The Filmcake

Sarah guest posts with her thoughts:

So I’m involved in a “film club” of sorts with a few friends, in part styled after the Filmspotting marathons. We take turns choosing a theme (could be a particular genre, director, actor, or simply “Movies I Loved As A Kid”), and then everyone chooses films within that theme – hopefully with an eye towards presenting a fairly comprehensive overview (well, maybe not so much with “Movies I Loved As A Kid.”). After each film, we discuss.

Our current theme is Westerns – one that I approached with nearly virgin eyes, having never really seen a Western aside from the Coen brothers’  True Grit remake. The genre has never been terribly appealing to me. But one of the things I like about our film club is that it forces one to try new things. And there have been a few surprises. For instance, I found that I really, really like The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance.

However, the last two films (The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly and The Wild Bunch) have been a validation of my avoidance of this genre. Although I recognize and appreciate the stylistic flourishes and breakthroughs in filmmaking Leone and Peckinpah gave to the world, both films ultimately left me feeling bored and alienated. I’ve been trying to figure out why, since both are widely regarded as classics and are beloved by many.

The Wild Bunch, the most recent film in our marathon, made me feel like I was watching a foreign-language movie, without the benefit of subtitles. I could make out bits and pieces of what was going on, but any nuance or clarity that would be obvious to a native speaker, was lost on me. While I recognize the themes (adherence to a code of honor, betrayal, trying to adapt to a changing world) I guess I’m just not fluent in the language of this genre. Also, I realize how strange and kind of stupid it sounds, but there’s just something about these faces I’m not terribly familiar with, these actors of an earlier era, all with similar clothes, hats and facial hair, that make it really hard for me to tell them apart.

For another thing, despite the fact that there was probably a higher quantity of violence and action than in any of the previous films we’ve seen, it all became rather monotonous after awhile, and I was actually weirdly bored. (Oh, look – another shootout! Oh, look – more male bonding with booze and whores!)

Which brings me to my next point – the overwhelming absence of women in these films. I don’t want to reduce my disconnect from the Western genre to something as arbitrary as onscreen gender representation, but I do have a little bit harder time with a movie in which women are onscreen for approximately 10-20 minutes in a 2 1/2 –hour movie, and those roles are limited to old biddies marching for temperance, or whores to fuck and/or shoot. (And rarely did any of these women even get to speak.)

The reason I hesitate to wander too far off into this territory is that it’s not long before you then start dividing films into “men’s movies” and “women’s movies” and arguing that only men are interested in war and violence, and only women are interested in relationships. It also implies that women need women on screen in order to become invested in the story (and conversely, that men will only see movies about men). That’s completely bullshit, in 100 different ways. Personally, I adore a little of the ol’ ultraviolence, and there are plenty of movies with all (or mostly) male casts I enjoy. And I know several men who laughed their asses off during Bridesmaids. A compelling film is a compelling film, regardless of whether the protagonist has XX or XY chromosomes.

Since the True Grit remake was the only Western I’d seen prior to this round of Film Club (and I’d enjoyed it immensely), I next wondered if perhaps the age of the film might have something to do with it. Maybe contemporary films are still somehow easier to grab on to, even if they’re in a genre you’re not as familiar with, and even if they’re set in an earlier period. At least you’re more likely to recognize the actors’ faces. But by that logic, how could I explain my love for Hitchcock?

Even after some soul-searching, I’m at a loss to explain my lack of love with Westerns. I probably should seek out more films in this genre, since the five we watched, while perhaps a good introduction, could hardly be representative. Maybe someday I’ll get around to checking out a few more.

Sarah rejoins The Filmcake with a guest post pondering sexism at the multiplex:

Anyone who knows me at all knows that I’m a card-carrying, not-ashamed-to-admit-it Feminist. I also love movies. While I could likely go on for hours about how women are portrayed in film, the relative dearth of female filmmakers, etc., this particular Filmcake takeover is going to focus specifically on the idea of the “date movie.”

A couple of weeks ago, I read this Forbes.com post pointing at a double standard that seems to exist between movies aimed at men and movies aimed at women:

The two big movies opening this weekend are The Expendables (a testosterone laden action flick) and Eat Pray Love (its hormonal opposite). According to a survey of 1200 Fandango ticket buyers, 95% of the people who say they want to see Eat Pray Love are women. Only 5% are men.

But 42% of the people who say they want to see The Expendables are women (58% are men). And therein lies the problem. Women are fine going to see male-oriented movies. Women go to the movies all the time. It’s men who are the problem because they refuse to go see chick flicks.

Ignoring for a moment the actual quality of both of the above-referenced movies (I’m pretty sure neither are likely to be on anyone’s end-of-year Top 10 lists), this captures a sentiment I’ve heard countless times. Assuming that many of the people going to see one of these films are going with a date or significant other, it seems to be much more acceptable for a woman to go to a “dude movie” than it is for a man to go to a “chick flick.” For example, one of the biggest problems I have with my otherwise beloved Filmspotting hosts Adam and Matty is that in the few times they even acknowledge that women watch movies, it’s usually in the context of poor, single Matty being dragged to some dreadful romcom on a first date. In fact, “date movie” really almost becomes synonymous with “chick flick.”

The implication is that the man has to begrudgingly put aside his masculinity and suffer through a (probably legitimately bad) romcom in the hopes of maybe getting a little ass later. However, consider the reverse: a woman goes to the latest guns-and-explosions extravaganza, and is in all likelihood, going to be considered a “cool chick.” If she genuinely likes traditionally male genres (war movies, Westerns, comic book movies, etc.) she’s probably going to be someone’s Ultimate Dream Woman. Whereas, if a man sincerely loves romantic comedies, I’d be willing to wager that his sexual orientation is probably going to be called into question sooner or later. Sad, but true.

My first thought about all this is that, well, “women’s movies” generally suck. While it’s true that yes, most certainly do – so do most “men’s movies.” Both types are pretty dependent on familiar tropes and formulas, and don’t always boast the best writing, editing, acting, cinematography, etc. That’s not to say that there aren’t some wonderful romantic comedies and really great action flicks, because there absolutely are, but face it – most tend to be crap that plays to the lowest common denominator.

I think the real problem is that, blind to the actual quality of the movie in question, one genre seems to be considered  automatically better than the other. Once again, the implication is the “masculine” is acceptable, whereas the “feminine” is inferior, and something to be avoided. It’s okay, even desirable, for the woman to embrace the masculine, but that doesn’t always extend in the other direction. Or, as Molly Haskell puts it in the introduction to Holding My Own in No Man’s Land, perhaps “the fact is, we are all, in some measure, more comfortable with maleness than with femaleness.”

A couple of weeks ago my wife and I made our first movie, a four-and-a-half minute short film called Sleep. I’m almost hesitant to even describe what we created as a movie. It’s more like a sketch or an exercise. It’s a movie that should’ve been made with an old, unwieldy camcorder when we were young teenagers. So while I’ll never have the precious filmmaker story about making all sorts of movies as a child, I can positively say that my first “movie” is done. Now that the first is completed, many can follow in succession with (hopefully) improving quality.

I learned quite a bit in the 12 hours I worked on the movie. Those lessons can then be applied to future endeavors, where more mistakes can be made and more lessons learned. And now that Number One is done, the process of making a movie doesn’t seem nearly as scary and insurmountable as it once did. I can’t wait until I can start on the next one.

If you get better at your art through repetition (and certainly repetition isn’t the only requirement), then this movie was simply the first iteration. That’s why I see it more as a sketch. It is not Citizen Kane. And knowing that makes everything else all the easier to handle.

I’ve been thinking a lot about how I judge movies. In this particular instance–how I judge some of the smaller movies from local filmmakers that played at this year’s deadCENTER Film Festival. I have this nagging feeling that I may have been a bit too negative. Perhaps I was expecting too much. But, that begs the question–what should you expect, if anything, out of a low-budget, local film? Which imperfections can be easily excused and which cannot? And is it possible that negative criticism should be refrained when it comes to local and/or amateur filmmakers? Do films submitted to a regional film festival deserve a critical pass?

If I have negative criticism for a big, Hollywood movie, it is rarely tinged with any regret. But when I say something negative about a lower-budget movie made by local filmmakers, then regret becomes a very real possibility. As I’ve been mulling all this over, I came to the feeling that I may have been too negative in my recaps of a pair of Oklahoma films that screened at this year’s deadCENTER. The two films in question were Adam Davis Beatty’s The Rounder Comes to Town and Singletree Productions’ Simmons on Vinyl. Here’s what I wrote:

The Rounder Comes to Town was highly anticipated. It was perhaps a little too indulgently Tarantino-ish and lacked an assured tone. I wasn’t quite sure how funny or campy it was genuinely going for. Perhaps I was taken aback knowing the actor who spouted the oddest lines (something like: I like kitty cats. Kitties in the morning, day and night. Kitties for brunch. Mimosas and kitties. Except he wasn’t talking about kittens.) Still, it showed a bunch of promise. A few changes here and there and it could’ve easily been my favorite of the festival.

and…

Then onto Simmons on Vinyl, by Mark Potts and his Singletree crew. I really liked their short film (Hit Boys II Men) and their festival promos (Hard Justice) from last year. So, I was excited about seeing this one. I have to say that I didn’t care all that much for it. It was just too scattered. These guys look like three good friends having fun making a movie. But I’m afraid that in this one, three good friends having fun making a movie doesn’t also provide somebody who can or will rein them in when necessary. That being said, the filmmakers admitted their budget was only like $300 and that they spent very little time writing. So, there’s no real loss here. I’ve spent that much and had much less to show for it after a half-dozen trips to McNellies. And, I can’t say whether or not it deserved its festival award. I say if the filmmakers had fun then it was worth it. For me as a viewer, I would have preferred something that had been developed some more. Of course, I may have just not been in the right “frame of mind” for it. I still want to check out their previous feature, The Stanton Family Grave Robbery, to see if a little more development time led to a better product.

I can see now that I was somewhat cautious when I wrote both items. In the first instance, I tried to mitigate the negative criticism with the statement that “a few changes here and there and it could’ve easily been my favorite of the festival.” In the second, I praised previous work and then suggested that I might’ve “not been in the right ‘frame of mind’” for it. Now, I wasn’t brutal with either movie. And neither case could fairly be called film criticism; they’re just a few sentences among a longer recap post. Nevertheless, something of what I wrote has affected me and led me here.

I stand behind what I wrote about The Rounder Comes to Town, aside from the “too indulgently Tarantino-ish” comment. I’m not even sure what that means. All art is indulgent to some degree, and this movie was not overly so. And I haven’t seen enough of those films that influenced Tarantino to be able to say with much confidence that which is derivative of him and that which is derivative of his influences. Otherwise, I liked the film. A very impressive first feature. The uncertainty of the tone was really the only thing that kept this impressive deadCENTER entry from being a favorite deadCENTER entry.

About Simmons on Vinyl, I wrote that it looked like “three good friends having fun making a movie…[without] somebody who can or will rein them in when necessary” and that I would have “preferred something that had been developed some more.” On one hand, you can excuse a lot when you know that the budget for this was $300. On the other hand, that doesn’t make every no-budget movie worthwhile.

If I have any genuine criticism regarding Simmons on Vinyl it isn’t with the movie, it’s with the festival’s awarding of the Grand Jury prize. If I were handing out that award, I would’ve likely given it to another film. But that’s one man’s opinion. The Grand Jury Narrative Feature award has its own criteria for selecting a winner, just like every other contest that takes place on this fine Earth. And that’s perfectly fine. Not liking a movie isn’t the same as the movie being bad.

That being said, the movie is way better than any movie I’ve ever made. And with just about every movie, saying that it could have been “developed some more” is simply stating the obvious. It’s like saying that I really wish they’d spent $375 on this movie. Also, I don’t really remember the movie too much at this point. Too much Stella, I think.

Also having made my first movie, albeit a 4-minute piece of crap, I can now better appreciate both the hunger and struggle of making movies. There is something very lovely and admirable about it. Along with Rounder, I genuinely look forward to seeing Simmons again. I also look forward to whatever Beatty and Singletree Productions create in the future. Sometimes early iterations can show the promise of great things to come in the future.

I do think local filmmakers do deserve all the praise and support that they can get. As for myself, I plan on being both more positive and more open-minded when it comes to the output of local filmmakers. It’s not that I don’t care about being genuine, I just think that emerging filmmakers need all the help they can get. Without it, the fight to make an even better movie down the road will be even more difficult.

I also think that these types of films need to be judged with the knowledge that they’re created outside of “the industry” with very little money by filmmakers who must create their own opportunities. These aren’t full-time, studio-financed filmmakers. These are scrappy Okie artists. To some degree, you must judge their films based on their promise. A great artist, I believe, can push through the limitations of budget and access. I look forward to seeing what they can do. I also can’t wait to throw my own hat into the ring.

I don’t know how to say it any better than that. I grew up periodically catching him up in the balcony with Siskel and then later with Roeper. And for quite a while now I’ve been regularly keeping up with his weekly movie reviews.

Just this week, I finished reading Ebert’s The Great Movies. It’s basically a collection of 100 of his Great Movie columns. It entertains. Ebert is a great writer. It informs. It could work as an introduction to film. But, most importantly to me, it inspires. His love for the movies he writes about is so contagious. Upon completing each column, I found myself full of an excitement about each of the films. And my love for movies in general was stronger than ever. In fact, I credit him with reigniting my desire to do something more with this blog and with writing about movies.

And Ebert’s relatively recent foray into blogging has really been quite special. He writes about more than just movies, hitting on topics of nostalgia, religion, evolution, among others. Sure these are topics droned on ad infinitum throughout the blogosphere, but in Ebert’s hands they become something worth taking time to read, absorb, and share.

His post from a couple of days ago regarding facing death brought tears to my eyes.  It wasn’t sad. It was honest. And it spoke to me in a way that little else does. It’s absolutely beautiful. And I think I’ll be returning to it periodically in the future for comfort. In a way, Ebert’s blog post acts as a companion piece to Julian Barnes’ book about death, Nothing to Be Frightened Of (which I’d also highly recommend).

And it seems I’m not the only one enamored with Mr. Ebert of late. In the Huff Post yesterday, the director Rod Lurie wrote about what it means to be a “real man”:

I’ll tell you this — you can look at all the masculine toughies you want — the Ben Roethlisbergers, the Russell Crowes, the David Petraeuses — but if you want to look at what a man should be — persevering, honest, a person who manifests his intellect into action — you need look no further than Roger Ebert.

I think Roger Ebert is my personal hero. I love that guy.

(Huff link via OFCC)

I finally made it through American Movie Critics–the anthology edited by Phillip Lopate. It seemed to be a great compilation and historical review of American film criticism. I was struck by the thoughtfulness of criticism even back when film was just emerging. For some reason, that was a revelation to me. Sometimes criticism (and film, for that matter) seems so ephemeral, so “of the day”. I sort of assumed that there was a time that movies were just movies. Sheer entertainment, nothing more. But the tradition goes back to the beginning. It heartens me to know that people have always been thinking critically about movies.

The other pleasant surprise was the discussion of those movies which aren’t exactly considered high art. From Manny Farber’s “White Elephant Art vs. Termite Art” to Pauline Kael’s “Trash, Art, and the Movies” to J. Hoberman’s “Bad Movies,” they all instilled in me a wider appreciation of what movies are and can be. One of my faults is putting too much emphasis on the quest for high art in film while neglecting what is great about not-so-great movies.

On a related note, in a recent interview in the AV club, Bruce Campbell described what makes a movie a cult classic:

…one that has been fully embraced by an alternative audience, not the popular audience. There are two different audiences. One is a very specific sci-fi lover or a horror lover. The difference between my fans and Tom Cruise’s fans is that no one is tattooing Risky Business on their back. Yet I’ve seen the poster for Army Of Darkness on a guy’s back—his whole back. It was beautiful.

I still think tattooing the Army of Darkness poster onto your back is really creepy and kinda sad, but I certainly take his point. I once briefly considered getting a tattoo of Alfred Hitchcock’s silhouette.

Anyways…I’ll certainly be returning to the Lopate book in the future, especially to those three pieces mentioned above. The book also inspires me to begin writing better about movies. While I’ve been writing my short Week In Review blurbs for the movies I see, the quality of analysis and writing is well short of my desired intentions. To this point, it has been mostly thoughtless. Hopefully in the near future I can begin to take my writing more seriously and start writing thoughtful stuff in the form of proper reviews, academic articles, or critical essays.

I just need to carve out some time and energy to do it. And if it’s something I really want to do, it shouldn’t be so hard to find the extra time and energy for it.

Sometimes, when a man’s alone, all you got is your dogs, and they mean the world to me.

–Mickey Rourke, thanking his dogs, upon accepting the Golden Globe for his performance in The Wrestler

While I’m certain I’ve never experienced the hard times that Rourke has endured over the past couple of decades, I know exactly what he is talking about. From my younger days to the present, a dog has often comforted me in my toughest of times. My dogs absolutely mean the world to me.

I don’t know if it’s a canine cinema zeitgeist. Or if it marks some sociological shift away from community (and even family) towards this new kind of nuclear family. Or, more likely, I’m simply noticing what I want to notice. But it does seem that dogs have played an increasingly poignant role in film. They are not just a child’s slobbering companion any more.

Mike White’s Year of the Dog, from 2007, may have gotten things started for me. It was a sympathetic portrayal of a woman who loves dogs. A comedy to be sure, but a film that ultimately understood the seriousness underlying the bond that can exist between dog and human.

In 2008, dogs seem to be all over the place. Jim Emerson even runs down a list of 2008 Dogs of the Year including dogs from Let the Right One In, A Christmas Tale, In Bruges, Wendy and Lucy, Gran Torino, and The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. Perhaps even Emerson’s own loss of his Frances has caused me to focus more on the role dogs can play in our lives.

Just this past weekend, I saw Lance Hammer’s Ballast. Previous to seeing the film, this brief shot from the trailer literally took my breath away:

JimMyron Ross as James

In a few seconds, with no dialogue, a complete set of emotions were conveyed. I was in love with this movie from this one shot alone. A boy, alone, and a dog that provides some measure of comfort and hope amidst an otherwise miserable world. After seeing the complete film, I’m so very in love with it. It more than lived up to my expectations.

I was prepared to see something that simply looked beautiful. Some of the discussion I’d absorbed seem to imply that the film was quite fragmentary and abstract. I thought it would simply be a feast for the eyes. But there was a narrative throughout that more than adequately connected these poetic images. Sure there was minimal dialogue and the story unfolded with some leisure. But it all worked brilliantly. Hammer captured the isolation of the place (the Mississippi Delta) as well as the loneliness and vulnerability of the three leads. Cinematographer Lol Crawley and the non-professional cast deserve a huge amount of credit for creating something so honest, heartbreaking, and beautiful.

The film is up for 6 IFC Spirit Awards. It deserves each one.

I’ve finally made it through the numerous articles in PopMatters’ celebration of the 40th anniversary of Romero’s Night of the Living Dead. The 30 pieces delve into the horror classic from a delightful bounty of perspectives. My favorites include “The Trouble with Harry” by Peter Hutchings and “Why Can’t We Just Eat Brains and be Happy?” by Chris Deis. Certainly worth the read for lovers of the undead.

In a comment to a previous post, Sarah mentioned the Bechdel Test. I, like a lot of people, just learned of this test recently while listening to NPR. A movie is said to pass the test if:

1. There are two or more female characters,
2. They talk to each other,
3. About something other than a man.

The test sprung out of a 1985 Dykes to Watch Out For comic strip by Alison Bechdel.  According to Bechdel, the rule should instead be called Ripley’s Rule in honor of Sigourney Weaver’s role in Alien.

Obviously the rule is just a shorthand. It doesn’t aim to completely dismiss all those movies that fail its test. But it does point at the bigger issue of Hollywood seemingly being most interested in male gazing over all other POVs. While I don’t think you can use the rule to condemn a particular movie, I do think it can be used to point out the misogyny of cinema more broadly.

I’ll certainly keep the rule in mind, at least in the short term, to see which movies I watch pass the test and which of them fail. I’ll let you know what I find…

Evan Derrick offers up excellent advice on 10 Ways To Become a Better Film Critic. The first thing I got from his post was that I needed to immediately add a book to my reading list–American Movie Critics: From Silents Until Now edited by Phillip Lopate. The other thing that really struck me was the suggestion: “3. Develop an Appreciation For All the Arts.” I particularly like this Nathan Lee quote he pulled from RottenTomatoes.com:

I’m reading all the time, but I can learn more about the movies I’m seeing this week from reading a great 19th century novel than I can from whatever XYZ critic has to say this week about whatever. I think another problem with movie writing is that it’s insular, especially Internet writing. It’s so narrow and insular and just about movies, and I think to be a really good writer and film critic you need a range. You need to know what’s going on in painting, you need to know what’s going on in music, you need to read books, and get laid, and go to restaurants, you know what I mean? A lot of movie writing is very impassioned but it’s very limited, very narrow. And I think good critics can put movies into a larger cultural and social perspective.

This sort of reminded me of the scene in Manhattan (which I just watched for the first time last night) where Isaac (Woody Allen) is sitting on the couch naming off all of the things he thinks make life worthwhile:

Groucho Marx, to name one thing… uh… um… and Willie Mays… and um… the 2nd movement of the ‘Jupiter’ Symphony… and um… Louis Armstrong, recording of ‘Potato Head Blues’… um… Swedish movies, naturally… Sentimental Education by Flaubert… uh… Marlon Brando, Frank Sinatra… um… those incredible apples and pears by Cezanne… uh… the crabs at Sam Wo’s… uh… Tracy’s face….

Sharing Woody Allen’s view of a godless universe, I think these things are incredibly important. These things (my list would be different of course) make the universe beautiful. They are things bigger than one’s self to which we must submit in awe. In a way, they’re all we have. And I wholeheartedly agree that this sort of multi-dimensional passion not only allows you to better describe the world you see (as a film critic) but also to just have eyes that are more open.

For some time, I’ve put thought into the movies I watch as well as thought into their selection. I know this sounds obvious. But after working at a video store in my college days, I know that many people put thought into neither. More recently, I’ve been putting this sort of thought into what I read. I’ve always been a reader, but over the years I started reading less and less. I’d read newspapers regularly but I sort of stopped reading other stuff. In the last couple of years, I have not only reignited my reading habit but taken it even further (reading better and more diversely…I still have a long way to go). And, I have to say that I’m still surprised when I read something so wonderful. I feel so lucky. Then a couple of months ago I saw The Impressionists exhibit at the Kimbell Art Museum in Ft. Worth. For the first time, art wasn’t just something I should appreciate. It was something that I loved. It was as if I’d learned a new language and could decipher things that before were only gibberish. The world seems so much more beautiful than it did just a few years ago.

I say all of this because I do think movies and life are better seen through eyes which have read great American fiction and seen Cezanne’s apples. And to think I have only begun and yet have so little time…

(via OFCC)

Finished up Eric Lax’s Conversations with Woody Allen. Then, watched Hannah and Her Sisters (1986) and Manhattan (1979).

Both Hannah and Manhattan show a progression from Annie Hall and Interiors. They’re both more “dramatic” than Annie Hall while still retaining its sense of humor. And yet neither is so dour as Interiors.

Hannah, like Interiors, centers on three sisters and the world that surrounds them. Allen’s Mickey provides comic relief as he deals with his hypochondria and an existential crisis. The film does perhaps have a too happy ending. But, I don’t think it takes much away from the rest of the film. It’s not characteristic so I’ll go along with it.

What I like about Woody Allen is that he both praises and tears down the intellectual mindset. But unlike the McCain-Palin Republican establishment he doesn’t reduce it to pithy slogans of intellectual hatred. Allen is more genuinely concerned with authenticity. It’s not enough to know a lot, or know more than somebody else, it’s really about how you use that knowledge, how you feel it. He talks about the strength and resiliency of the heart over the brain.

Keaton’s Mary Wilkie in Manhattan sort of represents that dichotomy. At first, her intellectual prowess just sort of annoys Woody’s Isaac. Then as he gets to know her he begins to really fall in love with her. Loyalty gets in the way and Isaac must give up Mary and time gets in the way and he must give up Tracy (or just let her go).

The Tracy-Isaac relationship was a little creepy to be sure. But, it still felt authentic and a little bit sweet. While I may squirm a little , I can’t really argue with it. There are too many screwed up relationships out there to seriously criticize one on the basis of age difference.

I loved the scene where Isaac, Mary, Michael Murphy’s Yale, and Mariel Hemingway’s Tracy are walking down the street and Mary starts ripping on all the stuff that Allen likes (Mahler, Scott Fitzgerald, etc.). Then she can’t figure out why he likes Bergman whose view is so “Scandinavian” and “bleak” when the stuff he writes is so funny. Very meta.

In Lax’s Conversations, Woody says:

To the average person, my films might seem, for want of a better word, arty. And to people who know art, they don’t. So it’s a strange limbo I’ve lived in with my movies. They’ve been–I didn’t know what to say. Not commercial and not art and yet some accidentally are enjoyable and even profitable.

This sort of sums up how I see movies and even film criticism. Just watching those movies which academia deems to be excellent or just watching those with the highest grosses is highly limiting. Cinema is about challenging yourself andenjoying yourself. You need your Apatows and your Antonionis.