Where have all the film critics gone?

You may not know this, but it is nearly impossible these days to make a living as a film critic. We can thank crowd-sourcing for this. Go jump on Netflix and take a look at the user reviews. Some of them are reasonably well-informed, but even the highest rated reviews betray a kind of stubborn ignorance, in that they almost never break free of the "I liked it"/"I hated it" foundation of commentary. What is usually missing from lay-criticism is careful evaluation of the actual quality of a film, which should account for what the thing was trying to do, and whether it was successful. The personal response of the viewer/reviewer is a factor, but it is not the end-all.

The current landscape for movie reviews is a bit dismal. Film critics almost always get lumped together, as though they are in some kind of club that meets weekly and decides whether they liked a movie or not. I can't tell you how many times I've heard, "I don't usually agree with what the critics say." What does that even mean? Are you aware that "critics" differ vastly from one another, and that their opinions represent a wide spectrum of valuable analytical thought? You can't disagree with all of them. It's not possible.

It is possible, however, to take note of some kind of critical consensus, if and when it happens. If a whole lot of critics seem really enthused about a particular film, it's probably worth some consideration. If you find yourself in love with a film that most critics seem to hate, it might be time to acknowledge that you have  something of a guilty pleasure. Loving a film doesn't make it good, and hating it doesn't make it bad.

I digress. The point is that film criticism is a dying profession. It's now the hobbyist's world, and the hobbyist doesn't have to be any good, just passionate, and Internet-savvy. But it stands to reason that as the professional critics go, so goes the professional criticism.

Thankfully, we've still got Rotten Tomatoes and MetaCritic. Sure, they house a good number of idiots masquerading as film buffs, but those review aggregators are the last bastion of hope for professional film critics. To get included in the "tomatometer" requires significant accreditation, and so Rotten Tomatoes' scores maintain a certain value.

Unfortunately, that value doesn't seem to affect the box office over-dramatically. Here is a telling snapshot:

Striking, is it not?

Anyway, I was motivated to write this ranting, disorganized post because, despite the thanklessness of it, I can't seem to stop writing movie reviews. And while I try my best to make them meaningful, whether I succeed in that effort is not really my call.

Here's my latest. And it provides a great illustration of that thing I mentioned. I had major problems with Hugo, but it's got a 94% on Rotten Tomatoes. Does that mean that I think all critics are wrong and stupid? Of course not.

Anyway. I'm done.

Pick a different thing.

As many of you may know, teaching is still a part of my life. I'm still a TA, and though the circumstances are very different, I'm finding many of the experiences to be very similar.

For instance, I still occasionally have opportunities to talk with students one-on-one, usually about the class, but sometimes not. One of my students came to my "office hour" (I do not have an office) to go over some of her ideas for the next essay. She's interested in becoming a screenwriter, so she's thinking about focusing on certain aspects of that career's development alongside technology for her essay. I told her I think that's a great topic. 

I also told her that screenwriting is an excruciatingly difficult career choice. Let's think about it. You don't get paid unless you're very good, have great connections, and get lucky. No one is ever going to tell you how and when and what to do, so all of your hard work has to be completely self-motivated. In order to get to the point where you're any good at all, you have to bleed your life away at the keyboard, and somehow re-construct yourself into someone who cares more about writing than almost anything else. I should also mention that screenwriting is, quite possibly, the most grueling kind of writing to do well, or even correctly. And since so few people know how or even care to read screenplays, the best stuff you do will be almost totally unappreciated.

But don't worry, because for the first several years of painstaking sacrifice, everything you actually manage to finish will be total crap.

My advice? Pick a different thing. 

If you can't -- if you can't -- then you'd better start in on it now. The sooner you reconstitute your life around a core of daily, substantial writing, the better shot you'll have. 

The good news is, I don't know of many people who sacrifice hours writing every day for the better part of their lives and don't wind up with some degree of success. So the real question is, are you willing to make the offering that the craft demands?

In short, this mantra:

Write away, right away!

Bad Writer, Bad Writing

I had two choices:

1. Continue to avoid writing a new post because I technically don't have a new scene to share this week.
2. Admit my failure and post anyway, favoring consistency over humiliation (and cowardice).

I am now hiding behind door #2. 

It's not that I haven't been writing at all, but what little time I have spent writing I've sunk into the short, for which I'm supposed to be turning in the first draft this coming week.

Wow, what a sentence. I can actually feel myself getting worse at putting words together. It's becoming a neurosis. You are witnessing a slow, excruciating collapse of a once-creative mind. What's it like, from your perpective? This is what it's like for me: sinking into a pit of loose, soft sand. I'm panicking, of course, but what can I do? It seems like the more I struggle, the deeper I sink, and plus there's all this sand, which, even if I get out, is going to be all up in everywhere ok I think this analogy is breaking down.

And now here's some venting:

I frequently (and unfairly) blame my failure to stake out more time to write on my job as a TA. Specifically, of late, grading papers. Like I said, it's unfair, because if I was more dedicated, I'd get my &#!+ together and quit whining. I'd have plenty of time if I'd stop wasting so much of it.

But that's not what I want to vent about. I want to say that the level to which we, as a nation, have allowed our standard, public education to sink is unforgivable. I don't blame the freshmen coming into a prestigious college for their utter inability to write coherently (I'm one to talk)--I blame the system that so recently regurgitated their ill-served brains. The sad fact is this: public high schools are failing utterly to teach the vast majority of their students to write at even the modest levels of competency. 

This is the pen I use to grade. I know, right?

Is writing really that important? 

Have you ever heard Lewis Black scream the word "YES" in an explosively incredulous rage? Well, that's my answer. 

Not only is an inability to write clearly and effectively an indication of a poor education, and a terrible handicap in the professional world, it is also, alas, directly related to stunted critical thinking. Writing is thinking, and vice versa. The two are inseparable. Learning to write well facilitates much better thinking. Without the one, the other stagnates. 

And so most of us are coming out of high school barely functional. It's not an age thing, it's a systemic failure thing. If our eighteen-year-olds are well-meaning idiots, it's not because they haven't seen two decades, it's because they have seen one decade of "no child left behind." 

I'm going to stop now, or I never will. 

This blog is supposed to be a place to talk about being a film student/maker/person. So I've typed out my passionate plea for better writing with fear and fury, and now I want to ask you, am I overstating it? Am I alone in my anguish? Are there other perspectives outside of mine? I tend to assume there aren't, which, I recognize, is a problem. Help me fix it.

Film School and Some Slowing

First, here's what was owed to you on Monday, but I failed to deliver:

Is film school important? 

There were a bunch of really great responses, several of which didn't end up in the comments, but emerged in private conversations over the next few days after I posted that question. 

Most people seem to agree about film school's potential usefulness. The predominating sentiment was: maybe you don't need it, but it certainly can't hurt, and there are a whole lot of advantages. 

I find myself in reasonable accord, with some qualifiers. Film school is, or at least should be if it's worth anything, a close prototype of actual filmmaking. In other words, you will get out of it only what you put in. Like all great opportunities for accomplishment in this life, film school should demand the best you can give it; it requires self starters, and rewards people who take on the work and responsibility of their own education. 

Many would argue that that very condition is what makes going to school for film a waste of time. If all that self-starting is needed, why not do it outside of the arbitrary demands and monetary cost of formal schooling? Why not just go do it on your own? 

I think of film school like a garden, of sorts. A plant can grow outside of a garden. A seed can find purchase in rough, dry dirt and somehow eke out a meager existence in blinding sunlight and the period deluge. The seed that finds itself surrounded by the careful cultivation of a garden, however, will have a much better opportunity to grow. Film school is that garden. Just as the soil and cultivation of a garden will not grow a seed--the seed must do it's own growing, and take advantage of the better conditions--film students cannot be made into great filmmakers or scholars. They must simply use the better resources that their school provides, so many of which were mentioned in the astute responses last week. 

I'm all for film school, but only for those who can manage to do their own growing. 

Speaking of growing, this blog is going to have to go through a bit of a transition. For over two months, I was good for my word, and posted every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. But it sort of burned me out. The quality of my posts was degenerating, and my will to continue was waning. In short, I got into a rut. It may not have been the most responsible move, but I decided to step away from it for a week. And then, when I came back, I realized I couldn't really continue as I had been. It was sapping too much of my life. 

So, I will promise weekly posts. There may be more, but at this moment, I'll make no guarantees. If you're following this blog in any way (Facebook, Twitter, Google Reader, obsessive daily visits to the actual website...), you'll know when I post, and hopefully rejoice profoundly when I do. 

In the meantime, I'm going to devote more of my time and energy to writing. After all, I'm going to be working on a screenwriting MFA soon, and I figure I'd better get into the habit of...well, screenwriting. Storytelling in general. Also, I'm leaving Provo in a month, and an inestimably important stage of my life will be over. I figure it would be tragic to waste what little time I have left here drowning this blog's tiny audience in too many posts. 

Bear with me. 2190 isn't dying, just dropping its heartbeat a little to outlast the insanity of the next few weeks of my life. 

For the sake of keeping the conversation alive, though, here's a parting, and very sincere question: What is or is not, has or has not been valuable about this blog? If you read 2190 regularly, what do you hope to see? What do you hope not to hear more about? What's helpful? What's not? I think you get the idea. I'm not really doing 2190 for me, so how can I make it better for you?

Is Film School Important?

First of all, my apologies for the week-long break. I needed it, though, to stay enthusiastic about this here blog.

Let's go ahead and just pick up where we left off. It's Monday, and that means I'd like to pose a question that I think will be pertinent to many if not all of you.

First, though, I need to thank DJB for being the sole contributor last week. He shared some good thoughts, and I would encourage you to go back and read what he has to say. I myself would like to add one thing to one part of his comment:

Be literate. You cannot create anything new without knowing what has come before. Read, watch, listen.

While I agree absolutely with this principle (along with the rest of what you had to say), I would also say that there is no way anyone can be literate enough to know all of what has come before, and when it comes to telling stories, there really is nothing absolutely "new," in the strictest and most literal sense of the word, to say. However, one can never be too literate. It's vital to fill your eyes, ears, and brains with great artistic works, whatever their form. In that way, it is possible to then synthesize the best of what has been done and make it your own, contributing in your unique way to the body of human expression.

On to the new question:

Is film school important?

Is it necessary? This probably isn't a black and white question by any stretch, so I expect any answers to take some pains to explain their own context and justification. Of course my own hand is relatively obvious--for heaven's sake, I call myself an "expert film student." However, my opinions on the subject are certainly not cut and dried, so I'm very interested to hear what others think.

Comment away!

Actors & The Creative Process

Thank you to everyone who responded to last week's open question. Many of your thoughts echoed my own, but there were also a number of ideas that caused me to think more deeply about certain aspects of this subject. If you haven't, I encourage you to take a look at all the insight before continuing through this post.

I've worked with some actors, not many, but enough to have been confronted with the agony of a talentless and/or utterly inexperienced lead, and the dream of working with someone who has the chops to give you exactly what you need for every scene. Acting, as it turns out, is something very few people can do well, despite how many people try. It's an art, and a hard one, and it's tough to underestimate the value of the craft. A bad or even so-so performance will ruin a film, and a great one can elevate it in kind.

It's also true that actors are the face of a film. They represent, more than any other element, a film's "brand," so to speak. It's actually pretty easy to put a price tag on that, since there's always some idea as to what kind of profit the film might bring in. If you cast Will Smith, you can guarantee that your film will make over a hundred million dollars. So, from a strictly business perspective, how much would you be willing to pay for that particular actor?

So there's the case for an actor's paycheck, but this doesn't take into consideration the moral ramifications of overpaying a person. Is it right for anyone to make twenty million dollars for a month of work? Or, how about the point Asia brought up in the comments: perhaps we should consider the fact that an abundance of money and fame often ruins people's lives, and this seems to be especially true with our movie stars.

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Here's this week's question, aimed directly at all the creatives: What is the best way to be consistently, dependably creative? What do you do to get the pump primed, and keep it flowing? How do you get yourself to produce on a regular basis?

If you're like me, you're always looking for new insight in this area, so share what you've discovered, and pay close attention to what everyone else has to say.

Actors Acting

After my interview with James last week, I asked him if he had any advice on how I might better run this here little blog. He had a great idea (which isn't surprising), and I am going to implement it as follows:

Each Monday, I will pose a question, perhaps with some context, perhaps not, and then I will ask very sincerely for you to post your thoughts in the comments. The following Monday, I'll respond to those comments, and give my own opinion, and then pose another question. Pretty simple, right? Of course, in order for this to be at all interesting, you'll have to be bold and type out your ideas for others to see.

OK, here goes.

Did you know big-budget films are often so expensive because of big-name actors? If you look on boxofficemojo.com, and see that a given film cost $150 million, you can be certain that at least a third of the budget went to the talent (all of the actors).

This is even true with smaller-budget films. I won't give you the exact numbers, but I will tell you that about 30% of our budget for Weighted went to our actors.

What is it that actors do? Well, duh, they act. But what does that mean? Here's a link to a short series of videos called "14 Actors Acting." It's pretty cool, and you'll recognize most of them. Here's one of my favorites from the series (I pulled the embed from YouTube, but you'll want to use this link to watch them all through):



These are broadly recognized experts in their industry. Very few people would argue whether they've mastered their craft. So the question is this:

Are actors worth what they're paid? 

Take a moment to answer in the comments below.