CMJ
Jul 2nd, 2002, 09:08:23 AM
Or...at least this exceprt is. It's about aging and films...actors...critics...and avergae Joes. It knocked me on my butt it was so good.
*********************
Why do we fight so hard to pretend we aren’t getting old?
I understand it with movie stars. As unnatural as it maybe, it makes real sense. People become stars because people connect with a certain persona. There are those who break the mold… guys like Al Pacino and Dustin Hoffman and Robert DeNiro… but look at them… relatively small men in physical stature with powerful, powerful personalities and lithe, character flexible bodies. They are, actually, movie freaks. I mean, you couldn’t really say that they are better actors than Robert Duvall or Gene Hackman. But they have something about them that defies the definition of personal character that has kept them from just being spectacular character actors, which is what Duvall and Hackman really are.
Movie stars are understandably concerned about aging out of the personas that made them stars. Travolta’s recent weight loss put him back on the map as John Travolta. He may be older, but he can once again be looked at as a sexual object, albeit not by teen girls. But he wasn’t ready to become an old guy. A couple of years ago, it seems that Jack Nicholson realized that the sex thing was over – at least on screen – and started being an actor again, instead of a movie star. He’ll be getting an Oscar nomination and perhaps another statue for his work as an older man with a wife his own age in About Schmidt.
Whatever you think of their talent levels, make no mistake that career curves for actors like Kevin Costner, Kurt Russell, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Michael Douglas, and Alec Baldwin have a lot to do with their attractiveness to teenage girls. I won’t even get into the plight of actresses, who are essentially put on the shelf from the age of 40 (if they are lucky enough to remain popularly perceived sexual objects until that age) until they are ready to play post-menopausal roles. (Don’t blame me… I didn’t make the rules… I don’t much like the rules.)
But what about us? And by us, I mean movie writers, critics, etc. Why are so many of us obsessed with the youth factor? Why should Roger Ebert be taking fire for admitting that there are movies that are just not made for him and that he just really isn’t going to get? I wish he – and the rest of us – admitted such things more often.
I pride myself on playing to all fields. Ultimately, it means that there are some movies where I am working on a purely analytical basis. That’s never my best work, though it might be my cleanest work… my most surgical work. There are other movies that I absolutely fall in love with and some of my analytical skills get clouded by emotion. Again, not my best work, though some of my favorite stuff. When I fell hard for Finding Forrester and admitted as much in my review, Film Comment mocked me for my honesty about my personal feelings. But I’m glad I wrote it. Intellectually, I know that Dancer in the Dark is an atrocity, perpetrated on film critics looking to be the emperor’s new haberdasher. But I also know that there are people who had a powerful emotional experience with that movie that I will probably never understand. (Maybe if I have a stroke and lose part of my cognitive ability, I’ll see the light.)
My best work, in my opinion, always comes when the film is in the area of my 80-93 percentile. Good enough to draw my interest, far enough away emotionally to allow me to see the structure and tricks without resenting them. Spider-Man fits that range. In an odd way, so does Eyes Wide Shut, which is a work of absolute genius, yet is so inaccessible that it could never be at the pinnacle of greatness. I might hold The Matrix above EWS, even as pure art… it is perhaps the most underrated film as art in the last decade, much as it is the most audience-pleasing film of the same period.
I like to think I can appreciate the inherent stupidity of The Waterboy and feel free to laugh, just as I was willing to go with Little Nicky, but found it to be an embarrassing mess, even by the lowest Sandler standards. When people say to me, “I didn’t enjoy the film because I just hate (name actor here),” I am always a little flabbergasted. I have friends who find Julia Roberts ugly and others who see her in the jaw-dropping-beauty light that Ocean’s Eleven put on her. But I should still be able, as a critic, to see that she was miscast in Mary Reilly, without insulting her, as I am able to see how perfect she was for Erin Brockovich, appreciating that it was still acting and that it is unfair to say, “She was just playing what she is always playing.”
In any case, no matter how much I know about film… no matter how “right” I am… no matter how popular or unpopular my position amongst my peers… film, like all art forms, has the ability to find a place that reaches beyond intellect. Would I feel better if my 13-year-old nephew was watching Dr. Strangelove over and over instead of Viva Rock Vegas? Absolutely. But there is something about Viva Rock Vegas and Scary Movie and Shrek that speaks to him and his 11-year-old sister, an explanation for which probably should elude me (even if I really like Shrek).
Those of us who take this seriously are not just walking opinions-like--DO-NOT-SWEAR--DO-NOT-SWEAR--DO-NOT-SWEAR--DO-NOT-SWEAR--DO-NOT-SWEAR--DO-NOT-SWEAR--DO-NOT-SWEAR-s. That’s why group-think on pictures like Attack of the Clones disturbs me so deeply. I’m not saying that it’s not okay to dislike the picture. But something odd is going on when so many critics decide to discount the visual virtuosity of Lucas’ work and his history of hambone emotion to chase him through the virtual streets with virtual torches. Normally, we pick our spots and there is variety and range to the kinds of criticisms that emerge. But some films create a weird unanimity. At least, on the surface.
It is interesting to note that out of 166 reviews of Clones counted by Rotten Tomatoes, 104 were positive and that in the “cream of the crop” section, featuring the highest profile critics, 16 of the 25 reviews were negative. That almost exactly reverses positions between the overall group versus the select crowd. 36 percent crop-creamers were positive and 37 percent overall were negative. And actually, if you removed the cropsters, the positive would increase go to 67 percent.
There is an unmistakable transition going on in the movie critic game these days. It is driven by some forces that are positive, others that are pretty negative. There are younger critics who are boorish snobs and self-absorbed morons and there are gray-hairs (a definition that is quickly becoming a personal one) who are alive with the same spark of filmic love that drew them into this game in the first place. Agreement is not the characteristic that I most look for in this assessment. I disagree with Sarris quite often, but find him a delight to read these days. Joe Morgenstern is willing to take out the baseball bat when a movie is really bad and you have to love that about him. I don’t care if you are 22 or Anthony Lane’s age, any moderately well-educated idiot can show off on the keyboard, spending more time thinking of quotable lines instead of actually analysis of the film.
But the point is, we are mortal and there are movies that simply are not for every individual. The level of criticism has deteriorated so much that even good movie critics feel oddly compelled to walk into every bar on the waterfront. The big movies sell newspapers/television/radio/websites, so we all have to cover the big movies. But the big movies are inherently more processed and therefore, on average, are not as worthy of anything more than a nod. I remember the good old days, when The New York Times would limit the review of an unworthy film to a graph or two. No more. And no more 2000 word rampages about the films that are worthy.
I would like to think that after five years of writing this column, I am in a different place than when I started. And I sure like to think that I’ll be able to write this column for another five years and find myself in yet another place when I get to the end of that part of the road. I look forward to being a 42-year-old man with 42-year-old tastes. I’ll still be trying to keep up with what Adam Sandler is doing because Adam Sandler is my age. But while the part of Tom Green that people find funny is already a step away from my comprehensive skills, the schmuck who is doing whatever he/she is doing in five years… I’m not going to get it… and I shouldn’t have to get it… and I shouldn’t be angry that my 18-year-old nephew thinks that it clefts. (You know “cleft…” hip word indicating quality in the near future!)
Human nature. We narrow the definition of our lives in order to seek popularity, and then we suffer the narrowness of our lives. We grow up listening to the “older folks” about how things have changed for the worse and know that it’s a pile of crap… then we age and find ourselves talking about how things have changed for the worse… and we can’t see the irony because they don’t make bifocals that strong.
It’s easy to forget how lacking in objectivity love is. And that’s why we are here. We fell in love with the movies. And as in our ‘real” lives, we seduce, we cajole, we protect ourselves, we hide, we rage and we lose the spark because it’s just too dangerous. Perhaps youth, that youth, is really what we all need to stay connected with.
*********************
Why do we fight so hard to pretend we aren’t getting old?
I understand it with movie stars. As unnatural as it maybe, it makes real sense. People become stars because people connect with a certain persona. There are those who break the mold… guys like Al Pacino and Dustin Hoffman and Robert DeNiro… but look at them… relatively small men in physical stature with powerful, powerful personalities and lithe, character flexible bodies. They are, actually, movie freaks. I mean, you couldn’t really say that they are better actors than Robert Duvall or Gene Hackman. But they have something about them that defies the definition of personal character that has kept them from just being spectacular character actors, which is what Duvall and Hackman really are.
Movie stars are understandably concerned about aging out of the personas that made them stars. Travolta’s recent weight loss put him back on the map as John Travolta. He may be older, but he can once again be looked at as a sexual object, albeit not by teen girls. But he wasn’t ready to become an old guy. A couple of years ago, it seems that Jack Nicholson realized that the sex thing was over – at least on screen – and started being an actor again, instead of a movie star. He’ll be getting an Oscar nomination and perhaps another statue for his work as an older man with a wife his own age in About Schmidt.
Whatever you think of their talent levels, make no mistake that career curves for actors like Kevin Costner, Kurt Russell, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Michael Douglas, and Alec Baldwin have a lot to do with their attractiveness to teenage girls. I won’t even get into the plight of actresses, who are essentially put on the shelf from the age of 40 (if they are lucky enough to remain popularly perceived sexual objects until that age) until they are ready to play post-menopausal roles. (Don’t blame me… I didn’t make the rules… I don’t much like the rules.)
But what about us? And by us, I mean movie writers, critics, etc. Why are so many of us obsessed with the youth factor? Why should Roger Ebert be taking fire for admitting that there are movies that are just not made for him and that he just really isn’t going to get? I wish he – and the rest of us – admitted such things more often.
I pride myself on playing to all fields. Ultimately, it means that there are some movies where I am working on a purely analytical basis. That’s never my best work, though it might be my cleanest work… my most surgical work. There are other movies that I absolutely fall in love with and some of my analytical skills get clouded by emotion. Again, not my best work, though some of my favorite stuff. When I fell hard for Finding Forrester and admitted as much in my review, Film Comment mocked me for my honesty about my personal feelings. But I’m glad I wrote it. Intellectually, I know that Dancer in the Dark is an atrocity, perpetrated on film critics looking to be the emperor’s new haberdasher. But I also know that there are people who had a powerful emotional experience with that movie that I will probably never understand. (Maybe if I have a stroke and lose part of my cognitive ability, I’ll see the light.)
My best work, in my opinion, always comes when the film is in the area of my 80-93 percentile. Good enough to draw my interest, far enough away emotionally to allow me to see the structure and tricks without resenting them. Spider-Man fits that range. In an odd way, so does Eyes Wide Shut, which is a work of absolute genius, yet is so inaccessible that it could never be at the pinnacle of greatness. I might hold The Matrix above EWS, even as pure art… it is perhaps the most underrated film as art in the last decade, much as it is the most audience-pleasing film of the same period.
I like to think I can appreciate the inherent stupidity of The Waterboy and feel free to laugh, just as I was willing to go with Little Nicky, but found it to be an embarrassing mess, even by the lowest Sandler standards. When people say to me, “I didn’t enjoy the film because I just hate (name actor here),” I am always a little flabbergasted. I have friends who find Julia Roberts ugly and others who see her in the jaw-dropping-beauty light that Ocean’s Eleven put on her. But I should still be able, as a critic, to see that she was miscast in Mary Reilly, without insulting her, as I am able to see how perfect she was for Erin Brockovich, appreciating that it was still acting and that it is unfair to say, “She was just playing what she is always playing.”
In any case, no matter how much I know about film… no matter how “right” I am… no matter how popular or unpopular my position amongst my peers… film, like all art forms, has the ability to find a place that reaches beyond intellect. Would I feel better if my 13-year-old nephew was watching Dr. Strangelove over and over instead of Viva Rock Vegas? Absolutely. But there is something about Viva Rock Vegas and Scary Movie and Shrek that speaks to him and his 11-year-old sister, an explanation for which probably should elude me (even if I really like Shrek).
Those of us who take this seriously are not just walking opinions-like--DO-NOT-SWEAR--DO-NOT-SWEAR--DO-NOT-SWEAR--DO-NOT-SWEAR--DO-NOT-SWEAR--DO-NOT-SWEAR--DO-NOT-SWEAR-s. That’s why group-think on pictures like Attack of the Clones disturbs me so deeply. I’m not saying that it’s not okay to dislike the picture. But something odd is going on when so many critics decide to discount the visual virtuosity of Lucas’ work and his history of hambone emotion to chase him through the virtual streets with virtual torches. Normally, we pick our spots and there is variety and range to the kinds of criticisms that emerge. But some films create a weird unanimity. At least, on the surface.
It is interesting to note that out of 166 reviews of Clones counted by Rotten Tomatoes, 104 were positive and that in the “cream of the crop” section, featuring the highest profile critics, 16 of the 25 reviews were negative. That almost exactly reverses positions between the overall group versus the select crowd. 36 percent crop-creamers were positive and 37 percent overall were negative. And actually, if you removed the cropsters, the positive would increase go to 67 percent.
There is an unmistakable transition going on in the movie critic game these days. It is driven by some forces that are positive, others that are pretty negative. There are younger critics who are boorish snobs and self-absorbed morons and there are gray-hairs (a definition that is quickly becoming a personal one) who are alive with the same spark of filmic love that drew them into this game in the first place. Agreement is not the characteristic that I most look for in this assessment. I disagree with Sarris quite often, but find him a delight to read these days. Joe Morgenstern is willing to take out the baseball bat when a movie is really bad and you have to love that about him. I don’t care if you are 22 or Anthony Lane’s age, any moderately well-educated idiot can show off on the keyboard, spending more time thinking of quotable lines instead of actually analysis of the film.
But the point is, we are mortal and there are movies that simply are not for every individual. The level of criticism has deteriorated so much that even good movie critics feel oddly compelled to walk into every bar on the waterfront. The big movies sell newspapers/television/radio/websites, so we all have to cover the big movies. But the big movies are inherently more processed and therefore, on average, are not as worthy of anything more than a nod. I remember the good old days, when The New York Times would limit the review of an unworthy film to a graph or two. No more. And no more 2000 word rampages about the films that are worthy.
I would like to think that after five years of writing this column, I am in a different place than when I started. And I sure like to think that I’ll be able to write this column for another five years and find myself in yet another place when I get to the end of that part of the road. I look forward to being a 42-year-old man with 42-year-old tastes. I’ll still be trying to keep up with what Adam Sandler is doing because Adam Sandler is my age. But while the part of Tom Green that people find funny is already a step away from my comprehensive skills, the schmuck who is doing whatever he/she is doing in five years… I’m not going to get it… and I shouldn’t have to get it… and I shouldn’t be angry that my 18-year-old nephew thinks that it clefts. (You know “cleft…” hip word indicating quality in the near future!)
Human nature. We narrow the definition of our lives in order to seek popularity, and then we suffer the narrowness of our lives. We grow up listening to the “older folks” about how things have changed for the worse and know that it’s a pile of crap… then we age and find ourselves talking about how things have changed for the worse… and we can’t see the irony because they don’t make bifocals that strong.
It’s easy to forget how lacking in objectivity love is. And that’s why we are here. We fell in love with the movies. And as in our ‘real” lives, we seduce, we cajole, we protect ourselves, we hide, we rage and we lose the spark because it’s just too dangerous. Perhaps youth, that youth, is really what we all need to stay connected with.