Whereas reading some Village Voice contributors requires a shower immediately afterward, others have enough of a clue to realize how lucky they actually are to be part of such a major New York institution (even if--gasp!--it is larger than themselves). And while the Voice he knows and loves may be headed straight for the rapids after half a century, a marvelous J. Hoberman this week stops just short of eulogizing the paper's role in NYC's film culture over the years:

How fortunate to grow up in central Queens in the mid '60s with high schools so overcrowded the board of ed instituted triple sessions and a senior like the [Teenage Me] finished classes by noon and had the rest of the day to take the No. 7 to the city and go to the movies. How lucky to have revival dumps like the Bleecker Street, the New Yorker, and the Thalia—not to mention the 42nd Street grind houses and the Museum of Modern Art. How essential were the Village Voice listings and the excitements of Messrs. [Jonas]Mekas and [Andrew] Sarris. ...

It was precisely because the Voice was so site specific, so committed to film culture as it was being made and experienced in New York City, that its coverage not only engaged the Teenage Me but cineastes all over the country and even the world. There's been an erosion of space and an imposition of format, but I'd like to believe that this readership is still there and that the commitment remains.

Well, of course the readership is still there. As far as the commitment goes, you might take that up with your new bosses. At any rate, Jim, rest assured you can always find a place at The Reeler--such consolation, I know, after being the film section's bedrock all these years. But as GreenCine's David Hudson so adroitly phrased it: "if Hoberman were starting out today, he'd probably be writing for his own blog and hoping that the pennies from the Google ads cover the cost of bandwidth." Hell, I will drink to that.