Tag: criticism

Word (and words) (and modernism)

On October 6, 2006

Word’s spell-checker doesn’t like “inclusivity.” When I ask it for suggestions (thinking, well, maybe “inclusiveness” or something is more acceptable), it gives me “exclusivity.” I ask you, why would “exclusivity” be a word, but “inclusivity” not be? Webster Online likes it just fine, so I’m using it. But seriously. Word is just stoopid sometimes. Don’t even get me started on Word’s grammar checker.

(Now that I’ve typed them both multiple times, either “exclusivity” nor “inclusivity” seem like real words…weird when that happens.)

In news related only because I’m speaking of “inclusivity” as an element of postmodernism in the paper I’m writing, I’m starting to be a little more clear on some issues that Pastor Jeff make me think about in his postmodernism talks several months ago. I’m not completely clear, though. My biggest question had to do with how this whole modern/postmodern thing fit in with literature, because there seemed to me to be a lot of more connection between modernism and postmodernism in literature than in the other disciplines he was covering (art, architecture, etc.), and I think I was right. The book I’m writing about, A Reader’s Guide to the Twentieth Century Novel in Britain, basically says what I was thinking back then–that postmodernism in literature basically takes narrative structures and techniques first pioneered under “modernist” writers like Virginia Woolf and James Joyce, and simply takes them further. Rather than a rejection of modernism, it’s an extension of it, carried out forty years later. However, that means I’m now unclear on whether or not “modernism” in literature means the same thing as it does in other disciplines, and I’m not sure that it does.

If modernism as a philosophic system sees things as ordered and understandable by human minds, and believes that there’s one grand (humanist) narrative that everything fits into, then I don’t think Joyce and Woolf fit that category. They haven’t given up on language like the postmoderns have, but they do realize it has difficulties and limits, which they test; they’ve certainly lost the belief in universality that I used to associate with “modernism” (Woolf claims that the difference between 19th century authors and her contemporaries in 1920 lies in the fact that the 19th century authors believed in what they wrote, and believed that the values they wrote about were applicable to everyone, and that after WWI, it was no longer possible to ascribe universal values and that 1920s writers no longer believed in what they were writing).

So, is literary modernism just a definition made by scholars in literature to describe the writings of Woolf, Joyce, and Lawrence in the 1920s, having nothing at all to do with the definition of philosophic modernism? I don’t know. But I would like to.

Slight retraction…

By Jandy

On September 2, 2006

In School

Okay, Altick and Fenstermaker have redeemed themselves somewhat in the last couple of chapters of The Art of Literary Research, so I must back down a bit from my negative reaction to the book. All the things I said still hold true for the passages I quoted there, but check this out:

[speaking of the sense that what literary scholars do is largely unappreciated by the world at alarge] Yet if we are unappreciated and undervalued, the fault is partly ours. We gladly learn, but outside the classroom many of us are curiously uninterested in teaching. Many modern critics and scholars have developed the habit of talking only to each other, neglecting the broader audience of educated people…It is our responsibility to seize every opportunity to communicate with the lay audience, as in book reviews or in articles and essays in the popular press on history, biography, and culture (and to make such opportunities where they do not exist). [Altick & Fenstermaker, p254]

Now, that I can get behind. Is there a way I can do only that and not have to do the specialized journals and conferences and stuff?

Leftover Beauty

By Jandy

On August 9, 2006

In Film

The last sermon I heard at Providence was the one Chris preached the evening of July 30th. It was about how not necessarily everything from secular culture will be missing from the New Heavens and the New Earth, and that it may be transformed and glorified and brought into the new Jerusalem to glorify God. One point Chris made is that even though humanity, and through it, human culture, is fallen, it still carries the image of God, and therefore still reflects his glory in some way; flashes of that glory are sometimes still visible even in secular culture. I’m not phrasing it exactly the way he did, but I think we’re on the same page. The sermon really hit a few nerves with me, because this is precisely my approach to culture and criticism.

I call it “leftover beauty.” Understanding this is vital to understanding the way I write about culture, and the way I react to film, music, literature, television. I know I take it too far at times, and that’s one of the reasons I was so desirous to go to a Christian university that values popular culture…I need that grounding. But if I sometimes tend to value too much the output of a fallen culture, it’s at least partially in reaction against a Christianity that denounces it without even recognizing what value it does have.

My concept of leftover beauty is why I think American Beauty is one of the greatest films in recent years, because, quite simply, leftover beauty is precisely what American Beauty is about. It doesn’t know where beauty comes from or why, but it knows it’s there–it knows that somehow, in the midst of broken families, perverted sexuality, and isolationist despair, there is still beauty around, if we “look closer”. And that’s exactly how I feel about modern culture. There’s ugliness, sure. But there’s beauty, too…beautiful characters, beautiful scenes, beautiful technical skill, beautiful and skillful writing, beautiful acting.

I understand that others don’t feel this way, and don’t feel the need to expose themselves to certain parts of modern culture. But for me, it’s worth it to look through piles of dren to find one beautiful rose–and when I write reactions and reviews, I may forget about the dren, because I’m focused on the rose. I once read a review of Saving Private Ryan in World Magazine that basically stated “don’t see this film, it’s horrible because there’s a lot of swearing.” Granted, there is. And I know people who would avoid seeing it for that reason, and that’s fine. But to categorically say that no-one should see a beautifully made film because of one offense is heavy-handed and inappropriate for any reviewer, even a Christian one. And it’s something I refuse to do. I will meet films on their own ground, not lambast them for not living up to a standard they were never trying to meet. That’s unfair and underhanded criticism.

Consider this my disclaimer for the times when I praise a film that includes scenes you think are offensive, or times when I don’t call attention to such scenes. Sometimes I may be ignoring them purposefully because I feel the rest of the movie makes up for them. Often, I may have simply forgotten them, because I tend to do that. Seriously, I convinced my cousin and his wife to watch Garden State because it’s one of my all-time favorite films, and had to mention like four times that I had totally forgotten about such-and-such a sex-and-drug scene…they ended up ageeing with me, though, that the overall film was worth putting up with those couple of scenes. If such a scene seriously undermines the film, I probably will mention it. (And yes, despite how difficult it is to offend me, I have seen films that offended me so deeply that I refuse to review them, because I cannot judge them on their own merits–Quills is probably the best example.) Bottom line, I am not ScreenIt, though I do recommend ScreenIt if you want to know about every single “damn” and “hell” before you start a film. I am not a parent’s guide. If a reaction or review I write intrigues you and you want to know more specifics about content, ask me and I will tell you. And don’t think that just because I like a film or praise a book that I necessarily agree with its viewpoint or its message. Last month I loved The Unbearable Lightness of Being while simultaneously disagreeing vehemently with most of its philosophy.

I’ve been planning a post like this for a while, just to make clear my position and viewpoint when discussing film, literature, and television. But the immediate impetus is the July Watching Recap, which I’m about to post, and in which I praise a film called Transamerica, whose main character is transgendered (a man who wishes to become a woman). Everything about the film, on a filmic level, is so extraordinary that I couldn’t in good critical conscience give it a negative review, no matter how much I may disagree with the content. I’ve known for a while that I give greater weight to style than content (to the eternal annoyance of my mom, I think, who gives utmost weight to content and would most likely hate Transamerica), and that’s a bias that I’m trying to balance a bit. On the other hand, I really do think that it’s possible to disagree with a message while still respecting and enjoying the way in which the message is transmitted. Besides that, in the case of Transamerica, the message really isn’t “it’s cool to be transgendered” or anything like that…it’s almost a side plot, in fact…and that’s true of a lot of films that get denounced by Christians who get so caught up in all the ugliness that they can’t see the leftover beauty.

The role of criticism

By Jandy

On August 7, 2006

In Film

So far this year, eleven films have opened in theatres without screen for critics first. That’s up from just two films by this time last year. These are films which the studios decided would do better without the critics lambasting them on opening weekend. The studios were right about the critic’s reaction: the films were roundly panned when they were reviewed later in the week (the average Rotten Tomatoes score is 11%). But about half the time, they were also right about the audience’s reaction: four of the films (Madea’s Family Reunion, When a Stranger Calls, Larry the Cable Guy and Phat Girlz) made back at least double their budget, with Madea grossing a total of $63 million on an estimated budget of $6 million. Underworld: Evolution, Benchwarmers, and Date Movie posted respectable numbers between $48 and $62 million (I don’t have budget information on these). Of the eleven films, only four of them were outright flops. And it’s recently been announced that the greatly anticipated Snakes on a Plane will join the ranks of “critic-proof” films.

In addition to these films which the studios have determined will do fine without critics, there’s an ever-growing mound of evidence that audiences don’t listen to critics anyway. Critics largely hated The Da Vinci Code, which has grossed over $215 million. The same is true of Pirates of the Caribbean 2, which has a Rotten Tomatoes score of just 53% despite breaking box office records worldwide.

Have critics become irrelevant?

Jeff Jarvis of the Buzz Machine has been blogging about this on and off for a while now. Jarvis has worked for many high-profile magazine and newspaper companies as critic, editor, publisher, and media consultant, and he often has very astute things to say. This morning, he posted an excerpt from an article he wrote recently for the UK’s Guardian. Here’s a quote from it:

In 1990, I created Entertainment Weekly, a magazine of pop cultural criticism in the US, because I saw an explosion of entertainment choice thanks to cable and the VCR (little did I know what would come next). And so I said we needed critics to help us find the good stuff. But if I started EW today, Iâ€™d create it online and Iâ€™d try to find ways to gather the taste of the crowds regarding far more entertainment: let sci-fi fans help you hunt the best sci-fi; debate the literary merit, if any, of Harry Potter; argue with Woody Allen fans over whether he has his mojo back. Mind you, Iâ€™d be loath to end up with the worldâ€™s largest focus group or most uninformative online poll. Instead, Iâ€™d hope this would be a salon of salons, where you could find the discussions and people you like and with them, the entertainment you want.

Would I have critics? Yes, but their roles would change. They still should give their views and set art in context. But rather than issuing pronouncements and bon mots, unchallenged, from the screening room, Iâ€™d want them to spark the discussion about entertainment: find the good voices, pinpoint the arguments, even referee debates among artists and critics. A great critic should be a magnet for fascinating discussion. Take the debate around politics at the Guardianâ€™s Comment is Free and imagine similar discussion over the arts, with critics acting not as pontificators but as opinionated moderators, even generous hosts.

I think he’s quite right. I know people don’t listen to critics anymore, at least not in the sense of “let me read what so-and-so thought of it before I decide to go see it”, because they tell me so. Most everyone I know has told me at one time or another that critics “always hate everything” and “never like anything.” Or that they never agree with critics. When I was seventeen, I took a college-credit class in film appreciation, and the teacher was surprised to find out that almost none of the students read reviews of films before they went to see them. I was among those students. But Owen Glieberman of Entertainment Weekly changed my mind. Not because his reviews are always right, or because he’s the best critic ever. Entertainment Weekly ran a sidebar for a while called “Ask the Critic” (or something like that–I don’t know if they still run it or not), and one week a question was “why do critics hate everything except weird artsy and foreign films?” Glieberman’s answer was obvious in retrospect, but illuminating at the time. Here’s my memory-filtered expansion of his answer.

Film critics see five-seven films per week, and write reviews on most of them. Granted, they like watching movies or they wouldn’t have chosen this job, but still, when you have write a review of something, you look at it differently than if you’re watching two or three films a week for pure enjoyment. Add in the fact that most critics that you’re reading in high-profile magazine or newspapers have been doing this for years, and realize that they’ve probably seen tens of thousands of films. There’s not that much originality in mainstream film these days–nearly everything has been done before, and when you’ve seen tens of thousands of films, you’ve probably seen it before. And written about it. This is why critics tend to like offbeat, quirky, unusual films that may seem bizarre and overly strange to you. As for why they like foreign films…foreign countries export like 5% of their top films to the US, so we’re getting the cream of the crop. If you skip foreign films just because they’re foreign, you’re denying yourself some of the top films in the world. That’s by-the-by, though.

Another thing Glieberman didn’t mention, but I think is worth considering, is what “average” means. When a film critic gives a film a *** out of *****, or a C on a A-F grading scale, that means “average.” That does not mean “bad.” Most films are average. That’s what average means. If it’s a sci-fi film, and you like sci-fi films, and a critic rates it “average,” you’ll probably like the film. If you hate sci-fi, you probably won’t. The critic is not there to tell you what you’ll like. He’s there to tell you how good the film is…and that usually ends up being how good it is compared to other films of similar genre and type. He’s there to tell you that no matter how much you may like action movies with lots of explosions, Domino is still a crapfest and you probably won’t enjoy it. He’s there to tell you that even if you don’t care for WWII dramas, Downfall is worth checking out. And he’s there to tell you that if you like somewhat juvenile buddy comedies, you’ll probably fare fine with the relatively average Wedding Crashers. Just remember that the critic is looking for “good” films, and you’re probably looking for something you’ll enjoy watching. Those aren’t always the same thing.

I’ve been speaking of reviewing, as is Jarvis above. There’s a distinction to be made between film reviews and film criticism, I think, that we miss because we usually refer to reviewers as “critics.” Reviews in weekly newspapers and magazines that come out just before a film is released are meant to steer audiences as they decide whether or not to go see a given film. Criticism, as I think of it, is meant to help aid understanding films already seen. Criticism tends to be more academic, sometimes painfully so, but I don’t think it has to be. I just finished reading Robin Wood’s book Hitchcock’s Films, which is extremely insightful and extremely accessible. I believe that reviews are becoming obsolete as studios more and more dispense with pre-release screenings for critics, and as more and more people rely on word of mouth via their friends and the internet than on traditional critics. But Jarvis’ idea above is perfectly suited to the reclaiming of criticism for the mainstream, away from stuffy academia.

The thing that critics bring to the party is not that they are all-knowing media gods who can tell you exactly what you’ll like and what you should see. The thing they contribute is years and years of experience watching films critically, thousands of films seen, and a knowledge of the history of cinema and criticism that only the most devoted amateurs achieve. I consider myself a devoted amateur, and whenever I read good criticism, I’m astounded by the amount of film knowledge I simply don’t have. It takes a film critic to know that Far From Heaven is a homage to the work of 1950s filmmaker Douglas Sirk, and be able to draw out what that means. It takes a film critic to note the similarities between the Odessa Step sequence in Potemkin and the baby-carriage-falling-down-the-steps sequence in The Untouchables. Now, is it required to have such knowledge to enjoy Far From Heaven or The Untouchables? Of course not. But it gives an added depth and level of appreciation, and I for one would hate to risk losing the critic’s ability to “set art in context.” I find Jarvis’ concept of the critic as an “opinionated moderator” and a “magnet for fascinating discussion” very compelling…just as I find professors who teach that way very compelling.

Another point brought up by Cinematical a long time ago (don’t have a link to the post anymore, sorry) is that while critics may no longer be effective at turning audiences away from mediocre and bad mainstream films, they can do a lot to bring lesser-known and less-publicized films into the limelight. From personal experience, I can say that if I want to see a film, bad reviews don’t always turn me away from it. But good reviews of a film I haven’t heard of will almost always make me check it out.

And if you still really think that the critics you’re reading are always negative and you never agree with them…dump them and find different ones. There’s no shortage of film critics out there. Or take their disagreement as a challenge–some of my best thinking and writing has been as a result of disagreeing with some critic or other and hashing out with myself why I disagree with them and why my position is more tenable than theirs. Disagreement is good for the mind. ;)