David Bordwell is always worth reading, but he put up a post a couple of weeks ago that’s highly entertaining as well as informative, about the way cinephiles interact with each other. He starts off separating cinephiles from cinemaniacs – based on his definitions, I’m not sure which category I fit into. I’m going to claim cinephilia, though, because I like this:

Cinephiles by contrast [to cinemaniacs, who he says have very specific areas they like] tend to be ecumenical. Indeed, many take pride in the intergalactic breadth of their tastes. Look at any smart critic’s ten-best lists. You’ll usually see an eclectic mix of arthouse, pop, and experimental, including one or two titles you have never heard of. Obscurity is important; a cinephile is a connoisseur.

The real crux, I think, is this. The cinephile loves the idea of film.

That means loving not only its accomplishments but its potential, its promise and prospects. It’s as if individual films, delectable and overpowering as they can be, are but glimpses of something far grander.

He goes on to give examples of the ways cinephiles one-up each other by claiming great breadth or depth of knowledge, and that’s where the humorous part is. I’ve engaged in my small way in most of the forms of cinephile oneupsmanship he highlights, though not anywhere near the level Bordwell can. I think, though, that while there’s usually an element of competition in it, there’s also simply a need to know where you stand with the other cinephile. Everyone can’t be an expert on everything, even in film’s short history, and in any conversation, one person is going to win in some areas, but not in others, and it’s useful to know what those areas are. I struck up a conversation with my couch-mate at Shirley Clarke’s The Cool World a few weeks ago (yep, LA’s Silent Movie Theatre has couches, if you get there early enough to snag one), and she easily beat me out on 1960s American indie film, like The Cool World, but I had her on New Wave films, which came up as we discussed the previous week’s film, Agnes Varda’s Cleo from 5 to 7. The game was played, we won and lost, but we knew where we stood, and we started to get an idea of what could be reasonably asked or discussed with the other person.

At least in such circumstances (a screening of a rare film at a repertory theatre), one knows where to start. I have much more difficulty trying to figure out what to answer the general populace when someone finds out I’m into movies and asks me what my favorite movie is. I used to have rote answers, but that was ten years ago, and they’re hopelessly out of date. I think I need to pick a few favorites with differing levels of obscurity. My worst moment was at a church function a few weeks ago, when I went as mainstream and as current as I could and still be honest, and said No Country for Old Men. She hadn’t heard of it. Best Picture Oscar winner, hadn’t heard of it. I couldn’t speak for several minutes. I get that not everyone is into film, and that’s fine, but why ask me about it, then? I can talk about other things, I swear.

Note for non-cinephile readers: the stills and names Bordwell uses in his examples are from François Truffaut’s Jules et Jim; the “Catherine” he mentions at the end is the woman who comes between the eponymous best friends.