountain

Technical aspects are always fair game. Cinematography, composition, editing, special effects – the technical workings of film have an almost universal standard, and I believe firmly that these aspects have no distinct cultural root otherwise (as I’ve said before, visual composition is not distinctly Western or Eastern – the aesthetic and depiction of subjects are, but not the cinematographic fundamentals). For instance, a few weeks ago I watched a South Korean drama film called Treeless Mountain (나무없는 산, Namueopneun San) by newcomer So Yong Kim, released in 2008: it was a very sweet and moving story, and would’ve been a great film had it not suffered from one great flaw – the overuse of close-ups. Nearly every shot of the film was a close-up shot, and very rarely was there any establishing shot that put the scene and characters into context; in fact, at various points I got so fed up with the gross amounts of claustrophobic close-ups that I almost stopped watching entirely (I didn’t, but there were a few close calls). Another Netflix instant stream that I watched was the 2006 French film Tell No One (Ne le dis à personne), which was once of the best thrillers I’ve seen in a long while. Contrived? You bet. But that’s beyond the point of thrillers – what it did well was the directing, acting and editing, keeping you on the edge of your seat with twists and turns and gunshots until finally, the last trick – and then you’re relieved, but shaken from the amazing ride. The same could be said about the Zhang Yimou’s 2002 Chinese film Hero (英雄), which used a beautiful palette of distinct and contrasting colors as a function of the multiple tales told by the nameless warrior portrayed by Jet Li. 

House of Flying Daggers

So how do we consider the story of a foreign film, knowing full well that there are cultural, social, historical and political forces behind the final product? Is it fair to judge the story on its own accord, based solely off your own experience? Are you self-aware of your own lack of understanding? If so, are you willing to acknowledge such and approach the film with a sense of cultural humility? Personally, I think that with a holistic understanding you gain a greater appreciation of a great story or one you may not quite comprehend upon first viewing (similar to reading the introduction of a book, which usually puts a lot of the content into perspective). There are times, though, where having a greater understanding may not salvage your foreign moviegoing experience: such is the instance I had with Yimou’s 2004 film House of Flying Daggers (十面埋伏), where despite the use of strong colors, graceful choreography and classic Asian theatrical drama I was ultimately turned off by the numerous plot twists that seemed far too contrived, more than what I’m willing to believe (this might be hypocritical on my part, considering it is a Wuxia film and invariably lends itself to fictitious representations by default, and theoretically I should appreciate it more for what it does well… but I digress). 

Let the Right One In

There are times, though, when foreign films are just outstanding on their own accord, and that understanding cultural, social, political and historical context only makes the film greater in itself. My top three favorites at moment are: Guillermo del Toro’s Pan’s Labyrinth (El laberinto del fauno, “The Faun’s Labyrinth”) in 2006; Akira Kurosawa’s Seven Samurai (七人の侍) in 1954; and Tomas Alfredson’s Let the Right One In (Låt den rätte komma in) in 2008. Personally, I believe that these films are essentially stand-alone from the respective countries they were produced in: everything from the story, directing, acting, cinematography, editing and so on is masterfully done that supplementary information thereafter only enhances your experience of the narrative. I watched Seven Samurai years ago and knew very little about film or Japanese history, and still loved the film; now, with more knowledge years later, I understand what  Kurosawa achieved in filmmaking, and it only reaffirms my respect for the man. The same goes for Pan’s Labyrinth, which I saw with a horrific and awestruck fascination when it was first released: I remember going in thinking that it would be a Tim Burton-esque fantasy story, only to watch and leave the theatre realizing experiencing a very, very classic fantasy story – the horror and gore elements all included. And now with my current reading of Grimm’s Fairy Tales I am able to appreciate del Toro’s vision even more so, and am still haunted by images of creatures like the Pale Man (still one of the most traumatizing scenes in my life thus far). And let’s not forget the strangely romantic Swedish film Let the Right One In, which raised some interesting questions as to one’s existence as a vampire (questions I further raised and addressed in a previous article); the film brought to light a lot of emotions that were odd when in conjunction with the horrific nature of vampires, but was nonetheless sweet, touching, and amazingly visceral.  

Taking into account our own lack of understanding for any culture different from that of our own is essential if one is to fully appreciate a foreign film. There is a universality to narratives, as detailed by Joseph Campbell in The Hero with a Thousand Faces, but there is also a ethnocentric tendency that we must tame in pursuing a holistic critique, one that does not involve the “that’s bizarre!” or “why on earth would you do that?” typical of those lacking any sense of cultural humility. 

Journey from the Fall

I have the benefit of understanding Asian culture, which is why I’m so familiar with East Asian cinema (if it isn’t already obvious from the list of foreign films I’ve mentioned). So whenever I talk about a Asian film I make the extra effort to communicate the knowledge I have, so as to do justice not only to the film but also to viewers who do not possess the same knowledge as I do. This does not detract away my appreciation of other foreign films not based in East Asian cinema – it only makes me account for my shortcomings even more, and to appreciate that there is a limit to my immediate understanding when I watch the reel play across the screen. I’m sure that in due time I’ll have added more foreign films to the list of “movies I’ve watched” thanks to the aid of Netflix, which has made foreign, independent, documentary and non-Hollywood films that much more accessible. Before, I didn’t have this luxury, and was dependent on what the local theatre was showing. Now that I am able to watch a greater diversity of films, I’ll be sure to keep my eyes open for anything that seems interesting and anything that has been heralded by “Great Movies” lists. So far, the list is thus (and in no particular order): 

Tell No One

• The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (I’d like to read the book prior as well)

• The Funeral 

• Horus: Prince of the Sun (太陽の王子 ホルスの大冒険)

• 3 Idiots 

• Persepolis (I highly recommend reading the book)

• Waltz with Bashir

• Tokyo Sonata

• Akira Kurosawa’s entire filmography (I might as well marathon it – he’s that amazing)

• Tokyo!

• Big Man Japan

• Y tu mamá también

• The Class (I actually watched about a quarter of it so far – I’ll need to finish it when I get back from Vietnam. It also seems like the original autobiographical (?) book would be a great read as well)

• The Motorcycle Diaries

• Three… Extremes (I’m actually terrible when it comes to horror films, but I know I’ll eventually have to see extreme Asian horror – so why not this one?)

• Cache

• Belle de Jour (I actually watched this before, but would like to see this again in a different light)

• 8 ½

• 4 months, 3 weeks and 2 days

• The 400 Blows

• Floating Weeds

• Tokyo Story

• Ugetsu

• Park Chan-wook’s Vengeance Trilogy (I’ve seen Oldboy, now I need see the other two)

• Thirst

• Antichrist (again, tackling one of my fears head-on and doing it with one of the most extreme examples… yikes)

• Nosferatu

• Metropolis

• Le Samouraï

• Life is Beautiful

• The White Ribbon

That’s all for now. Additionally, Allan Estrella has provided me with some very helpful links that provide some critique for some Asian films and dramas: 

The Secret of Kells

• Critical reviews for Korean Dramas

• Critical reviews for Korean Films

• Mark Schilling, who reviews Japanese films and pop culture

If you have any suggestions for foreign films and/or criticism on foreign films, feel free to leave them in the comments or send me a email through the contact form. Cheers! 

The Essential Critic (and why we need them)

Some months ago I attended a student documentary film event. The students were all undergraduates (edit on 7/23/10 – the filmmakers were mostly graduate students and staff… see some additional info below) and had taken a year-long course on filmmaking from a Public Health perspective, a new advent that has recently been spearheaded in the fields of Public Health, Journalism, Mass Media and Communications. Since a Q&A session was included, I was piqued enough to attend and watch what the students had come up with in their filmmaking. 

Needless to say, I only found two out of the approximate fifteen or so short films exceptional; the rest were lacking in narrative, framing, ideas, expositions, and daresay originality. A great many footage was recycled – some of the footage was repeated in at least half of the documentaries – and the subjects were repetitive, boiling down to two ideas: 1) health care reform and 2) arts and health. 

I don’t blame the students for their lacking, especially given how they were taking an introductory course in documentary filmmaking and had less than a year to compile footage from limited resources; my main critique, however, was the unoriginality of the driving ideas and argument behind their presented subjects, and by extension their frequent recycling of primary and secondary footage. Regardless, I held back in these critiques, and instead asked a couple of questions during two sessions of Q&A: 

1. (in respect to short films about the health care reform) Do you think it would have made your short film stronger if you had interviewed non-extremists (i.e. people not associated with the Tea Party) who were against health care reform instead of only interviewing those who were for such? 
2. (in respect to short films about arts and health) In a lot of the short films I saw that you only interviewed cultural leaders of African and Latino descent. I was just wondering if these were the only cultural leaders in the area, or if you had trouble getting interviewees from other cultural centers around, such as people of Asian or Middle Eastern descent? 

In both instances, my questions were followed by crickets chirping in a room filled with approximately 50+ people. In due time (let’s say about 20 seconds of uncomfortable silence), both questions were answered, but not in particularly professional or adequate manners: 

1. (a student stands up and responds) Well, as a filmmaker, it’s my film, and since film is subjective I get to make it the way I want. 
2. (class adviser stands up and responds) Well, the students only had limited resources, so we had to make due with the footage we were able to film. 

Needless to say, I’ve brought up this annotated anecdote because it highlights a growing concern of mine that good, legitimate criticism is becoming less and less appreciated in this growing day and age. 

When I think of criticism I’m not looking for validation – I’m looking for something that makes me think differently. To see something in a new light, to look at a topic from the perspective of a different subject area, to emphasize a metaphor or analogy or symbolism or anything – anything to get me to see in the new. Whether or not I agree with the critique is irrelevant; what matters most is that I can take something away from it, that perhaps I can even learn something from it. 

When the student responded to my first question (I’ll dub him student A), he was telling me something I already knew, arguably something everyone knew: film is subjective, he is the filmmaker, he’ll film and frame it the way he wants. This is nothing new, this is conventional knowledge. What I had asked was whether or not approaching the topic of health care reform from a different angle would have strengthened their overall argument, that would perhaps recede away from a “all pro-reform” stance to a much more holistic presentation; this was something that was not approached by any of the students, and I felt that it was a legitimate critique because it was not a attack or appraisal of their work – it was an idea through a different lens. 

More troubling was that student A was rather indignant at my question, his answer almost resonating a “well who are you to say what’s right or wrong? Who are you to say why my film wasn’t good?” sentiment. I’d hurt his ego, his parade of “good jobs!” and “what a moving short film!” and “wow, you’re a great filmmaker!” comments; I’d been the thundering storm cloud on his sunshine, and I’d ruin his big event. And after the equally awkward hush following my second question, I began wondering if Q&A session actually meant “tell all the students what an awesome job they did so they feel great about themselves!” and not “ask them some questions that could stem discussion, debate and some reflection on their work.” I was an unwelcome guest, the unwanted critic who ruined everyone’s good fun. 

The sad part was that I actually held back – big time. I could have asked the specific logistics of health care reform, where they fell on the whole money distribution, on the efficiency of current social programs, and so on; how they felt arts actually played into community health and if there were actual statistics that proved otherwise; I could have hammered them badly, but I didn’t because I knew it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair because the event was about filmmaking, and in turn I only inferred about basic principles of documentary filmmaking that I believed they should have learned during their course, yet as seen in their final presentations these principles were lacking. This, I believed, was fair game. Unfortunately it seemed the students were unprepared for this sort of query, that in their spotlight they didn’t expect anyone to ask questions that were the least bit dissenting or thought-provoking – in short, constructive criticism. 

Obviously the student filmmakers didn’t agree with my assessment – their answers reflected that clearly – but what was more distressing is that they clearly didn’t appreciate a different perspective on their work, a perspective that didn’t necessarily eulogize what they’d worked hard at for little less than a year. For the most part, they mostly seemed unreceptive to anything short of praise, even irked by potential variance from their own vision (I say this because besides the two people who answered my questions, no one seemed willing to stand up and establish their viewpoint in a much more holistic light). Clearly they wanted to be validated, and criticism did not meet their needs. 

I will only validate something when I believe it has done something right, and even then there’s a likelihood that I believe could be improved upon or approached differently (in execution or discussion). Common attitude is that critics are like vultures, ready to pounce upon and tear up the hard work of any aspiring artist. I believe otherwise: to criticize is to think, and it is an art that is becoming less and less appreciated in a world that emphasizes an immediate “feel-good” mentality over anything intellectual substantial. The prolific Todd McCarthy, a film critic of amazing knowledge in cinema and its history, was recently let go by the once prestigious Variety, a decision that clearly reflect society’s turning tides – film critics are less and less valuable than the Tomatometer, Metacritic, Yahoo polls or quips and blurps about “how awesome this movie was!” or “how crappy this movie was!” Everyone wants feel-good validation for their opinion – and real critics don’t offer that. 

Critics defend their arguments and their decisions for such. Oftentimes a critic will bring attention to a newcomer whose work they feel praiseworthy and deserving of notice. Roger Ebert saw the potential of Martin Scorsese very early in the filmmaker’s career, and has continued to this day in consistently commending Scorsese’s work with film’s like GoodFellas and more recently with The Departed; Ebert has also consistently lauded Werner Herzog for his auteur vision in films like Encounters at the End of the World, Roger Altman for his naturalism in films like A Prairie Home Companion, and Hayao Miyazaki for his attention to creative detail in films like Spirited Away. This is not necessarily what a critic is required to do, but it is the sort of appraisement that oftentimes critics feel is deserving of artists they greatly admire. Equally so is the driving force to lambast works they find distasteful and dismaying, in which they feel the audience may deserve better (or at least, that they did and felt unfortunate enough to endure the ordeal). No opinion is outwardly right or wrong – what matters more is the thought that goes behind such an opinion, and why a critic chooses so to support or decry such a body of work. As summarized best by Anton Ego in Brad Bird’s 2007 Pixar film “Ratatouille” : 

In many ways, the work of a critic is easy. We risk very little yet enjoy a position over those who offer up their work and their selves to our judgment. We thrive on negative criticism, which is fun to write and to read. But the bitter truth we critics must face, is that in the grand scheme of things, the average piece of junk is probably more meaningful than our criticism designating it so. But there are times when a critic truly risks something, and that is in the discovery and defense of the new. The world is often unkind to new talent, new creations, the new needs friends. Last night, I experienced something new, an extraordinary meal from a singularly unexpected source. To say that both the meal and its maker have challenged my preconceptions about fine cooking is a gross understatement. They have rocked me to my core. In the past, I have made no secret of my disdain for Chef Gusteau’s famous motto: Anyone can cook. But I realize, only now do I truly understand what he meant. Not everyone can become a great artist, but a great artist can come from anywhere. It is difficult to imagine more humble origins than those of the genius now cooking at Gusteau’s, who is, in this critic’s opinion, nothing less than the finest chef in France. I will be returning to Gusteau’s soon, hungry for more. 

Real critics are not like Ben Lyons, who infamously said that that I Am Legend (2007) was one of the “greatest movies ever made” and gave Charlie Kaufman’s Synechdoche, New York (2008) a thumbs down because it was “difficult to understand.” Lyons works for E! Entertainment Network, a network that is not particularly notorious for in-depth analysis of anything meaningful (presumably its own name is a dead giveaway); usually, I do my best to ignore associations-by-institutions and to look at the work itself, but Lyons did nothing of the sort to redeem himself in this light. He is not a film critic, he is a quote generator for television ads. He’s one of those few strangling comments you see attached to universally-panned films that say “this movie is GREAT!” without any substance to back it up. He’s the type who’ll do anything to get a picture with a celebrity, to get some sort of acknowledgement that he is, indeed, on the telly and getting air-time with a in-the-spotlight actor. This is not a film critic – this is a publicity turbine devoid of anything worthwhile. 

What real critics offer is an area of mental dissonance, of thoughtful discussion. David Edelstein was in the negative when he detracted against The Dark Knight in 2008, and angry fans (many who hadn’t seen the movie at the time of his article’s publishing) lambasted him as “a pretentious prick” and someone trying to get “hits for his site.” Very rarely did anyone discuss what he actually said in his review, which was thoughtful and well laid-out. I don’t agree with Edelstein on all his points and issues, but there is a validity to his opinion and he is entitled to it; obviously Nolan’s take on the Batman lore is not his cup of tea, and I’ll respect him for that. For one, he notes that the tone is significantly darker, sadistic even, and was probably disturbed by such; frankly, this same reason is why I extolled Nolan’s work so vicariously with my first and subsequent viewings, so arguably this is a difference in taste (and perhaps a generation difference).

I have yet to see Nolan’s recent work, Inception, which has been in the critical debate for quite a bit since its release, lauded by equally rabid fans and pummeled by equally rabid detractors. Even some my favorite critics have been in the mix: A.O. Scott, a man who’s style, prose and analysis I admire greatly, was not particularly moved by Nolan’s dreamscape vision, citing Nolan’s unwillingness to dive into the subversiveness and inanity of a Freudian symbols and insanity was his greatest downfall; in contrast, an early review by Anne Thompson of Indiewire praised Nolan of delivering a Kubrickian phantasm with an enduring emotive pull. Editor of Roger Ebert’s site and famed film blogger Jim Emerson commented afterwards about similarities between Nolan’s and Shyamalan’s filmmaking, and even quoted Matt Zoller Seitz: “A filmmaker as prosaic and left-brained and non-visual as Nolan should not be making a film about dreams and dreaming." 

Do I agree with Emerson’s assessment? Not entirely, but I think there’s a truth to his observations. Nolan approaches his work from a strictly rationalist’s precision, and that to expect otherwise from him is to expect Alfred Hitchcock to make a Cinderella movie without a dead Cinderella. And while I have yet to see Inception there’s an inkling that in admiring all of Nolan’s previous works (the exception being Following and Insomnia, both which I’ve yet to see) I may very well enjoy is latest cinematic installment, though this time around I may be more inclined to consider the film from both the left- and right-brained spectrums, and even perhaps the intermediate if manageable. After all, criticism is also about tastes: what floats my boat may just as well sink yours, and vice versa. Regardless, I’d rather read a articulate disapproval than a blurb-fest appraisal of any work despite where my sentiments lie. 

Then you have the special brew of Armond White. Clearly he’s a very intelligent man: a Master’s of Fine Arts degree from Columbia University’s School of the Arts; a member of the New York Film Critics Circle, the National Society of Film Critics, and the New York Film Critics Online; and currently a film and music critic for the New York Press. Yet he is dubbed as the infamous spoil sport on RottenTomatoes, the ”contrarian for the sake of being contrary.“ There’s even an online petition trying to get him banned from RottenTomatoes, citing that he is a bane to film criticism and simply trying to get hits on his site. Even more annoying is his lack of respect for films and subjects he doesn’t agree with, as dissected beautifully by Paul Brunick on White’s critique of the beloved "Toy Story 3.” Ultimately, my greatest problem is that he essentially lacks any logical consistency in his reviews, and openly sneers at the very audience he writes to: 

• The Dark Knight, 2008 – The generation of consumers who swallow this pessimistic sentiment can’t see past the product to its debased morality. Instead, their excitement about The Dark Knight’s dread (that teenage thrall with subversion) inspires their fealty to product.
• Transformers 2: Revenge of the Fallen, 2009 – Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen is more proof [Bay] has a great eye for scale and a gift for visceral amazement.

Let’s break this down: White disliked “The Dark Knight” for its debased morality, yet failed to see the same issues with “Transformers 2” and its flaunting of gratuitous explosions, overlooked death count and blatant sexism? On the latter fold, he admired “Transformers 2” for its visceral amazement, yet failed to see what Nolan and his team achieved in the revamped and film noir-esque Gotham city of the Batman universe? The man makes no sense. 

A flowchart of Armond White’s likes and dislikes in recent films, first brought to my attention by Wes Lawson of the RottenTomatoes community. 

If I had the patience I would actually take the time and read other articles; after all, he’s an intelligent individual, and amidst his angry waves of bullying misdirection and rhetorical lapses he offers up interesting ideas that are easily overlooked in regards to the films he reviews. However, I am not a patient person when it comes to such individuals, and find that my time is often better spent reading those who have the dignity to stay consistent to what they themselves had said, or are at least wiling to admit their own hypocrisy. What Armond White is, in Roger Ebert’s words, “a troll; a smart and knowing one, but a troll.” And I, for one, am not the type to indulge in trolls. 

Criticism is essential: without it, we are destined to perpetuate in an endless cycle of softhearted sentimentalism, doomed to be infantile without hope or chance of maturing into critical and honest thought. Argument is not about right or wrong, winning or losing – it’s about ideas, presentation, and prose. It is never absolute, and it never will be; instead, it is bound to be continuously repeated and revised, bounced back and forth until the end of human consciousness. We need it for our own sake, and we need it more than ever in this increasingly feel-good mentality that society seems more and more inclined to retract into these days. And for God’s sake, let me keep my hopes up and assume producers are more intelligent than to cast nincompoops like Ben Lyons as “film critics” – how about Kim Morgan or Grace Wang, to name a few. 

Additional reading: Roger’s Little Rule Book by Roger Ebert. And yes, he clarifies that the subject of his commentary is, indeed, Ben Lyons. 

…

Edit: To clarify in lieu of a comment – Yes, I have read some of White’s reviews (The Dark Knight, District 9, Transformers 2, and some of Toy Story 3) and have generally found them, as I said, to be logically inconsistent in thought, and overtly condescending to his readers. Perhaps that is style; I respect that. But not enough to garner up enough patience to plow through more of his reviews for such tone and inconsistency. I’ll stick to my cup of tea of Roger Ebert, A. O. Scott, Michael Phillips, Todd McCarthy, James Berardinelli, and whomever strikes my interest in the future. 

…

Edit on 7/23/10: I was alerted by a friend of mine who took the course in filmmaking; he informed me that the class mostly consisted of graduate students and staff (only two undergraduate students total), and that this was the first time the course was offered. I have already sent him my suggestions for improving the course for future students, and my apologies for not remembering this information correctly (as I’d also lost the flier). 

…

Edit on 7/26/10: Seems there’s a glitch in Disqus where the original comments aren’t showing up for some reason (though I suspect it has something to do with tumblr performing maintenance not too long ago). This is just to clarify that I have not deleted original comments – they are still sitting in my moderator inbox, and theoretically should be showing up (but such is the fate of faulty programming, I suppose). Apologies to the disgruntled, for you have not been omitted.