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In my teenage years I would sit in the back right corner of the movie theater. Eventually I got tired of Bergman, Godard, and my all too serious self so I moved to the center. Ten rows back where I could feel the lyricism and forget that my feet were stuck in garbage. That place in the theater where my own critical asides and intricately constructed abstractions were subsumed by moving pictures. The film as art/entertainment distinction is misguided – read the Hitchcock book with Truepanzi to see how that simple dichotomy breaks down under the weight of Truepanzi (I’ll admit that’s not his real name) true love for film. Better yet go watch E.T. a masterpiece that is not easily categorized. E.T. has the same lyrical power of an S. Ray movie or Fellini and Kirusowa in their prime but it’s not art? Why not? Not old enough, no subtitles, the presence of a rubber alien? City Lights, is that art? “Art movies” are movies that require you (consciously or not) to re-imagine the movie so that it makes aesthetic sense to you. This cerebral process does not really expand our universe so much as it affirms and validates it. Now most critics are interested in validation and this unfortunately leads to notions of “Art.” Simply put a critic is looking for a movie that lets him show off all his critical acumen/validate his profession/affirm the value of his education and all those hours spent debating the color blue. But good movies don’t need to be explained. When I sit to write a review of a great movie, I am at a loss for words. But give me a shitty movie and I will have a field day. Or, if I was intellectually dishonest and/or pretentious, give me a slightly dull movie that takes itself very seriously (maybe the narrative unfolds in reverse? or the characters all mumble their lines and make very understated gestures) and I will drone on and on about meaning. Even Birth of a Nation needs no explanation, just historical location. Aesthetics should not in need of critical explanation. And boom! The silently shared act of forgetting the small things and remembering the big ones and all because of a rubber alien!
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