Category Archives: Everyone’s a Critic

Everyone's a Critic, Reflections

The role of the critic

The critic’s job is to articulate their unique personal reaction to something in a way that an audience finds useful. The “something” in this case can be virtually anything created or designed by humans: media texts such films, albums, and books; or cultural experiences like restaurants, theatrical performances and exhibitions.

Though it’s true that anyone can be a critic, that doesn’t mean that everyone is a critic by default. Engaging in criticism is a deliberate act, an attempt by the critic to understand and analyse culture from their own unique perspective. What defines a “unique perspective” is open to interpretation too: some critics use their knowledge and familiarity with their chosen subject to stake a claim to expertise; others use their identity and life experience to provide a unique voice to their audience. Ultimately, if a person is able to inform and entertain an audience while analysing and reacting to cultural artefacts, they can rightfully claim to be a critic.

An audience is crucial to the practice of criticism, because if a critic is not writing for an audience (real or imagined), they are not writing criticism but a personal journal. A critic is only a critic if they present their unique perspective to an audience, large or small.

Just as there are many different types of critics, and many different ways to engage in criticism, there are many different ways audiences value criticism, too. Some people use criticism as a kind of consumer guide, telling them which movies or books are worth their time, while others see criticism as an art form of its own. This has shifted over time, as the avenues for traditional criticism have dwindled and the internet has opened up new possibilities. Today there are far fewer opportunities for critics to engage in the traditional profession of criticism (being published in print, and paid for their work), but there are virtually infinite opportunities to engage in the practice of criticism. What’s important is that the critic finds their audience, whomever that may be.

When deciding who their audience is, and what their voice is, the critic needs to consider a number of factors – these were outlined to us by Alexandra Heller-Nicholas, and I think they beautifully summarise the most important things for critics to understand in their own work:

Taste: by itself, taste – saying “this is good” or “this is bad” – is not criticism. It says nothing about the art but plenty about the critic. Taste can be used to inform criticism, but must only be used as a jumping-off point for the analysis, contextualisation and evaluation of the art.

Privilege and bias: especially today, it is important for the critic to consider who they are and why they should be the person to criticise something. This is central to the idea that each person’s perspective is “unique” – what makes the critic’s point-of-view their own also gives them privileges and biases that must be kept in check.

Context and opinion: critics are responsible for providing an opinion – their opinion – on art, but their audience also expects them to place art in a wider context, to compare it to what has come before.

In this context, I found it incredibly interesting to read A.O. Scott’s Better Living Through Criticism throughout the semester. Scott is a prominent, traditional, white, male film critic, one of the few afforded the privilege of engaging in the profession of criticism – and at one of the world’s most prestigious print newspapers, the New York Times. His form of criticism is something I aspire to, but one which is virtually impossible for anyone but a very select few to achieve, and which is slowly becoming less and less culturally relevant. Scott contends that criticism is art and art is criticism – that just as criticism needs art in order to have a subject matter to criticise, art is valued and given cultural meaning by criticism. Art, by its very nature of responding to and reflecting the culture in which it was created, is a form of criticism. This is something that hasn’t changed with criticism’s shift from traditional to new-media forms – art and criticism are still engaged in a conversation with one another, thousands of years old and showing no sign of ceasing, even if the A.O. Scotts of the world are diminishing in influence and importance.

Criticism has been moving into new frontiers for decades, and this has been accelerating with the internet changing the face of the media and communication. Not only are there an ever-expanding number of new forms of media to be criticised, there are new platforms and formats for critics to practice their craft: curation, recaps and video essays are just three such formats.

One area that has become particularly fertile ground for criticism is the personal essay. Since art and culture is often so closely tied to personal identity, critics are increasingly mining their own life experiences to inform their unique perspective. Though traditional critics might argue that personal essays are too subjective, and do not attempt to objectively assess or evaluate a particular work of art, audiences clearly find value in them. It’s important to note, though, that even in this flurry of new platforms and outlets, the rules still apply: the critic should have wide cultural or personal experience, good taste, they should consider their privilege and bias, and always write with an audience in mind.

Standard
Everyone's a Critic, Thoughts

Richard Brody, professional writer

Given that we’ve been thinking and talking so much about editing this week, I thought I’d share something I came across on Facebook:

Note that the highlighted section is A SINGLE SENTENCE. There are so many ideas packed into this sentence that I had to read it three or four times just to parse all of its clauses. I love Richard Brody’s reviews, and obviously he would put more care into something he planned to publish than he would a quick Facebook post, but it was kind of shocking (and strangely reassuring) to see writing like this from an award-winning film critic.

Standard
Everyone's a Critic, Reflections

Alexandra Heller-Nicholas, taste and privilege

I was slightly miffed to miss half of Monday’s class, as the amazing Alexandra Heller-Nicholas came in to spend the session with us writing, editing and workshopping reviews of a short film. I’ve long been a fan of her writing and regularly listen to her radio show Plato’s Cave — in fact, I guess I could call her my RRR colleague now? *brushes imaginary dirt off shoulder*

I’m pleased to report that she’s just as delightful in person as she is on radio, and she’s the rare kind of writer that is somehow as eloquent and quick-witted when talking off-the-cuff in person as she is in her writing. Alex’s introductory presentation to the class was basically the perfect summary of what we’ve covered in the studio so far this semester, and I found her ideas about privilege and ego to be particularly relevant to me — as a white male, I will endeavour to keep them in mind. Here are the notes I took:

It’s not just what you say, it’s about how you say it.

What is (and what isn’t) good film criticism? Things to think about:

  • Taste
    • “Taste classifies and it classifies the classifier” — Bourdieu
    • Film criticism often says more about the critic than the art — i.e. ‘taste posturing’. Taste tells us nothing on its own, critics have and use taste but you need to keep it in check
  • Privilege and bias
    • Gender
    • Class — to be able to talk about art is by definition a privileged position
    • Ego privilege — who are you to talk about art from authority?
  • Audience
    • Always keep your audience in mind — i.e. adults writing reviews of kids films for other adults, is there value in that?
  • Scale and detail
    • 5 minutes on radio vs 30 minutes on radio vs 1 hour podcast — very different things
    • How much detail you need to take in depends on the size of the piece you’re working on
  • History
    • Most people don’t want a history lesson, but you need to prove that you have a handle on what you’re talking about
  • Context vs opinion
    • Film critic’s job is to provide context and to make a judgment based on that context
    • Opinion is more closely aligned to taste — you can bring taste and opinion into a review, but it must be in context

When watching a film:

  • Take as many notes as you can, whether you can see their relevance or not
  • Trust your instinct to guide you, but not govern you
  • Keep an open mind

When writing about a film:

  • Ask “why do people care what I might think?”
  • Ask “what perspective can I give that is useful for someone who doesn’t know me?”
Standard
Everyone's a Critic, Reflections

Pitching my final piece

On Monday we pitched ideas for our major portfolio pieces to the class. I’m continually impressed and jealous of the great ideas people in the studio come up with — their ideas had a ton of variety and personality, while mine are pretty straightforward by comparison.

I have two options in mind for my piece. I’ve been thinking about the idea of expressing criticism through video rather than text, so both of my ideas are subjects that would lend themselves to visual presentation if that’s the way I end up going. My plan is to outline/sketch each piece in writing before turning one into a video essay, so I can keep all of my options open for the final piece (and giving me an out if I find the video process too difficult and have to go back to text). I’ve been watching a lot of video essayists on YouTube in preparation (in particular nerdwriter1, YMS and Dan Golding), and I’m really excited to give it a go myself.

Option 1: After making a number of films with clear and admitted stylistic influences (i.e. Robert Altman, Martin Scorsese), Paul Thomas Anderson perfected his voice with There Will Be Blood.

Option 2: The symbolism and significance of food, cooking and eating in the films of Hirokazu Koreeda, particularly focusing on Still Walking, Like Father Like Son and Our Little Sister (and perhaps widening out to the significance of food in Japanese culture/film generally?).

Standard
Everyone's a Critic, Reflections

Curation

Is curation a form of criticism, or are the two disciplines closely related?

  • Historically, both curation and criticism were professions that required formal training and knowledge
  • Today, you don’t need to possess a particular expertise to be a curator, but it helps
  • Today, you don’t need to be able to think critically about your subject to be a curator, but it helps
  • Ultimately, your success or failure as a curator or critic depends on your ability to find and connect with an audience

The more I think about curatorship, and especially its most liberal definition (i.e. curation = selection), the more I recognise how pervasive it is in my life.

I curate my social media feeds every day, tailoring them by following or unfollowing other profiles that suit my interests, and hiding content I don’t care to see.

On a regular basis I read articles with titles like “The ten best milkshakes in Melbourne”, which is a form of curation — though these articles are surely paid for and influenced by Big Milkshake.

When I want to dive into a new genre of music, I often do so by reading the curated “Ultimate Box Set” guides on RateYourMusic.

Last week I presented an episode of The Graveyard Shift on RRR — the playlist, which took me forever to put together, is definitely an exercise in curation.

Even the cultural criticism websites I read every day perform a type of curation, by choosing which films/albums to cover. By choosing to review a particular piece of media, the website is essentially saying “this is something worth discussing”, which in itself is an act of curation.

Having said all that, curation requires less of an intellectual rigour than criticism does — at least, less than the form of criticism that I’m interested in. The idea of a future as a “curator” fills me with disgust, but luckily no one really cares what I think and so there is no danger of too many people listening to my recommendations.

Standard
Everyone's a Critic, Reflections

Yossi Klein, creative description

Yossi Klein, publisher of Bread Wine & Thou, came and spoke with us in class on Monday. I was surprised (and slightly amazed) that Yossi spent the whole three hours with us chatting about his creative practice, his personal history, his thoughts on writing and publishing, print vs online, the value of writing courses, etc. It was an inspiring and creatively satisfying session, and has given me a bit of a boost. I’ve always thought that I can write but I have nothing to say; Yossi was fantastically reassuring and told us that everyone has a little bit of the storyteller in them, it’s a way of seeing the world that you can develop and exercise over time.

Today we worked through a creative writing/description exercise where we were given a paragraph of boring, unimaginative text and tasked with re-writing one sentence to be more descriptive. I’ve always struggled with description exercises, but today’s was actually quite rewarding — I think a major part of it was that we could choose the sentence that we wanted to re-write, so that gave us the opportunity to pick a sentence that spoke to us or that we thought we could improve most.

As I’ve been realising over the last few weeks, the more I write, the more I want to write. And the better I write. And the better I want to write. I hope we have time to do some more writing exercises, because they’re immensely helpful and it’s also great fun to listen to other people read their work. I thought everyone in the class, even though their results were very different, really nailed the exercise.

My sentence was: “At work I went to my desk and there was a note to go and see the boss.”

Here’s my re-written version (it’s a first draft but I think I feel comfortable enough to share it here):

I steered my car into the basement car park, hoping that the grimy walls and dim lighting would provide adequate cover for an advance towards the elevator. Locking my car with the key instead of the fob to avoid the betrayal of a loud sharp beep, I snuck swiftly and stealthily towards the doors, but before I could complete my silent approach I heard the unmistakeable click clack of high-heels on asphalt. Diving around a corner, I hoped that in my fright I hadn’t drawn unnecessary attention to myself. The clicks stayed in perfect regularity with the clacks, and I knew I was golden. Craning my neck to identify the owner of the heels, I decided it was safer to wait in the safety of my makeshift cocoon as the woman entered the elevator and ascended away.

Suddenly I realised that although I was behind a pylon I was still helplessly exposed on three sides, a sitting duck waiting for a boss or co-worker to wander past and find me. I stayed perfectly still and silent, praying that the elevator would return quickly. After what felt like an eternity I heard the sweet, low rumble as it returned to its default position in the basement, and with a ding it opened, inviting me into its welcoming embrace. I rushed forward and dived in, mashing the close door button with the furious stab of my finger, and the doors slowly, steadily creaked closed. It was as if the elevator had no idea the hurry I was in. Safely ensconced, I let out a heaving sigh. Mission accomplished.

Then, with a sinking feeling I realised that the real battle was ahead of me. The office floor. No-mans land. I had to throw caution to the wind and just go for it.

Ducking, weaving, diving, and sneaking from cubicle wall to cubicle wall through the open plan office like a pantomime jailbreak in a silent movie, I couldn’t believe that no one had noticed me. Allowing myself a silent moment to curse whoever it was that decided offices work better with cubicles than closing doors, I made a final triumphant leap into the three-square-metre space that had been assigned to me those years ago. I slumped into my chair, allowing my bag to drop heavily at my feet. I chuckled, triumphant in victory. I had done it.

My eyes fell onto my keyboard, and the crumpled piece of lined note paper perched delicately on top of it. I don’t remember leaving that there yesterday.

Standard
Everyone's a Critic, Thoughts

Person to Person / My Friend Dahmer

PERSON TO PERSON ★★★½

Dustin Guy Defa’s breezy second feature follows a group of characters all navigating an inflection point in their lives during the course of one autumn day in New York City.

Claire (Abbi Jacobson), on her first day as a journalist for a pulpy tabloid, shadows the morally ambiguous and unlucky-in-love Phil (Michael Cera) as he investigates a death. Across town, vinyl record collector Bene (Bene Coopersmith) is given a lead on a rare and valuable copy of Charlie Parker’s Bird Blows the Blues, but soon discovers that the seller may not have been entirely truthful in his description of the item. Ray (George Sample III) is trying to piece back together the relationship he ruined by posting naked pictures of his girlfriend online in a depressive haze. Wendy (Tavi Gevinson), skeptical of her best friend’s new boyfriend, questions not only her own sexuality but her place in the world.

Though events are incited by a death, nothing quite that dramatic occurs during the course of the film — unless you count a low-speed bicycle chase as dramatic. Each of these characters — and other faces drifting in and out of each storyline — must decide how they define themselves and what’s important in their lives: does Claire have the moral constitution to risk failure and confront a grieving widow in the pursuit of a story? Is Wendy ready to shake her tendency for critical self-evaluation and just experience life? Can Ray sufficiently humiliate himself to convince his girlfriend of his contrition? Does Bene’s shirt make him seem too fancy?

These New York stories are nothing new, nor do they have much grand to say, but they exude an effortless charm as each quirky personality meanders in and out of the film. The vignettes are uneven — non-actor Coopersmith shines in the film’s best storyline; Gevinson’s too-cool attitude gives Wendy’s verbose dialogue an air of inauthenticity — but taken as a collection, Person to Person proves there’s life in the talky American indie yet.

MY FRIEND DAHMER ★★

Based on the graphic novel by John Backderf, who was friends with Jeffrey Dahmer in the late 1970s, My Friend Dahmer dramatises the notorious killer’s senior year in high school — when he was just a shy, if disturbed, kid.

Following events from the moment Backderf and his clique, hoping to have a few laughs at his expense, befriend Dahmer and encourage his offbeat behaviour, in some ways the film seems unsure of its own tone. There’s more than enough animal cruelty and psychosexual fantasy to satisfy the horror and serial killer buffs, but the flared costumes and colourful production design make That 70s Show seem subtle, and Anne Heche, playing Jeffrey’s mentally unstable mother, seems like something straight out of a Kristen Wiig sketch on SNL.

The decision to concentrate on Dahmer’s adolescence — when he is first exploring his cruel and unusual fascinations with death and anatomy, but before he commits his first murder — is a strange one. Portraying Dahmer as an awkward, somewhat socially frustrated teenager (expressed through Ross Lynch’s stooped, wooden performance), the film edges toward humanising a serial killer and offers up a number of factors that could have contributed to the monster Dahmer would eventually become: humiliating schoolyard hazing, family breakdown, a manic-depressive mother, alcoholism. But it seems less interested in any kind of in-depth character study and more taken by a prurient fascination with the disturbed childhood of a man who would admit to raping and killing 17 men and boys.

If Backderf — and, by extension, Meyers — weren’t trying to humanise Dahmer with an empathetic portrayal, the obvious question is: what’s the point of telling a story about Jeffrey Dahmer and concentrating on what is surely the least interesting part of his life?

Standard
Everyone's a Critic, Reflections

Critics Q&A, pitching, building a portfolio

Today we were lucky to have two practicing, internationally published film critics here for the MIFF Critics Campus — Simran Hans and Philippa Hawker — spend an hour with us answering our questions and telling us about their lives as freelance film critics. Talking to creative professionals about their work can sometimes be maddening (because, by the nature of the work, it is often hard for a writer to be self-aware enough to understand their own process), but Simran and Philippa were fantastically open with us about the life of a critic, their techniques for overcoming writer’s block, how to pitch, what they use Twitter for, and much more. I really got a lot out of this session and am so glad that we were given the opportunity to talk to these two writers.

I found particularly valuable their advice for pitching:

  • Cold pitching is difficult but often necessary
  • Find a contact (any contact) for the publication you’re hoping to pitch to
  • KEEP IT SHORT — if you don’t know them, introduce yourself in a short paragraph (and link to three relevant examples of your work)
  • Don’t waste your pitch by being too general (“I want to write for you”) — have a particular story in mind
  • Pitch a story, not an idea — have an angle and keep it specific
  • Include specs if helpful (e.g. word count, suggested title, short summary, etc.)
  • Follow up if you don’t hear within a week
  • If you are successful, your reply email is a good time to bring up payment (“What is the deadline and fee?”)

In fact, participating in this Q&A has given me a new enthusiasm for trying to freelance myself. I’ve dipped my toe in the fraught waters of freelancing before — most recently in March’s Studio Ghibli edition of Bright Wall/Dark Room — but I’ve never had the dedication to actually give it a proper go. I know a few people who are freelance writers, and intellectually I know that the only thing stopping me from being regularly paid to write myself is that I haven’t pursued it strongly enough, so perhaps today’s session was the kick in the bum I need to actually do it.

First step: I’m resurrecting The Essential, a website of film/music criticism I co-founded in 2013 and which has languished for the better part of two years. Hopefully having somewhere to put my writing will encourage me to write more often, which will then help me build up a portfolio to use when pitching. The first piece I’ve published is an expanded version of my Call Me By Your Name review I posted here earlier in the week.

It feels surprisingly good to be using The Essential’s ancient, terrible, impossible-to-use CMS again!

Standard
Everyone's a Critic, Thoughts

The Work / Call Me By Your Name

I love Melbourne in winter, when the air is so cold it stings your eyes and the Melbourne International Film Festival takes over the city centre.

The best thing I can do for my creative practice is to write as often as possible, so in that spirit I’ve decided to start jotting down capsule reviews for some of the things I see at MIFF this year. I’m not going to place limits on myself, so I may write about films I loved, films I hated, films I anticipated, films that surprised me… whatever piques my interest and presents something I think worth talking about. And I may not keep it up past this first entry, so we’ll see how I go.

THE WORK ★★★★½

Twice a year, New Folsom Prison allows members of the public to enter its walls to participate in a four-day group therapy session with inmates facilitated by former prisoners and counsellors. Prisoners begin the four-day intensive with a pact to leave prison rules and gang politics at the door, and the outsider participants find themselves thrust into the world’s most intense psychotherapy session, where white, black, Asian and Native American gang members down their arms and lay bare their most intimate insecurities and anxieties to one another, hoping to find some kind of remedy for the failures, betrayals and mistakes that landed them in prison.

The Work promises a “rare look inside the cinder-block walls” of a prison, but once the outsiders start divulging their own stories it slowly becomes clear that what the film actually offers is a deep dive into the darkest recesses of the human mind — and a slow realisation that the blackest of those recesses might not belong to any of the prisoners.

A genuinely bracing work of up-close filmmaking, The Work will hit you square in the chest and send a shiver down your spine — and make you think about how precariously balanced the line between functioning member of society and lifelong criminal really is.

CALL ME BY YOUR NAME ★★★★½

“Is it better to speak or die?”

This question lies at the heart and soul of Luca Guadagnino’s Call Me By Your Name, a sumptuous and beautiful romance story set in the summer of 1983. Elio (Timothée Chalamet) is enjoying another quiet summer in northern Italy as any 17-year-old son of rich Americans would do: lounging by the pool, eating apricots, reading, playing piano and cavorting with the local girls. Oliver (Armie Hammer), a statuesque doctoral student hired by Elio’s father to assist him in his research, arrives to their estate and suddenly awakens in Elio a budding lust that he struggles to understand, much less act upon.

As the sunny days meander by, the two men dance around one another, slowly and tentatively giving in to the desire that dare not speak its name. Theirs is an attraction that at first confuses Elio and, given the era, poses questions of acceptance and decorum. Is it better to speak or die? Speak and risk everything, or don’t speak and condemn yourself to a life without anything worth risking.

Their lust is expressed not through sex (at least, not on screen) but through fleeting moments of tenderness spent in secret on the banks of a crystal clear river, or hidden in the forgotten rooms of the sprawling estate. Call Me By Your Name is overflowing with sensuality, and Guadagnino’s wandering frame contrasts the quiet stillness of the landscape with the raging desire lurking just beneath the surface of his two leads.

The director’s choice to shoot on a single, unchanged lens — placing the camera between the characters in intimate moments, never giving too much context  — resists allowing the two men to truly give themselves to one another, and delicately balances the viewer at the explosive centre of their sexual tension. Call Me By Your Name is, if nothing else, surely one of the sexiest films to come out of Italy since the days of Fellini.

Standard