Monthly Archives: October 2017

Sustained critical reflection on ‘the role of the critic’

Posted on by
1

This semester—the best semester I’ve had at uni so far—has improved my critical voice infinitely. From the list of studios, with choices ranging from the usual bunch of news comedy and abstract video art selections, this one seemed the most appealing. I’d been through the motions with filmmaking, working out the kinks of genre and learning just how to operate a big boy Sony camera—but came out more enthralled with the complementary writing aspect of it. Making films is cool, but it’s also hard, and although everyone I knew thought I was going to uni to learn ‘filmmaking’, it quickly proved to be against my best interests.

I followed my first studio with something more abstract. I’d tried to get into the studio with the same teacher whom I’d grow fond of, but the higher-ups clearly want some diversity in the course, so I got assigned my second choice. That semester was fine, and I learned a lot about myself and my position in the world, but again: not really what I wanted to do.

When I came across the title ‘Everyone’s A Critic’, I was intimidated. Having been writing shitty little capsule reviews with no regards for structure or audience or clarity on Letterboxd for a few years as a thing my friends and I just started doing, ‘critic’ was a term that frightened me. Critics are those big people with the pens and the notepads and the followers and they exist in a realm far above me, right? Critics get given passes to cover festivals and are effortless in their writing and always have something cool to say about things that I struggle to wrap my head around, right?

What I’ve learned this semester is that it’s okay if you can’t power out a fully polished piece of writing in 45 minutes, or always have something interesting to say about everything. These are things that people have worked towards for a long time, and if you can’t even bring yourself to reading past the headline in your feed then of course you’re not going to be operating at their level. And that’s fine. You just need to practice, to consolidate your ideas, your words, your confidence in your own thoughts. You need to keep writing, and never stop, keep the cogs in your brain churning along and in and out of the things you consume. The more you write, the better you get, the more you have to say, the easier the words come out, the more you have to learn. You can’t improve your writing if you’re not writing.

Nor can you improve your writing if you’re not reading. Daunted by trying to write even this after spending an entire week stuck in this chair smashing out an overdue essay or polishing the final touches on your 3000-word piece on Frank Ocean, I took a break, and read a chapter of Brodie Lancaster’s No Way! Okay, Fine, a book that found its way to me in a roundabout way (I recommend!) after networking with fellow critics-turned-friends (friends-turned-critics?) this semester. Taking a break, stretching your legs and absorbing the fluency of other writer’s work is totally beneficial, a brain-sparking practice. The homeliness that Lancaster conveys in her memoir also taught me another thing: critics aren’t these untouchable entities that exist beyond your reach.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned this semester is that just because someone has a platform to say a bunch of things—and can probably say them in a way that sounds convincing—doesn’t mean they’re always right or free from criticism, not in some big conspiracy theory kind of way, not an aggressive denial type deal. I’ve just learned to curb my impressionable self and take a stand on my opinion.

Meeting with professional, celebrated critics and chatting to them informally certainly helped dissolve this façade. They’re people, just like me, who have problems, just like me, and struggle through the same bouts of writer’s block, just like me. To be able to obtain personal pointers from these people certainly helped boost my confidence, push to me take these kinds of risks and learn to have confidence in the arguments I’m making.

A couple of weeks with award-winning critic and friend of the studio Alex Heller-Nicholas helped articulate the dynamic role of the critic. Understanding and acknowledging where we stand as critics, the privileges we carry in being able to even have the time to write, and always returning the question: “who am I to be giving my opinion on this?” are the most important parts of practising criticism. Don’t be that 40-year-old guy going on a tangent about Minions. The film is clearly not for you (though, I’ve found it is deserving of, y’know…. a lot of criticism). Prove your authority, do your research, be conscientious. Acknowledge your privilege (gender/race/class/ego) through all this. Know your audience. Understand your biases.

The role of the critic isn’t dying. It’s just disseminating. Siskel and Ebert are gone, and with them, the single stage that they preached from. Of course, these big outlets still exist, but no longer do they rule the climate. Smaller platforms increasingly emerge, focus on a certain niche, and welcome more voices and more authority on different parts of film or music or whatever you want to write about. Do your best, find your voice, find your people. It’ll all come together.

 

Stray observations:

  • I recommend the podcast Still Processing a thousand times over for those looking for the best stuff on Kanye or Beyoncé or JAY Z, and for those looking for something to engage their critical brain.
  • I love grammar! Thanks, Alexia. And Comma Queen.
  • Go write.

Snowpiercer: The Tricky Transnational Train — weeks 10-12

Posted on by
2

Funnily enough, the first time I saw Snowpiercer was on a US Blu-ray that I bought from amazon.com, either too impatient to wait for its Australian release (in retrospect, the wait time between the two is somehow shorter than I remembered) or too taken up by the idea that it could be imported that I didn’t stop to think that, including shipping, it would come to the same price. Of course, this purchase further complicates the multicultural, transnational production that Snowpiercer is.

With its source material French; the body of its crew South Korean; primary shooting taking place in the Czech Republic; its special effects produced by a German-formed company; and a cast ranging from the most American of Americans, to a handful of South Korean talents, to big and bold British stars, Snowpiercer is a puzzle box of cultural diversity. Where one national influence ends and another starts is surely near impossible to distinguish, a hailstorm of ethnicities culminating in a damn fine global blockbuster.

Brandon Taylor writes in “The Ideological Train to Globalization” that “Snowpiercer is utterly saturated with the cultural residue of American cinema”, and argues that Bong uses these American blockbuster tropes to subvert, rather than emulate, the filmic language of Hollywood in the creation of a “transnational film vocabulary” (2016). The film is, in turn, a hybrid of Korean and American styles; neither one nor the other, but operating somewhere in a “transnational discourse” that makes it “culturally illegible” to both Korean and American audiences (2016); an open identity.

Typically, transnational film productions are achieved for reasons mostly capital, taking advantage of a lucrative element and sending it widespread. As with the first Hong Kong/US co-production, Robert Clouse’s Enter The Dragon (1973) exploited America’s newfound fascination with kung-fu, the fluent body of Bruce Lee. This would continue with the erratic work of (our beloved) John Woo being accepted and ultimately replicated in the Hollywood mainstream.

Snowpiercer of course differs from these kinds of productions—the US not the dominant force in capitalising on the film’s many profitable elements. Ironically, a creative conflict between Bong and Harvey Weinstein (curse his name) unfolded, resulting in a botched release that saw the distribution rights for the film eventually handled to Radius-TWC, a division of The Weinstein Company that specialise in niche and independent films. Under their control, Snowpiercer received the wide release that it deserved, surely a welcome addition to the pockets of the TWC higher-ups.

The film’s fluidity—its cultural illegibility—then relies on the conventions of the American blockbuster to “apprehend and signify meaning” for transnational audiences (2016). Its structure, character archetypes, pacing, plotting and all the rest rely on the conventions of the dominant mode of blockbuster that have continued to permeate the world for years on end. Where it gets interesting is explored towards the end of Taylor’s paper; has the American blockbuster “manifested its own demise by creating a shared filmic language that is transferable to a global discourse”? Or does it have another trick up its sleeve?

 

References

Taylor, Brandon. (2016) The Ideological Train to Globalization: Bong Joon-ho’s The Host and Snowpiercer. Cineaction; 2016; 98; ProQuest