Popcorn, soda, the smell of butter in the air, the clink of ice cubes in drinks, aisle seats, air conditioning on hot summer days, privacy with one’s lover, escape from school…
The cinema will always mean different things to different people. But for the film critic, who is by definition a cinephile, the perpetual nighttime of the cinema hall is her home. Her pencil scribbles furiously in the dark, on the back of bus tickets (she cannot afford a car), while her eyes remain transfixed on the flickering lights on the screen.
It may be the latest work by a director the press hails as an auteur, or a low budget independent film from some far corner of the world, or a mainstream Hollywood film, or even an experimental film made by her second cousin, but the fact remains that it is only the third film she has watched today and she has little time for distraction, unlike the teenage couple sitting next to her who fritter away their time and energy on tonsil hockey.
She takes copious notes on the style of the film, on the mise en scene, on the staging and the depth of field, the editing, the cinematography, lighting and composition of shots, the use of sound and music. She does all this while still following the storyline and having an emotional response to the film. At the back of her mind, she wonders how the style influences the content of the film.
When the film has finished, and everyone has gone, she is the only one left watching the end credits, trying to note the name of the art director or the sound editor between the silhouettes of pesky ushers who insist on blocking her vision in some vague attempt at domesticity.
She will then rush home, by public transport, possibly changing two buses en route, and dive into her work straightaway. She will hammer out a review that will either praise the film like the ancient who worshipped the sun or condemn it for betraying the medium and being unworthy of being called a ‘film’. The great importance of her work seems evident only to herself, and will in all likelihood be read by one other person, ten to one, her mother.
At least one French film critic has been moved to ask: ‘Is Cinema more important than life?’ He wisely chose not to answer his own question, not in public anyway, and posterity has found his brevity charming. Little, however, can be gained in questioning his sincerity. There are many people, no doubt, who would prefer the dark comforts of the cinema to the harsh realities of life, but it would be unfair to draw a comparison with Plato’s parable of the cave.
The critics who write about film are now an endangered species. Newspapers and magazines are regularly shedding their film critics. Their prestige is lower than that of the art critic, the music critic or even the book reviewer.
Many filmgoers depend more on film trailers and other publicity devices than of taking the trouble of reading a review. Much like most people will probably read the blurb at the back of a book and flick through its pages before committing to a purchase. Which begs the question if critics are at all necessary?
They are not. A distinction should be made however between film reviews and film criticism. While the review is at pains to either lure the viewer into a dark theatre or to warn her away, film criticism assumes the reader has seen the film in question and would now like to engage with it at a deeper level. Reviews are generally sarcastic in tone and offer its perpetrators an opportunity to demonstrate wit (typically at another’s expense); film criticism has a more serious intent and its authors often have a scholarly attraction to the cinema. Neither is indispensable, but the latter is arguably more valuable as the criteria against which a film is judged is more readily discernable. The opinions and feelings of reviewers, although charming, are generally condescending to readers and unfair to filmmakers. But film studios are largely unconcerned by their criticism.
The cinema, like the automobile, is a commodity. It is mass produced in places like Hollywood, and presold to TV networks on the strength of the script and the ‘stars’ who will appear in it. In fact, it can make a profit even before shooting begins due to these presale agreements. This arrangement has persisted at least since the 1970s, since Jaws and Star Wars revealed the potential of “blockbuster” films. The marketing strategy is to create sufficient hype about an upcoming film so that the public is compelled to come in droves, to slake their curiosity if nothing else, if only for the first few weeks, and by then (along with the presale agreements) the warm glow of satisfaction that spreads across the producers’ faces will be a sight to behold.
And it would take considerable effort from reviewers, critics and the film going public to wipe the smug smiles off those faces.
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susheela menon: Liked your story The God of Big Things. :-)...
Mita Mukerjee: I admire your power of critical thinking and the art of its uninhibite...