{"id":26394,"date":"2014-02-12T08:50:44","date_gmt":"2014-02-12T14:50:44","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/?p=26394"},"modified":"2016-09-02T17:29:14","modified_gmt":"2016-09-02T22:29:14","slug":"nothing-if-not-critical","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/2014\/02\/12\/nothing-if-not-critical\/","title":{"rendered":"Nothing, if not critical"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

The Woman in the Window<\/strong> (1944).<\/em><\/p>\n

O, gentle lady, do not put me to’t,\/ For I am nothing, if not critical.<\/p>\n

Iago, Othello<\/em><\/p>\n

DB here:<\/p>\n

Movie aficionados seem endlessly interested in film criticism\u2014not just in what a writer says about a film, but in the very idea of criticism. I\u2019ve suggested in a recent entry some of the historical reasons for this: the rise of the celebrity reviewer in the 1960s, the surge in interest in foreign and alternative cinemas, the emergence of filmic experiments, from Persona<\/em> to Memento<\/em>, that seemed to demand discussion.<\/p>\n

With the internet, you can\u2019t turn around without bumping into a film review. Aggregate sites like Rotten Tomatoes and Metacritic get tens of millions of hits a month. Of course many people are just checking on the range of opinions of a specific release, but I get a sense that many readers are more or less addicted to critical buzz as such. Connoisseurs of sentiment and snark, they still follow favorite reviewers just as we did in the 1960s, and they enjoy reading a critic they don\u2019t agree with because she or he is an enticing writer.<\/p>\n

In one corner of my workroom a steadily growing pile of books is no less a tribute to the flourishing of film criticism. Yes, books. I\u2019m a committed Netizen (I\u2019d better be, after three e-books, several web essays and videos, and over 610 blog entries). And for certain purposes, such as word search, I prefer digital versions of texts. But nothing beats a book for reading anywhere you happen to be, thumbing back to check a point, marking up margins with invective, and throwing across a room when you\u2019ve decided the author is a dunce.<\/p>\n

Here, though, are some books that won\u2019t become missiles.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Revaluation <\/strong><\/p>\n

One consequence of the 1960s cult of the movie critic was a new genre of book\u2014the anthology of a writer\u2019s reviews, think pieces, and long-form essays, perhaps spiced by an interview or two. Call it a predecessor of a website if you must, but such books were tempting packages to cinephiles who wanted their fix in big gulps, not weekly doses. Then we eagerly read through Agee on Film<\/em>, Dwight Macdonald on Movies<\/em>, Kael\u2019s I Lost It at the Movies<\/em>, and many other collections. Some of these are now classics, most are forgotten, but the format still has life in it. Roger Ebert, exceptional in all respects, kept it going for years and crowned it with his Great Movies<\/em> series. The format passed to academic presses like Wesleyan with Kent Jones\u2019 Physical Evidence<\/a><\/em> (2007) and Chicago with Dave Kehr\u2019s When Movies Mattered<\/em><\/a> (2011).<\/p>\n

Like me, James Naremore is a creature of the 1960s, but with his typical discretion he has waited forty years to bring together a collection. Jim\u2019s 1973 Filmguide to Psycho<\/strong><\/em> introduced me to his elegant thinking about movies. Since then he has written about a great many subjects, always with wit, steady vision, and deep and unostentatious learning. Now we have An Invention without a Future: Essays on Cinema<\/em><\/a><\/strong> (University of California Press).<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>Every essay here is a polished gift from a master of the literary essay. The book\u2019s first section considers classic topics like adaptation, authorship, and acting. It includes a sharp discussion of the rhetorical dimension of both filmic creation and critical commentary. In the second section we see Naremore the close reader, turning to the classic Hollywood cinema he has done so much to illuminate. He considers Hawks, Hitchcock, Welles, Huston, Minnelli, and Kubrick\u2014the subjects of earlier writing he\u2019s done, but now refocused through new lenses. One recurring question is: Does cinema, either as a physical medium or a public spectacle or a humanistic art have a future? Although the book\u2019s compass swings constantly to the 1940s through the 1960s, Jim is fully up to date, writing with sensitivity on Shirin, Uncle Boonmee<\/em>, and Mysteries of Lisbon<\/em>.<\/p>\n

The latter pieces were among Jim\u2019s efforts at real-time film reviewing at Film Quarterly<\/em>. Perhaps the sharpest edge of the book comes in the section housing them, called \u201cIn Defense of Criticism.\u201d Jim, I think, considers criticism as, say, Lionel Trilling or Edmund Wilson considered it. Endowed with a tolerant, generous mind, the critic uses all the resources of culture\u2014philosophical and moral ideas, social forces, artistic traditions\u2014to illuminate the unique identity of the artwork.<\/p>\n

More deeply, the critic expects the encounter with the artwork to challenge and change us. This to me is one difference between the reviewer and the critic. The reviewer expects the film to live up to his or her solidly entrenched point of view. The critic is open to being shaken, taught, and even transformed by the film. The reviewer projects confidence, the critic displays curiosity.<\/p>\n

This ambitious conception of criticism is at risk today from two forces. There is the sheer blather of pop journalism and the Internet, which have pushed film culture from criticism to comments to chat to chatter. At the other end, some professors are allied against film as an art.<\/p>\n

Today the humanities are in danger of losing their soul. Academic film studies has tended to focus on formal systems, industrial history, fandom, and identity politics\u2014essential topics without which good criticism can\u2019t be written, but topics that don\u2019t engage directly with questions of art and artists.<\/strong><\/p>\n

Admitting that a certain detachment is valuable for research purposes, Naremore thinks that academics have become somewhat too clinical. Part of his book\u2019s purpose is to draw their attention back to the intellectuals who flourished outside the academy, and for whom quality was worth arguing about.<\/p>\n

I nevertheless think that evaluative criticism needs to be encouraged more, and I miss the days before the full-scale development of film studies, when film was made exciting and relevant by virtue of critical writing and debates over value.<\/strong><\/p>\n

So the last section consists of thoughtful essays on James Agee, Manny Farber, Andrew Sarris, and Jonathan Rosenbaum\u2014those who \u201chad the greatest influence on the development of my taste.\u201d<\/p>\n

For my $.02, I\u2019d just add that appraisals of quality shape a lot of academic writing, even in the Cult Studs vein. Showing that a film is racist or classist is surely an exercise in evaluation, employing moral or political criteria. Showing that fans of Twilight <\/em>aren\u2019t dumb no-hopers often springs from the researcher\u2019s own esteem for the franchise. (Remember one of The Blog\u2019s mottos: We are all nerds now.)<\/p>\n

In effect, I think, Jim is pointing out that in a lot of film studies evaluation isn\u2019t framed in specifically artistic<\/em> terms. On that I\u2019d certainly agree. Jim opens a new conversation by asking academics to look beyond their specializations and learn how the best arts journalists argue about quality. Seriously thought-through yet accessible to all, An Invention without a Future<\/em> is a bracing, quietly subversive book.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Auteurs: From the ridiculous to the sublime<\/strong><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Jim would find signs of hope in two books dedicated to major directors.<\/p>\n

Nil Baskar and Gabe Klinger\u2019s Joe Dante<\/em><\/strong><\/a>, a collection from the enterprising SYNEMA series at the Austrian Film Museum. Dante is just the sort of auteur that cinephiles prize. Working on the fringes of the system in despised genres, he\u2019s a Movie Brat who loves B cinema, noir, and crazy comedy. This thick, square book contains virtually everything you\u2019d ever want to know about the man who could be seen as Spielberg\u2019s demented, funnier alter ego. Dante’s kiddie adventure stories and teen terror pix have celebrated and parodied Americans\u2019 feverish love of war, big business, junk food, and lunatic media.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>From The Movie Orgy<\/em> through Looney Tunes: Back in Action<\/em> to The Hole<\/em> (still not released in 3D in the US, as far as I know), Dante has been a paradigmatic case of the termite artist praised by Manny Farber. In this collection John Sayles recalls that for The Howling<\/em> he and Dante agreed\u00a0they would center on characters who knew horror-movie conventions and wouldn\u2019t make the typical fatal mistakes. Bill Krohn, J. Hoberman, Christoph Huber, and Michael Almereyda are among the admirers assembled here, and their spirit of amiable, film-geek homage is infectious. There\u2019s also a long interview with Klinger, a detailed chronology, and a filmography zestfully annotated by Howard Prouty.<\/p>\n

Dante\u2019s opposite number is B\u00e9la Tarr, whose films run the gamut from glum to morose, but they\u2019re no less exhilarating. They find their ideal explication in Andr\u00e1s B\u00e1lint Kov\u00e1cs\u2019 The Cinema of B\u00e9la Tarr: The Circle Closes<\/em><\/strong><\/a>. Kov\u00e1cs scrutinizes all the films, some little-known outside Hungary, and produces careful analyses that balance thematic interpretation with precise examinations of style. As a friend of Tarr\u2019s, Andr\u00e1s is in a unique position to take us into this filmmaker\u2019s grimy, splendid world.<\/p>\n

Tarr, Kov\u00e1cs suggests, asks his audience to accept the illusions shaping the narrative world. Yet his structure and technique in the end yield a clearer view of the underlying forces than the characters can achieve\u2014often, forces driven by conspiracy or betrayal. Accordingly, Tarr\u2019s narratives tend to be cyclical, even when the story situation is unchanging, and his camera movements often trace a circular path. Many readers will particularly welcome Andras\u2019 exciting account of S\u00e1t\u00e1ntang\u00f3<\/em>, Tarr\u2019s most demanding film. Based on a novel with an intricately circular structure, the film finds its own means to suggest a story swallowing its own tail. Most film books nowadays have pretty good frame illustrations, but these are well-sized to illustrate some of Tarr’s fine points of staging. In all, this book is likely the definitive study of Tarr\u2019s art.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Museum pieces<\/strong><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

There\u2019s another way to make the case for an auteur\u2019s value: produce a dazzling book that pays tribute with gorgeous illustrations and informed critical commentary. This has been done by Taipei\u2019s Museum of Contemporary Art<\/a> in its catalogue King Hu: The Renaissance Man<\/em><\/strong>.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>The 2012 exhibition<\/a> it preserves in its pages went beyond the usual regimen of talks and panel discussions. There were children\u2019s events and in-person painting of film billboards. In one display, you could watch Tsui Hark\u2019s calligraphy form a tribute to his master (\u201cThe integrity of swordsmanship remains as the spirited rain\u2026.\u201d). An installation tableau by Tim Yip presents a modern woman watching King Hu TV appearances while texting, her vacant mind suspended between two spaces.<\/p>\n

Open the catalogue and you\u2019re greeted by a large gatefold that sums up King Hu\u2019s career. Thereafter, articles like Edmond Wong\u2019s study of King Hu\u2019s archetypes (derived from legend and theatre) supply the academic ballast, while images of the gallery displays fill up page after page. There are photo essays devoted to each of the films, as well as more gatefolds, illustrating themes such as \u201cThe Eight Characteristics of Inns in King Hu\u2019s Films.\u201d Just the hundred pages of King Hu documents\u2014stills, portraits and self-portraits, along with caricatures of Bill Clinton and Princess Di\u2014would be worth our attention. In all, this is the sort of museum show every cinephile dreams of visiting.<\/p>\n

Art historian Steven Jacobs, author of The Wrong House<\/em><\/a>, has collaborated with Lisa Colpaert to produce a dream of another sort. Their book invites you into an imaginary exhibition.<\/p>\n

Visualize a museum containing all the paintings you find in films of the 1940s and 1950s. Now assume that some diligent scholar has sniffed out the provenance of all of them and provided stylistic and thematic commentary. And now assume that the research is presented as a guide to this virtual museum, using all the paraphernalia of art-historical commentary.<\/p>\n

Confused? Here\u2019s the opening of one entry:<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

[III.9] Portrait of Lady Caroline de Winter<\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 (Unknown Artist, late 18th<\/sup> Century)<\/strong><\/p>\n

This full-length portrait represents Lady Caroline de Winter (1760-1808). The carefully rendered white dress, the column and curtains, and the vista of the landscape are unmistakably reminiscent of the portraits by Thomas Gainsborough, for instance his often-reproduced The Honourable Mrs. Graham (1775-1777). The landscape with trees probably stands for Manderley, the de Winter family estate on the Cornwall coast. For more than a century, the portrait was hanging in a long corridor in Manderley\u2019s east wing, which was decorated with ancestral de Winter portraits. In the 1930s, the portrait played an important part in the life of one of Lady Caroline\u2019s descendants, Maxim de Winter (Laurence Olivier). Maxim\u2019s first wife Rebecca died in mysterious circumstances and once had a copy made of the white dress on the occasion of a masquerade ball at Manderley. . . .<\/strong><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>This straight-faced experiment in creative criticism is called The Dark Galleries: A Museum Guide to Painted Portraits in Film Noir, Gothic Melodramas, and Ghost Stories of the 1940s and 1950s<\/em><\/strong><\/a>. All the conventions are there: the scene-setting introduction, the iconographic interpretations (\u201ccrimes and clues,\u201d \u201cpaintings concealing safes\u201d), and an exhibition guide that takes you from room to room, from Dying Portraits to Ghosts to Modern Portraits and more. They track the ways in which paintings in movies have altered time, refashioned faces, and, if the painting is disturbingly “modern,” signified madness and criminality. As zealous researchers, Steven and Lisa have done what they could to trace the provenance of the actual artifacts too, and they\u2019ve discovered a large number of commercial artists hired by the studios.<\/p>\n

A few years back at our summer film school<\/a>, Steven impressed me when he identified the famously puzzling cubist still life in Suspicion<\/em> as Picasso\u2019s Pitcher and Bowl of Fruit<\/em> (1931). The ultimate result of his and Lisa\u2019s efforts is at once charming and deeply serious, enlightening us about a major motif in Hollywood\u2019s \u201cdark cinema.\u201d It\u2019s an extraordinary accomplishment, and an ideal gift for the patriarch, matriarch, exotic woman, or mystery man in your life.<\/p>\n

\n

Thanks to Lin Wenchi for giving me the King Hu catalogue. I’m unable to find an online source for this book, but when I do I will note it here. In the meantime, the sponsoring museum produced several videos for the exhibition. YouTube supplies a playlist of them<\/a>. Our entries on this great director are here<\/a>. I discuss his work in more detail in the books\u00a0Planet Hong Kong<\/em> and Poetics of Cinema<\/em>.<\/p>\n

For more exercises in creative criticism, visit Hilde D’haeyere’s website<\/a> on silent comedy.<\/p>\n

For more thoughts on film criticism on this blog, go here<\/a> and here<\/a> and here<\/a>. A series on major American film critics of the 1940s starts here<\/a>.<\/p>\n

I record Joe Dante\u2019s visit to Madison here<\/a> and wrote about B\u00e9la Tarr\u2019s films in these entries<\/a>.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

F for Fake<\/strong> (1972).<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

The Woman in the Window (1944). O, gentle lady, do not put me to’t,\/ For I am nothing, if not critical. Iago, Othello DB here: Movie aficionados seem endlessly interested in film criticism\u2014not just in what a writer says about a film, but in the very idea of criticism. I\u2019ve suggested in a recent entry […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[224,42,45,74,57,34],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-26394","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-1940s-hollywood","category-books","category-directors-tarr","category-film-criticism","category-hollywood-aesthetic-traditions","category-people-we-like"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/26394","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=26394"}],"version-history":[{"count":28,"href":"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/26394\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":34661,"href":"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/26394\/revisions\/34661"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=26394"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=26394"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=26394"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}