A Critic Is Made, Not Born

“With the Web, ANYONE can be a critic!”

A colleague recently made this stupid declaration as a rejoinder to my invocation of a witty, negative book review in The New Yorker. His point, I think, was that paid critics have no value anymore since everyone can now write posted reviews.

By this logic, my screwing in a light bulb entitles me to an union card from the International Brotherhood of Electrical Workers.

Sadly, in our new digital age, any Middle Earth inhabitant with a computer is a self-proclaimed, and often accepted, writer/critic. But it is worth remembering that true arts critics – David Denby, Roger Ebert, Michiko Kakutani, Anthony Lane among them – care far more about the crafting of their own prose than serving up puerile “like it, don’t like it” proclamations. In fact, fine critical writing is best enjoyed after seeing or reading that which is reviewed, because its greatness lies in the ability to crystallize what makes a performance brilliant (or execrable) or to vividly describe an author’s unique narrative structure.

Contrast that with any of the “reviews” “written” by the cognitively challenged mammals on IMDB or Amazon.com or RottenTomatoes:

* From Paula’s review of Sex and the City: “I still prefer Hitchcock, but there's nothing wrong with enjoying what isn't.”

Forget the flailing sentence structure. The real touch of genius is, of course, the summoning of Hitchcock. Yes, like Sir Alfred, Michael Patrick King has directed a movie and he is a mammal. Any other comparison is bizarre; as comically unnecessary as stating a preference for Tolstoy over James Patterson.

* Speaking of that literary titan, here’s some trenchant commentary by “SamRocks”: “So, I'm addicted to James Patterson. There are many mystery writers who are better, and some who are a lot worse. With Patterson, at least you know that you'll get a fast-paced, action-filled book without a lot of descriptions.”

For one named with such confidence and self-regard, Mr. “Rocks’” defense of his hero is decidedly weak-willed in three ways: 1) the petulant adverb “so” that kicks off his thick diatribe; 2) the admission that “many” are better but only “some” are a lot worse; 3) his pride in Patterson’s dismissal of something as unimportant as, ahem, descriptions. James Michener, eat your heart out.

* “Fubar’s” dramatic pre-review of The Incredible Hulk: “I don’t like to put the car before the horse but I think it will be really cool. Can’t wait!”
I’m guessing that the problem here is not a faulty “t” on the keyboard of Monsieur Fubar’s Commodore 64, nor is his an ironic commentary about the entire industrial/electronic age devouring the soul of our country. No, my hunch would be that he thinks the phrase is as he has written. Meaning that he doesn't read. Meaning that he also says things like “Don’t count your chickens before they’re cash” and “I did it in one felt tip swoop.”

One more aspect of this post that bears ridicule: the “Can’t wait!” exclamation. I have seen thousands of examples of this breathless nonsense. Your excitement about something yet to be seen is of absolutely no interest to me, and even less to the written-word archives. Please save your Batman salivation for your friends at the Auntie Anne’s stand.

* Finally, enjoy these two posts about The Godfather; one positive, one negative, each stunning in its illiteracy and surrealist logic:

Positive: “I've seen more than my fair share of Marlon Brando films, and in my opinion the character of Don Vito Corleone is this actor's signature role. Truly Oscar-worthy.”

In two short sentences, this “review” contains three unpardonable sins: 1) “In my opinion” is arguably the most unnecessary of all phrases. We know it’s your opinion. It’s certainly not that of James Joyce; 2) The contention that Corleone is Brando’s signature role is laughably obvious -- the world waits for your next bold assertion, sir; 3) Calling a performance “Oscar-worthy” is the equivalent of calling a book “good.” Writing about performance is difficult. That’s why hacks resort to the lazy shorthand of “Oscar-worthy.”

Compare that with David Denby’s description of Robert Downey Jr’s performance in Iron Man: “Downey, muttering to himself, ignores everyone else in the movie for as long as he can. Fixing his eyes, at last, on another character, he seems faintly annoyed that his privacy has been violated. Yet he delivers—to the camera, and to us. He can make offhandedness mesmerizing, even soulful; he passes through the key moments in this cloddish story as if he were ad-libbing his inner life.”

In just a few lines, Denby gets at the compelling smugness of this actor. No empty blather about Oscars. And since an Oscar was given for the stiffly acted, caterwauling performance of Jennifer Hudson, it would be faint praise anyway.

Negative: “When an ethnic group creates an underground crime organization we laud it in films and books, but when real gangs break out they are feared on Channel 5 news. Double standard, right?”

Wrong. Bad behavior is bad behavior. What we “laud” is the craft of the filmmaking, the finely nuanced screenplay, Gordon Willis’s Rembrantesque photography, the operatic but controlled performances, the lush yet unobtrusive score, the juxtaposition of family values and business means.

Then again, what did you expect from someone writing as “Monkey Stick”?