"You might be wondering, So what? So what if critics don’t get to see a movie—for free—in time to review it and are forced to watch it with the rest of the riffraff? Two things: 1) Movies are expensive and getting more so. Factor in concessions, parking, and transportation and you’re easily talking about a couple paying $50 for two hours of amusement. 2) That, whether it’s politics or entertainment, incredibly expensive publicity comes between what is and what others want you to know." …
"Meanwhile, film journalists, like the journalism profession in general, have earned public mistrust with their eagerness to praise mediocrity, and paralyzing fear of losing access to all-expenses-paid junkets featuring stars tutored in parroting publicity’s party line. All of which has led to, as New York Press critic Armond White noted in 2003, 'The current lunatic notion that film journalists are part of the movie industry, rather than unbiased reporters, commentators, watchdogs. You know, critics.' "
Read the rest here.
I guess I just wanted to say that if I don't like a movie, you'll hear about it. Granted, this was probably obvious already, but I felt like reminding you.
Carry on.
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Los Angeles, California I'm a twentysomething white male with ambitions to be a professional film critic and generally spend my days getting paid to watch movies and write about it. I try not to think too hard about how I want to build my life around talking about other people's creations and not mine. A compulsive reader and stubborn cineaste, I take an often contrary stance to my more fundamentalist peers and upbringing by celebrating the pursuit of the good, and the Good, in life, love, art and film. If you watched enough episodes of a few TV shows ("The Hungry and the Hunted," "The Cut Man Cometh," "The Body," "Waiting in the Wings," "Out of Gas," "April is the Cruelest Month," "20 Hours in America," "Colonial Day" for starters), you would understand me completely, and you'd also realize that much of my worldview and philosophical insights are heavily influenced by fictional works/programs, and many of the good things I've said in my life are just a regurgitation of someone else's imaginings. I guess I was made to be a film critic. This Month
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Monday, March 13
"You Know What You Are? You're A Popcorn Salesman."
by
Dan Carlson
on Mon 13 Mar 2006 05:19 PM PST
Hypothetical Nicknames For One Of My Bosses That Would Probably Get Me Fired, Or At Least A Trip To HR
by
Dan Carlson
on Mon 13 Mar 2006 03:30 PM PST
Mt. Vejewvius
The Hasidic Hatestorm
Bradford, You're So Stupid. … You're Fired.
by
Dan Carlson
on Mon 13 Mar 2006 01:01 PM PST
Wait, what's that you say? You want a television review? Well, I'm no TV Whore, though I do share his love for Sorkin and Mamet.
But okay: Here you go. |
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Remembering speechlessly we seek the great forgotten language, the lost lane-end into heaven, a stone, a leaf, an unfound door. Where? When?
O lost, and by the wind grieved, ghost, come back again. — Look Homeward, Angel, Thomas Wolfe Conservatives are not necessarily stupid, but most stupid people are conservatives. — John Stuart Mill We are all under the same mental calamity; we have all forgotten our names. We have all forgotten what we really are. All that we call common sense and rationality and practicality and positivism only means that for certain dead levels of our life we forget that we have forgotten. All that we call spirit and art and ecstasy only means that for one awful instant we remember that we forget. — G.K. Chesterton We were, for the briefest of moments, something greater than the sum of our uncertain parts; we were youth itself, in all its painful glory and sharp joy. — August Van Zorn There is a time in the lives of most writers when they are vulnerable, when the vivid dreams and ambitions of childhood seem to pale in the harsh sunlight of what we call the real world. In short, there's a time when things can go either way. — Stephen King Los Angeles, give me some of you! Los Angeles come to me the way I came to you, my feet over your streets, you pretty town I loved you so much, you sad flower in the sand, you pretty town. — Ask the Dust, John Fante |
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