The State of Film Criticism
The New Yorker review came out today. It was written by Anthony Lane, and like most of his reviews, was less about the film in question than about Mr. Lane's formidable wit. Mr. Lane writes well. He has a slithery ease with the pen which is almost reptilian in its meanderingness. If one loves the intricacies of prose (and I, for one, do), then one can read his reviews with real enjoyment. They are, in that sense, a form of entertainment, although of a resolutely recondite nature. The problem with Mr. Lane's reviews is that they don't tell one much about the film. In this sense, Mr. Lane is less the servant of the reader than its buffoon. He is like the court jester trying to spin everything into a joke, no matter its gravity or urgency or true import. This has, unfortunately, become the norm in film criticism. In the race to entertain to which we all must succumb in the end, content has been replaced with form. The ideal, it seems to me, would be a review in which content and form were one, but here content has been abandoned as too difficult, too demanding, and too much of a party pooper. So instead, critics don their party hats, and blow on their noise makers, and act drunk. It's alll fun. The problem with this form of criticism is that it is blind to seriousness (and I'm not talking about seriousness in the narrow sense of humorlessness). The breezy, ironic tone of most film critics (of whom Mr. Lane is only one of many, unfortunately), while arguably entertaining, in the end serves no one, but only contributes to the on-going debasement of public discourse. It makes one nostalgic for the film criticism of a James Agee, or a Jonathan Rosenbaum, whose reviews not only manage to avoid the showoffy fluffiness of a Mr. Lane, but are positively punctilious in their rigor and willingness to actually grapple with the moral and esthetic issues present in each individual film. Mr. Lane's review of my film is not negative, only irrelevant. He neither gets it nor addresses it. It is merely a pretext for him to wax eloquent about nothing whatsoever. According to him, the overriding reason to see my film is my uncanny resemblance to Harpo Marx. Well, it's very kind of him to say so, but whatever my resemblance to Harpo Marx may be, that's hardly the overriding reason to see my film. It is merely an example of Mr. Lane being funny (or at least thinking he's being funny). You're very funny, Mr. Lane. Keep up the great work. Posted by caveh on Apr 17, 2006 | Related
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