Review vs. Critique

I've always hated those "There are two kinds of people" comparisons, because they are inevitably reductionist, often to the point of absurdity. With that said, there are definitely two types of movie reviewers: those who critique a film, and those who simply review it. To me, a critique is the more stringent of the two forms, comprising a critical (from the same root, obviously) appraisal of the movie's relative merits and demerits, while a review is exactly that: a re-view, a going-over-again of the movie's contents, with a particular emphasis on the reviewer's experience of the movie rather than a more objective evaluation of the movie's content and themes. Or to put it another way, a critique is about the movie; a review is about the reviewer.

Here are a couple illustrations, pulled from the Rotten Tomatoes site's collection of critiques and reviews of a truly superior movie, Michel Gondry and Charlie Kaufman's Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, both from critics/reviewers who didn't like the film:

Stephanie Zacharek of Salon says that Eternal Sunshine "represents a failure of nerve," complaining that its intricate structure interferes with the aching beauty of the relationship at the heart of the movie. She writes:

It's as if young filmmakers fear that their audiences will become bored with a movie if they don't have a clever mind-boggler to wrestle with along the way (the equivalent of a magnetic bingo game on a long car trip). In grappling with these perplexing riddles, we're supposedly exercising our intellect. But isn't it also possible that we're using them as a handy diversion, a way of distancing ourselves from emotions that might be too strong for us to deal with easily? Labyrinthine plots are supposed to stimulate us. But are they really just distracting us from the work at hand -- the work of feeling?

A fair point, in which Ms. Zacharek brings her concerns from the specific to the general, asking whether modern moviemakers are afraid to just Go There. Now, by contrast, the reviewer who calls himself "The Cranky Critic" also grouses about the movie's stylistic conceits, but in a manner that never rises above itself:

...Kaufman has now moved into the realm of rubbing the viewer's nose in how clever he is. It's a very strange feeling to walk out of a screening thinking little of the actors or the story or its gimmick; the only thought wafting through our deteriorating gray matter was "gee, that was clever writing." Good writing is only the starting point for good film making. We should not be thinking about the writing, and only the writing, when all is said and done. That was the case with Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, a film so dead on target with the mind set taught in film school that it will have cinerati dancing in the aisles. Everyone else gets some chuckles and a whole mess'a clever visual effects to drive the story along.

Which begs the question: why does this guy take the time to set himself up as a movie critic when he doesn't seem to like movies? Or rather, when his view of what movies can or ought to be is so rudimentary, so narrow? There is all over his review that rampant anti-intellectualism that disguises itself as a reverence for "authenticity," but betrays itself over and over again as what it is: a fear of intellect, of challenge, of being asked to participate in the artistic experience at hand.

Consider this, from Cranky's "about me" page: "There is no applause for intellectual musings over entertainment value in Cranky's world, 'cuz Cranky doesn't live in the stratified world of private screenings and lavish PR parties." It is, of course, a false comparison: plenty of people don't get invited to private screenings or PR parties, but they're perfectly happy to engage a film on its own merits, however challenging (or not) those merits might be. It's a potent reverse snobbery in which a reviewer represents himself as an Ordinary Guy, claiming that in a democracy, the Ordinary Guy is king. Anything else is elitism, oligarchy, and that smacks of, you know, Socialism or even Commie-dom.

Then, of course, there is the fact that on the internet, anybody can start a website and call himself a critic. For these people, the art of the review deteriorates completely: "This movie was boring and it sucked" becomes the be-all and end-all of criticism: I didn't like it, therefore it sucks. No appreciation for other points of view, and any point of view that does differ from the reviewer's is automatically pretentious and elitist.

Zacharek's concerns, however, are exactly the opposite: "...there are moments in "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" that bring us as close as anyone should ever come to staring at the sun. The movie's warmth is irresistible; the risk of getting burned should have been left to us." This is (a) better writing in and of itself; and (b) an urgent plea for this artful movie to be both simpler and more complex, all at the same time--simpler in its artifice but more complex in its emotional search. Zacharek is frustrated because the movie isn't artful enough, her frustrations with complexity a result of a sense that they interfered with (and obscured) the beautiful story at the center of it all.

Now me, I loved the movie almost unreservedly, and didn't find myself distracted by the things that distracted Ms. Zacharek, so I don't happen to agree with her criticism--but I respect it, and it makes me take an even harder look at a film I love, to see if maybe there's something I should have been paying better attention to. That's good criticism; Cranky, he does nothing to elevate my experience of the movie, he just makes me awfully glad that I'm not him.