Roundtable: Film Criticism

Film Criticism: Evolution and Importance In the Digital Age

As part of the Two Week Film Collective (#2wkfilm), we are having roundtable discussions on aspects of independent film. Anyone is welcome to participate in these and this is the first one.

Introduction - By Reid Gershbein

Everything is created in context.  Understanding the context in which something is created is the key to unlocking the full potential of an artistic piece. The ancient architecture of Europe and Egypt was created at a specific stage of technological development and within a specific political landscape, and understanding these parameters makes experiencing these achievements even more enjoyable. Films are created within a context and the people who help reveal this world are film critics, this is why they are so important to cinema. Film critics help us understand the evolution of cinema and how we move from the French New Wave to Dogme 95 to Mumblecore to the next wave of cinema (or whether they are the same movement), which is adds a vast world of understanding when discussing new works in cinema.

The digital age has made the information about the environment in which a film is made much more accessible. Now when film critics reference new and old filmmakers, films, and movements, we all can quickly access the basic information on these topics and find references to more in-depth material if we desire. This allows us to reconstruct the environment of a film in a faster, more accessible way.  Film is also experienced by viewers who are personally dealing with particular issues, at specific times in their lives, and at a given place in history. The digital democratization of publishing allows anyone to write and share their reviews and criticism of film, which means that it is more possible than ever to find people who are writing about film from a point of view more similar to your own in every way.

Film criticism is important. The new context is exciting.

A New Auteur Theory for an Age of Social Media - By John Ott

Can a film possibly have a single author?  Even Robert Rodriguez, who wears more hats than the Village People, does not make his films alone.  And yet I continue to read reviews from mainstream film critics that speak of films being “by” the director.

This is the doing of the “Auteur Theory.”  I have a personal vendetta against the “Auteur Theory.”

My friends must be sick of hearing me talk about the “Auteur Theory” and the devastation it has wrought on not just American film schools, whose professors preach a director-centric approach to impressionable young filmmakers, but all of modern film criticism.  I hope my friends will humor me once more, because my feelings about the theory have lately undergone a subtle shift.

First, let me explain what I mean by the “Auteur Theory.”  The idea developed from the essays of French film critic Andre Bazin, (founder of film crit magazine Cahier du cinéma) and conjectures that certain stylish directors have an identifiable personal style analogous to great novelists. Film as a medium at the time Bazin was writing was the new kid on the block, and he felt the need to devote a lot of ink and intellect to convincing the public that it was an art form deserving the same respect as written literature.  He wanted them to think of the director as an author – in French, auteur – and praised the signature styles of directors like Alfred Hitchcock and Orson Welles.  I have no objection to saying directors have distinct styles. 

But after Bazin’s idea came to the United States and was filtered through such influential critics as Andrew Sarris and Pauline Kael, the Auteur Theory came to mean that the director is the only author of a film, and his or her contribution is the only one worth discussing in serious criticism.  Hollywood has not been immune to this virus, and directors have seen contractual gains that go beyond currency.  From this era came the “directors cut.”  And, ever since this notion possessed the discourse, the great majority of films have been cursed with the so-called vanity credit, ‘A film by’ -- not because every director feels the need to have his or her name appear twice in the credits, but because he or she feels the need to pay fealty to Auteurist orthodoxy.

The good news is that this debilitating dictatorship is now beset on all sides by democracy. The explosion of personal movie logs with single-minded devotion to pet positions means one can read thoughtful analysis of recent releases in terms of screenwriting, cinematography, composing, sound design, editing... even from the perspective of a PA. When non-Auteurist voices proliferate, it becomes easy to recognize the absurdity of the “Auteur Theory.” (It is said that screenwriter William Goldman, when told the Auteur Theory asked, “What’s the punchline?”)

So what will the world be like with less print film critics and more web critics?  It’s always been a pretty open secret that television and newspaper film critics have little effect on the box office, and that their reviews can be softened by junkets and freebies.  To the average moviegoer, the only review that counts is word of mouth, and it can’t be bought.

Or can it?  I’m not talking about the sites that make arrangements between advertisers and influencers, pay-to-tout payola for the social media age.  I’m talking about good storytelling.

The most important part of any review, whether from a professional critic or your Uncle Tony is this: what's the story?  Sure, the cast does factor in, or a known director or producer, but mostly as a shortcut to a sense of what type of story it is.  An AIDS drama produced by Merchant-Ivory vs. an AIDS drama produced by Jerry Bruckheimer.

I’m not going to lie and say the playing field is level between indies and Hollywood.  Hollywood will always be able to buy name talent and known franchises.  But the indie filmmaker has always had access to word of mouth, and word of mouth just got its hands on the social media megaphone.

Now everyone is, literally, a critic.  Whereas before we might share our movie opinions with a few friends, now we tweet it or facebook it for all our friends and acquaintances.  Whereas before we’ve had to rely on a few gatekeepers with press credentials, now we can rely on the consensus of our wider peer group, or turn to an internet critic whose opinion we trust.  Say what you want about Ain’t It Cool News, but they demonstrated how massive the fanboy audience was, and how truly under-represented it was.  I’m looking forward to the emergence of other iceberg audiences, whose depth we do not yet fathom.  Hollywood can’t afford to make movies for audiences Hollywood doesn’t know exist, indies can’t afford not to.

So what is the role of the director in an age where audiences understand film as a collaborative medium, a movie as a chaos of creative voices between two darknesses?  It’s the same as it’s always been: to direct the damn thing.

Directing is no piece of cake, but in many ways the Hollywood director is less responsible for the existence of a film than his indie cousin.  The Hollywood director is a replaceable cog in a big machine.

Instead of praising these directors, new criticism should praise filmmakers, the people who can make a film happen out of nothing, the indie filmmaker who, against all laws of respectability and economics –  especially economics – with steady work and fast talk, with devotion and determination, with rugged individualism and creative collaboration, is able to distill a story into cinema and place it before the eyes and minds of a receptive audience.

I call this maker-filmmaker an auteur, an author of his or her own destiny.

The Auteur Theory is dead.  Long live the Auteur Theory.

John Ott is a filmmaker living in Los Angeles.  He runs the website Making the Movie (www.makingthemovie.info) and can be found @johnott on the Twitters.

Film Criticism in the Internet Age - By Chuck Tryon

This is a response to Reid Gershbein's call for contributions to a roundtable titled, "Film Criticism: Evolution and Importance In the Digital Age," part of The Two Week Film Collective project, in which Reid has invited filmmakers to make a film in two weeks, with the participating films to be screened in several cities in the United States and abroad. Because these are issues I've explored briefly in my forthcoming book, Reinventing Cinema, I couldn't resist revisiting them here.

In his call for participants in the “Two Week Film Collective,” Reid Gershbein also asks for volunteers to review the films and to participate in a series of panels, the first, fittingly enough, focused on “Film Criticism: Evolution and Importance In the Digital Age” (itself an implicit response to Alejandro Adams' recent roundtable on self-distribution). The question of the role of film criticism has been widely debated over the last several years as new modes of production and distribution have emerged, challenging, even upending, the traditional independent film distribution models that have operated for the last several decades. At the same time, the traditional sites where indie filmmakers could get reviews, alternative weeklies and even major dailies, have been cutting back on the number of reviewers, a concession to plummeting advertising revenue and a struggling economy. Instead we witness the proliferation of unaffiliated or semi-affiliated, blog-based critics (or, in many cases, reviewers), who can help to establish word-of-mouth about a new film. So what happens to the role of the film critic here? This is a somewhat tentative, roundabout attempt to answer that question.

First, it’s worth noting that these debates have been evolving for several years, and in fact two recent documentaries, Sujewa Ekanayake’s Indie Film Bloggers Road Trip (full disclosure: I appear in Sujewa's film) and Gerald Peary’s For the Love of Movies have sought, to varying degrees, to engage with these changes. In print, this ongoing debate surfaces every few months, reminding us that the traditional definitions of film criticism, addressed in this post by David Bordwell (note: in my response, I attempt a brief taxonomy of some of the possible modes of blog-based criticism), are in the process of revision, especially when many film bloggers are themselves filmmakers and when the production of information is increasing exponentially. Here, Clive Davies-Frayne, as part of Alejandro’s roundtable, offers one solution that may work for the filmmaking set: “promote the whole of your scene with integrity and passion.” In other words: acknowledge your biases but also make abundantly clear what you like about the film cultures in which you participate, whether as a filmmaker, critic, or both.

Second, as Bordwell’s post reminds us, definitions matter. Often when participants are involved in this conversation, they are most concerned about the critic as reviewer, someone who can evaluate the strengths or weaknesses of a given movie. Thumbs up, thumbs down. Thumbs half-way. Four stars or two. Are your tomatoes rotten or ripe? While many of my blog entries operate loosely in this evaluative mode, I have to admit that it’s a form of writing that I find uninteresting and uninspiring even while I recognize its value, especially for independent filmmakers who are more likely to rely upon word-of-mouth support rather than buying millions of dollars worth of ads during primetime TV. I don’t want to tell you whether you should see Wolverine or not (although, to be honest, you probably shouldn’t); I want to talk about Wolverine and what it’s doing or saying, why it might matter beyond being mere entertainment. For me, film criticism is inevitably evaluation. We write about movies we like dislike based on specific criteria that may (or may not) correspond to more traditional popular tatses. But film criticism is also more than that. It also involves interpretation and analysis, among other practices.

Instead, I’m more interested in operating in a liminal space somewhere between the traditional essay and what Bordwell calls the “critical essay,” the informed article or essay or blog entry written for a popular audience that seeks to make sense of a current trend in popular (or independent) cinema. These were often understood as “think-pieces” for major newspapers or film magazines, and they can often fuel larger conversations about the social role of movies or about what movies might be saying about our political culture. This is, perhaps, one of the reasons I find myself negotiating between contradictory impulses both in my blog and in my scholarly research: on the one hand, I am interested in thinking about films as offering sites for political discussion, asking, for example, what The Dark Knight can tell us about surveillance and vigilante justice or what Iron Man call tell us about the military-industrial complex. On the other, I am interested in the ongoing, and self-perpetuating, conversations about the possibilities and challenges raised by the new models of production and distribution, and these debates offer, from my perspective, one of the more compelling (though far from the only) places where the desire for more democratic models of filmmaking and film distribution are being theorized. Reconciling these approaches might look something like the "research essay" that Bordwell calls for at the end of his blog post, especially when we begin talking about the DIY, independent, and documentary films that may benefit more readily from evaluative reviews and commentary from enthusiastic bloggers.

As production costs plummet, anyone, it would seem, can lay claim to the status of being a movie maker. And we have seen a number of movies, including Be Kind Rewind and Son of Rambow, that romanticize the processes of amateur production. Both of these films imagine production models in which fans become producers, thereby removing the layer of alienation that distances them from Hollywood blockbusters. Both films "demystify" the production process through the use of cheap, homemade effects, and some of the most entertaining scenes in Be Kind Rewind show the main characters, Jerry, Mike, and Alma, improvising special effects: grabbing rubbish from a nearby dump for Robocop’s costume, using box fans to simulate aging, worn film, or building cardboard cut-outs of cars from the 1930s. And, of course, the villains in Be Kind Rewind are the studio executives who fail to see these homemade films for what they are: acts of creation that build upon familiar stories and characters but remake them for their own purposes. Like many other successful films, both Rewind and Rambow offer populist fantasies, fables about the possibilities for creativity. But at the same time, both films also underscore the importance of movies—and even movie making—as tools for making sense of our daily lives.

I mention these fictional narratives about self-distribution in such detail because I think they depict some of the logic that permeates discussions of self-distribution and, in turn, the related changes that are talking place in the realm of film criticism. To be sure, there is quite a bit of disagreement over what counts as “self-distribution” and whether it is viable or not. If anything, the range of positions articulated during Alejandro’s roundtable illustrate that it is a “concept” marked by competing definitions and desires, and quite often it is easy to romanticize the independent artist operating outside the studio system. A number of filmmakers, Gershbein included, see their goal as creating movies that will inspire conversation. Others discuss the challenges faced by DIY filmmakers in negotiating the festival schedules and submission deadlines. Many of them emphasize the importance of reviews in establishing early interest in a film, especially in the midst of what Jarrod Whaley describes as “a market flooded with mediocrities.” In other words, Chris Anderson’s widely discussed “celestial jukebox” (or infinite multiplex) has too many selections. On the "infinite aisle," it’s too easy to get lost.

Here, the proliferation of cheap production technologies and the access to seemingly unlimited distribution space and tools (such as DVDs, streaming video) run up against the challenge of reaching the appropriate audience. In the Indiewood fables of production that audience is readily available: it is the cast members and the community of participants eager to see themselves and their productions onscreen. For other filmmakers, however, this luxury isn’t always available. And as a result, DIY filmmakers have been forced to invent new modes of distribution and exhibition, even new storytelling models in order to reach that wider audience. Will Luers, in his contribution to Alejandro’s panel, makes a case for “the need to change our thinking away from the 70-100 minute feature film,” whether that entails new models of transmedia storytelling or something else. Thus, the film text expands beyond the boundaries of the film itself, challenging the critic to take into account the more diffuse ways in which audiences can enter into the world of a film. Rethinking the storytelling possibilities open to filmmakers, in part by rethinking distribution, becomes an act of creativity. This doesn't mean we should do away with the feature film or that all indie filmmakers should pour precious resources into making "supplemental"materials when they are not inclined to do so. It does recognize that these processes of production, distribution, and exhibition are embedded in a larger mediascape. This is movie criticism in the age of Twitter, where conversations happen fast, exploding in a stream of hashtags and retweets, aphorisms and imprecisions. And yet, these over-caffeinated, imprecisely aggregated conversations remind us that movies matter.

To this end, I would like to see a new model of film criticism, one that takes into account this diffuse text and one that recognizes the ways in which filmmakers are actively involved in the process of critically analyzing the modes of production and distribution. Like John Thornton Caldwell, writing in his excellent book, Production Culture, I am aware of the fact that “many film/television workers…critically analyze and theorize their tasks in provocative and complex ways” (2). These questions constantly animate debates about independent and DIY film, as audiences eagerly seek out texts that will demystify the production process. In short, I am interested in a film criticism that fosters a wider dialogue about the production process itself and the possibilities it offers while continuing to attend to the stuff of movies: narrative, storytelling, performance, visual style. To some extent, I am challenging the idea that the product—the film itself—can be separated from the processes of production, distribution, and promotion. While the film may find its way to viewers in a variety of contexts—I don’t believe there will ever be a single “black box” through which all of our content is disseminated—it is shaped by the “production cultures” in which it was made. Movies are material objects. They are also cultural objects, the expressions of the hopes, fantasies, fears, and desires of filmmakers and their audiences. We do nee critics who can help in the taste-making process, collaborators in the filtering of the massive number of films that are being made today. We also need more critics who can match and engage with the theoretical work being done by the filmmakers themselves and who can reconcile all of these modes of writing (though not necessarily in the space of a single blog entry).

Chuck Tryon is an Assistant Professor of Film and Media Studies at Fayetteville State University, writes the blog The Chutry Experiment, and is @chutry on Twitter.

Jason Saves the World (through Film Criticism) - By Jason Wiener

As a movie fan first and foremost, and an amateur movie blogger a distant second, I am filled with a seething ambivalence towards film criticism. Let me explain:

First, let me explain my view as a movie fan. There are no critics that I follow with any sort of regularity. The last time I recall having a preference for a critic was back in college, when all my friends agreed that we preferred “that guy in the LA Times who doesn't really say if a movie is good or bad, but tells you what type of person would like the movie.” I'm not even sure who that was. That's how much I care about film criticism.

It's not that I completely don't care what other people think before I see a movie. At film festivals, I get a little obsessive asking people what's good (the joy of having an all-access pass but not enough time to see everything). That sort of word of mouth is as valid as any professional criticism. Often more so, if it's coming from someone I know (and more importantly, someone who knows my tastes).

And on those increasingly rare days between festivals when I want to catch up on whatever's good (if anything) in wide release, I'll check the critics for a recommendation. And here's where the Internet has changed things for me. Now instead of reading my local critic of record, I go to a review aggregation site like RottenTomatoes.com and get a quick snapshot of the consensus. It's efficient, avoids spoilers, and reduces the quality of a movie to a number. Two of those three points are good.

While I'm not a big consumer of movie criticism, I do recognize that it has value. Specifically, it has value in informing you of movies you haven't heard of before, and it has value in setting the right expectations. More on the former point later, for now I want to address the latter point (as an aside, I consider panning a movie to be a subset of the latter-setting the expectation that a movie will suck).

I'm always torn over whether I actually want to know what to expect when I see a movie. Some of my favorite movies are ones that just fit a timeslot in a festival and I had absolutely no idea what to expect. On the other hand, wrong expectations have ruined movies for me. Back in 2003, I saw a film called HORROR by Dante Tomaselli. It was at a weekend of horror movies capping that year's Indiefest. I expected horror-and I got a goat, weirdness and the amazing Kreskin. I didn't know what to make of it. 2 years later Tomaselli's follow-up SATAN'S PLAYGROUND played at the Another Hole in the Head horror/fantasy/sci-fi festival. The festival programmer (who had also programmed HORROR at Indiefest), mentioned in the introduction that Tomaselli doesn't really make horror movies; he makes surrealist movies using horror tropes. One little sentence put me in the right mindset to enjoy SATAN'S PLAYGROUND (which was awesome).

If you, like so many of my friends, saw the trailers for PAN'S LABYRINTH and then saw that critics loved it (but didn't look closely at what you said), you might think it was a child's fantasy adventure, and wouldn't know to prepare for the darker elements (it's not a fantasy story so much as the story of a child escaping harsh reality through fantasy). I was surprised by it, but easily adjusted. Most of my friends needed that warning to enjoy it.

I could go on. Saying CANARY (Cinequest) is a sci-fi movie about organ repossession does not put you in the right mindset. Saying BULLET TO THE HEAD (SF International Film Festival) is a tense crime thriller doesn't either.

Traditional criticism, even if it reduces a movie to # of stars or how erect the guy in the seat is, still serves the value of setting expectations. Or rather, it could. All the examples I've given above are from direct word of mouth (either friends or a festival programmer introducing a film). Traditional film critics have to fill a minimum word count, and so usually end up giving me more details (i.e., spoilers) than I want.

Problem: The current world of film criticism serves people who enjoy reading reviews, or people who want to reduce criticism to a number. Does it serve someone who quickly wants to know what mindset to start in when seeing a movie? I haven't found where. Can it? I assume there could be a solution online. Maybe twitter reviews are more appropriate for what I want? Still, the problem would be finding the reviews, and I'd rather just see a crappy movie than sift the twitterverse trying to find a bit of useful information.

And that problem of how a film fan can connect with the right review brings me to my second role.

I'm a blogger, and could charitably call myself a reviewer, but I'm not a critic. I say this simply because I like movies about a million times more than I like being a critic. In fact, I'm a person who goes to every movie wanting to fall in love with it. Often I do, and as soon as it's over, I want to fall in love with another movie. I'm a movie slut. So if you go to my site (jasonwatchesmovies.blogspot.com) looking to know why a movie might suck, don't bother (conversely, if I pan a movie, it really, really sucked).

As a blogger, I routinely check how many visitors I get and where they're coming from. Only a small fraction come to learn about a movie they might want to see. By far the most popular search is some variation of "Christian Bale apple diet Machinist" (I replicated his famous crash diet for a week, documenting the results). And there are other completely unintended results. After reviewing FORGIVING THE FRANKLINS and YOUR MOMMY KILLS ANIMALS (at Indiefest 2007), I became the top search result for "animal sex movies blogspot" (ewww). After writing about a short film called BUTTON MAN, directed by Tori Belleci of MYTHBUSTERS fame, I got a few search results for "Tori Belleci naked" (sorry readers, I have no pictures for you). On the flip side, after seeinf the Czech new wave classic VALERIE AND HER WEEK OF WONDERS I can state with confidence that there is nobody on the entire Internet searching for underage Czech incest porn (I know, it surprised me, too).

After the strange semi-irrelevant search results, probably my next biggest audience (at least judging by the e-mail and comments I get) is filmmakers looking for news about their film. That's cool, and if my site does little more than give filmmakers encouragement or advice, I'm pretty happy. But not as happy as I could be.

I pretend I don't care if anyone reads my blog, but more and more there's a specific audience I want to reach. At festivals, I'll often recommend my favorite movies to people. At Cinequest last year there was a strange low budget film called THE END. It wasn't really getting a lot of buzz that I heard (possibly because the description was so circumspect about the enormous twist that it was hard to tell what it was about). But I saw it and loved it. I told a friend about it, and a couple of days later he passed by me and said "Hey Jason, you're right, THE END was awesome! Thank you." That gave me a semi-chub. I want that to happen more.

There are a couple of important points about that anecdote. First, he didn't actually get a review from my blog, but straight from my mouth. Second, he was already at a festival with a pass to see whatever he wanted. He was my perfect audience--someone who's going to take a chance on some movie, and just needs a nudge towards a good one.

Problem: Most of the time my audience is already searching for word about a specific movie. If you've never heard of LA ANTENA/THE AERIAL (my favorite film I saw in 2008), you're unlikely to stumble across my review. I don't just want people who've heard of a movie and want to learn more. How do I bring my reviews to people who haven't heard of a movie but want to take a chance on something new? Does that audience even exist? Is there a site for them? Can it? When I want to know of obscure movies or local festivals, I have my usual cadre of local bloggers and all the art house theater websites. Can we pool resources, put this all in one site, and attract the adventurous audience that just doesn't know where to go? I propose the creation of Moviesyouveneverheardof.com (title subject to change). Pool content from bloggers, festivals, and art house theaters. Create an IMDb for indier than indie films, which will keep you updated on theatrical, DVD, and online distribution.

Someone with more time and Internetting skills than I should take this idea and run with it. I know that's a cop out, but I really don't have the time. I have a real job that pays well (well enough to support my 400 movies/year habit). Writing what I do on my blog is already a huge task. In fact, if this essay seems rambling and incoherent, it might be because I'm finishing the first draft on my phone while BARTing to the 10 am members screening at SFIFF.

I just realized I never really explained the "seething ambivalence" in my first line. I guess simply put I can get along just fine without film criticism or an audience for my reviews. But when I think about it, I'm struck by how much better it could be.

Jason Wiener watches 400 movies a year, writes the blog Jason Watches Movies, and is @puppermeat on Twitter. 

Criticism Observed as a Religious Order - By M. Leary

In To Criticize the Critic, T.S. Eliot described four different kinds of critics that have since remained in circulation. The Professional Critic (also referred to as the Super Reviewer) is the person that had a recognizable byline back when we had newspapers and magazines, and even sections dedicated to film in these handy organic devices. The Critic With Gusto is that person who is already a fan of what they choose to review. Sometimes this criticism is the default mode of marketing copy, but a good kind of Gusto happens when critics go out of their way to champion a film or director that hasn’t gotten the attention they deserve. The Academic or Theoretical Critic can typically be found in the places we associate with high-brow analysis. Not that there is anything wrong with that. And then there is the Critic Who Is Also a Poet. Eliot put himself and Coleridge in this last category, but Tarkovsky and Dorksy also quickly come to mind.

This kind of functional taxonomy is helpful from the perspective of the reader, and have been the standard channels of reader expectation ever since. Overall, Eliot’s categories are an accurate ad hoc template for the kinds of film writing we encounter on a daily basis. But then again, these categories are holdovers from an age dominated by the idea that the only real criticism is instrumental. The Critic and the Artist were considered capital entities, and the difference was maintained at all costs. This is no longer the case. While vestiges of the difference may still linger in many print and online publications, the growing tide of non-traditional marketing and media sources and their relation to film distribution throws a monkey wrench directly into Eliot’s gears. Web 2.0 has changed the lay of the land. Gusto has become Professional. Professional has become Theoretical. And, even more thrilling, the Poet has become Academic.

The word “democratized” is often tossed around in this context. In the French New Wave, film production methods had become democratized. It was very exciting for everyone involved. It was almost exactly what Walter Benjamin had famously described in his “Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction.” He argued that in the industrial age, a certain aura which had been attached to the experience of art for so many centuries had finally begun to dissipate. This aura involved all the external circumstances of a specific work of art. For example: You walked into a gallery or a church to see a particular painting. This was the only place you can see it. It was authenticated as having been painted by someone famous. It was owned by some rich person who is now allowing you to see it. It had a great historical significance as an object. But now that this painting could be reduplicated as a postcard or in a newspaper, it lost the aura that gave it cultural value as a singular, hallowed object.

All the ritual that had developed around the experience of art was linked to social and religious power structures that were essentially the gatekeepers of these objects. But now, in the age of mechanical reproduction, art was given back to the masses. It had been democratized. It was now the tool of a much less aristocratic form of politics.

Fast-forward to the French New Wave, specifically to André Bazin’s “The Festival at Cannes Observed as a Religious Order.” In the essay he describes the experience of Cannes much like Benjamin described the aura of art. All the promotion and marketing, the celebrity culture that had developed around the scene, squabbling juries – Bazin saw an eerie religious fervor in these modernized forms of ritual. And unfortunately, it was one that that maintained footholds in film distribution and production. It reduced the critic to a necessary component of the ritual, extending the aura through periodical publications. But sown throughout Bazin’s life and work are these ideas that film criticism could also be democratized. Its connection to film could be vital, constructive, even political. It could be explored on the fly in festivals, cinema clubs, and fringe journals. Film criticism in a very real way could be as open to the amateur as film production had become.

I see a lot of Bazin in the current blurring of Eliot’s categories – the Bazin that wanted to go even a little bit farther than Benjamin. What is the contemporary analogue to André Bazin riding his bike through the streets of occupied Paris with a few clandestine reels tucked under his coat? I am pretty sure it is the critic or filmmaker that is able to emerge from the link-dumps, self-promotions, festival juries, and flurries of PR emails with valuable critiques or screeners. I think we can embrace the blur, jump into it with both feet, and sort it all out in the Great Conversation that has now moved on from Eliot’s categories into Twitter.

M. Leary is currently co-editor of Filmwell.org and is @m_leary on Twitter.

Comments

[luke mccann]

Hello,
My name is Luke McCann and I am the General Manager of Peoria Theater in Peoria, IL.
I wanted to inquire about the possibility of showing your film 'Broken Arrows' in the coming weeks. We are the area's only independent film and event center and the only
theater in Illinois dedicated to showing lesser-known films (documentaries, local
filmmakers, independents, foreign films etc..) with a full bar! I would love to do
something. Let me know if this is a possibility.