What we have here is failure to communicate.

Dave, your movie reviewing philosophy, if I may put it bluntly, is for the birds. The film critics circles/associations of every major city would cast you from their exalted ranks, and without fanfare. Your refusal to justify your reactions, to produce an account of the artistry, to point the finger of blame, the finger of honor, or the finger of mild indifference is nothing short of Marxism.

Nevertheless, if you are going to insist on writing reviews that amount to an emoticon subtitle (and I'm certain that you are), I have a suggestion. Offer your loyal readership a primer on your tastes, as a training set. To lead by example, I have added a link to a list of movies that are, in my supreme estimation, great. You might consider also compiling a list of movies that you are quite certain suck. You might attempt to appear more clever and literate by titling this list something like, movies that "Cause you to roll your eyes and gnash your teeth such that the sisters hurriedly tighten the restraints and invoke the Father". Or, to annoy me as much as possible, you might even write some queer sort of interactive movie-emoticon matrix in Flash. Oh, what a hateful idea that is, you Commie bastard.

Dave's reviewing philosophy

In his comment on my review of "Children of Men", Tiberius makes an important point that I think needs addressing: my film reviews are very, very vague - I provide negligible description of the movie and no evidence for my assertions.

This is intentional.

Here's what I hope to achieve as a reviewer:
1) Readers understand from my reviews and other posts what I like/dislike in movies, and whether this matches well with their own tastes.
2) Readers understand whether I'm glad I saw a particular movie and why.
3) Those readers whose tastes are similar to my own can extrapolate relatively well whether they'd like the movie.
4) If they do watch it, they're able to experience every moment as it unfolds, as unadulterated as possible by prior knowledge.

I think even a little prior knowledge of the film can detract from the viewer's ability to be mentally and emotionally kidnapped by it, an ability which I value highly.

If someone really needs to know details of the plot, they can find a synopsis at moviefone or a zillion other places.

Leave the cannoli.

So there I was. On the couch with my girlfriend, about to watch The Godfather. She'd never seen it, so I was obliged to initiate her. Okay, we're at Connie's wedding, and she starts making out with me. Hey, honey, let's save it for later--this is The Godfather. She pouts a bit. Back to the movie. Then, about the time Tom Hagen's poking his nose around Hollywood, she starts trying to give me a blow job. Whoa! That's real sweet of you, sugar, but this ain't exactly Cabin Boy we're watching here. She doesn't get it. I had to break up with her. Movie or hot chick? We're not kidding.

In the theaters: "Children of Men" - Dave says: Movie

Regular people in a scary, uncertain situation and I felt what they were feeling and I cared. Then after the movie, I had emotional aftermath. F-in' A, movie.

What did Miggs say to you?

His Infirmity graced us with a new review last week for possibly the best movie about murder and perfume since Silence of the Lambs. [Note Jim Emerson's headline for the article, a reference to a Nirvana reference to the original novel. I was almost amused, but then I remembered that I hate that guy.] However, His Intubatedness made the following unfortunate remark.

R.E. -- Hoffman reminds us here again, as in "Stranger than Fiction," what a detailed and fascinating character actor he is...

Okay, Stranger than Fiction was rather good, despite the senseless plot device played by Dustin Hoffman. And despite the plot devices played by Queen Latifah and Maggie G, for that matter. Mags is a cutie, though, so I'll allow it. Remember Secretary? Meow. The point is, Hoffman's character, and in fact all the supporting characters, were woefully underwritten in comparison to the ingenious storyline occupied by Will Ferrell and the brilliant Emma Thompson.

Oh, and being barefoot does not constitute "detailed and fascinating" acting. I'll chalk this one up to a blood clot, Rog.

Wrong Reviews

Ok, I've criticized Roger (may he turn away from the happy village of Spectre that beckons him, because his true end is many years away, and much more interesting), in my comments here and here, for his sometimes-habit of allowing his morality to prevent an "objective" critique of films. I've called such reviews "Wrong Reviews".

But, in that, I was Wrong. Roger is my favorite critic for many reasons, but chief among them is that he tends to like/dislike the same films that I do, and for similar reasons; consequently, the first and last few lines of his reviews are a pretty good indicator of whether I'll enjoy the movie (I like to leave the rest of his review until after I've seen the film - that way I can savor its flavor without adulterating my own filmgoing experience).

But, as much as Roger's views and mine overlap, the fact is, Roger is not me. He, unlike me, is substantially affected by the morality he perceives to be expressed by a film. It's not his choice - it's just part of his experience when he watches a movie. And when he writes a review, he's sharing his experience with us (albeit in entertaining prose and enriched by his vast knowledge of cinema).

A truly "objective" review would be little more than a synopsis, because movies are as much art as paintings or songs, and while some artists may apply more skill or experience or attention in creating their art, all art is necessarily a subjective experience for its audience. The very best Roger can do is communicate his own experience of the film to us, and thereby be a helpful guide to a necessarily limited subset of moviegoers who tend to have similar responses to films. Moviegoers outside of that subset are truly better off reading A.O. Scott at the NY Times, Time Out New York's movie staff (but *shudder* I hope not...), or some other movie critic (maybe one based outside New York, for example). These people are no less "cultured" or "right" or "smart" or whatever than are Roger and I - they just have different tastes, so they and I probably shouldn't see too many movies together, and they shouldn't spend much time reading Roger's reviews.

But I am part of Roger's audience, and he serves me splendidly, and for this I adore him. I've come to know when I'll disagree with his views, and mostly I agree with them, so he's the best movie compass I have. He steers me away from folly and towards unexpected delights. And then, as a bonus afterwards, I get to smile while reading his musings.

Keep on writing Wrong Reviews now and then, Roger. And I'll keep on loving you.

Or whether we both see the color orange the same way.

Tiberius knows a lot about movies. I know relatively little. I just feel them strongly. Does that mean I don't feel them as strongly as does he? I suppose we can't ever know...

"If you spent as much time as you do posting on this blog..."

The idea of writing a screenplay speaks strongly to me, for reasons I've yet to put my finger on. Yet I've never gotten far trying to write one. So I try to pull Tiberius into it with me, because I know he has strong feelings about film, and I hope his partnership will help motivate me and make the process more enjoyable and the product better. But one must point out that he, too, has not written a screenplay, and my attempt to lure him into my scheme have only succeeded in fits and starts, usually at least a year apart. And we both are quite busy with "better" things to do. Should I abandon the idea of this screenplay? Should I just let it come when it comes? Is Tiberius merely humoring me? Am I merely humoring myself with unrealizable fantasies?

When some people hear a good song, they really respond to the bass or the drums or the singing. Does that mean they should devote time to practicing it, or should they just listen and enjoy? When I see a film whose writing speaks to me, I feel, "I could do that. I want to do that." Not for a career. I just want to do it.

Tell us again about Paris, 1968.

The great thing about Ebert (may he be cloned fully) is that his reviews are so genuine that they usually say more about him than they do about the movie. Which is swell, because his homespun-Midwestern liberal-cub reporter-Jefferson Smith-meets-band geek-I-was-cool-by-association-in-the-Sixties persona is ever delightful, and funny. But sometimes his delicate sensibilities can get to you, so it's sweet when a flick comes along that really ruffles his feathers, like Blue Velvet or Fight Club. Oh, Roger. Drink your Ovaltine.

Jim Emerson can suck a fuck.

Hate that guy. His writing style is like a case study in masturbatory disregard for the reader. Which would be fine, and even amusing, were he openly contemptuous of the audience. But he's not nearly so interesting.

A disgrace, all of you.

Congratulations, idiots. You have generously provided Night at the Museum with over $160 million domestic box office in three weekends. Perhaps we should change this blog to: Movie or Thyroid Cancer? I'm with Ebert on this one.

In the theaters: "Pan's Labyrinth" - Dave says: Hot Chick

Yeah, it was a very well crafted movie, from start to finish. I admired it and have nothing bad to say about it.

But I was watching it from the outside - it didn't pull me out of my world. And afterwards, I didn't see or think about the world or my life differently. For some reason I haven't yet put my finger on, the movie didn't really affect me.

Anyway, prima facie evidence: I saw it with a hot chick, and I would rather have spent the two hours with her. So: hot chick.