Film Critic Eye for the Straight Guy
By Jacob Stein
Issue date: 11/17/05 Section: Opinions
In the past, I've been known to be a little too harsh in my criticisms of various movies. I suppose it's because I have great respect for the art form. Now, more than ever, I rip apart plots and stamp on reputations, especially since I've graduated from the Tarentino school of film-making and started making films of my own.
Recently however, I have less interest and even less time to enjoy the occasional film on a Friday night. School work plays a role in this, as Tolstoy's Madame Karenine keeps intruding into my cinematic wet dreams. I need to scream out, "I'm sick and tired and I'm not going to take it anymore!"
Let us commence an analysis of my troubles. In this highly commodified age, films are here this week and gone the next. It proves difficult to keep up with current trends. Lowered Hollywood standards and the international release system haven't helped the situation.
People in Kreblachastan may have loved Batman Begins, but that doesn't help me understand its plot. The current system has turned the latest batch of new releases into formula-based films made by committees. Each Jennifer Love Hewitt movie must contain three bikini scenes and so on.
I realize that I'm ranting a little bit. The reason for this is that I'm frightened, terrified really, of what I've become. Yes, I admit it, I have become a Critic, and there's no turning back. The metamorphosis is complete.
Trust me, I take more stabs than Hitchcock in the 'Shower Scene.' There I am, slashing away with my mental machete, dismantling films like I belong in I Heart Huckabees. Except this is no solution in my case, it's part of the problem.
As I sit in a darkened movie theatre, undetectable and odorless, hormones and chemical levels recalibrate. It's as subtle as a twitch of the eye. My other half takes over. A sparrow couldn't catch Tyler Durden at work, that's because Tyler's in my brain. At this rate I'm going to have to start charging Brad Pitt rent. How many are others out there are like me? I can't sleep, I can't eat, I've got insomnia and did I mention I'm too critical?
Recently however, I have less interest and even less time to enjoy the occasional film on a Friday night. School work plays a role in this, as Tolstoy's Madame Karenine keeps intruding into my cinematic wet dreams. I need to scream out, "I'm sick and tired and I'm not going to take it anymore!"
Let us commence an analysis of my troubles. In this highly commodified age, films are here this week and gone the next. It proves difficult to keep up with current trends. Lowered Hollywood standards and the international release system haven't helped the situation.
People in Kreblachastan may have loved Batman Begins, but that doesn't help me understand its plot. The current system has turned the latest batch of new releases into formula-based films made by committees. Each Jennifer Love Hewitt movie must contain three bikini scenes and so on.
I realize that I'm ranting a little bit. The reason for this is that I'm frightened, terrified really, of what I've become. Yes, I admit it, I have become a Critic, and there's no turning back. The metamorphosis is complete.
Trust me, I take more stabs than Hitchcock in the 'Shower Scene.' There I am, slashing away with my mental machete, dismantling films like I belong in I Heart Huckabees. Except this is no solution in my case, it's part of the problem.
As I sit in a darkened movie theatre, undetectable and odorless, hormones and chemical levels recalibrate. It's as subtle as a twitch of the eye. My other half takes over. A sparrow couldn't catch Tyler Durden at work, that's because Tyler's in my brain. At this rate I'm going to have to start charging Brad Pitt rent. How many are others out there are like me? I can't sleep, I can't eat, I've got insomnia and did I mention I'm too critical?
