Thoughts on the Critics…

Arts Journal is blogging about the role of critics all week long, a topic close to my heart. I write books and do other things that are subject to criticism. It’s great to get a fabulous review (the L.A. Times called Bookmark Now “Pure inspirational power juice” which I thought was pretty cool) and stinks to get jacked (My own San Francisco Bay Guardian essentially accused me of turning young people into a pack of illiterate jello sacks). But I also write criticism for this august publication and began my career in journalism reviewing movies. So I play for both teams.

Critics at their best are conversation starters: Their probing should not only get you thinking about art and culture but hold it to some level of examination. Under any set of circumstances, we can think of a flimsy reason why an element of culture should be given a pass be it personal project, ringing with social significance or simply staring someone we think is nice/smart/hot/infallible. But that’s not what culture is for. It’s not meant to flatter our prejudices or lull us with comfort but challenge us. Critics are the first step in making that happen, telling the producers of culture that, no matter how fabulous you think you are, there will be at least one person asking hard questions. I think that’s an incredibly valuable service in a democracy.

Now there are good critics and bad ones, thoughtful, passionate examiners and hired guns packing nothing but attitude. The latter are just taking up space. But that doesn’t mean the entire critical enterprise is unnecessary. Instead it means that, in art schools and M.F.A programs, in creative mentorships of all kinds, we should be telling young artists that being critiqued is part of the game, a healthy part because our work is never perfect and we should never stop trying to make it that way. Bitching about critics (an author once sent me a note saying my review “really hurt” and he “just wanted me to know that.” I do know that. I also know that you’re being a brat and I will never speak well or you or your books again) makes artists look like whiny infants. I think we’re cut out for better than that.

Lou Reed once said “How’d you like to work on an album for a year and have some asshole in the Village Voice give it a B+?” To which I say, Lou, a) a B+ ain’t bad b) There are lots of other newspapers and c) hopefully, in your life, there will be lots of other albums.

Reader interactions

4 Replies to “Thoughts on the Critics…”

  1. Thanks for linking to this great discussion. As legions of new critics emerge, legions of artists will continue to complain. Sure, artists should be able to take reviews in stride but this will always be an imperfect exchange between a producer who’s (ideally) put a chunk of their soul into their work and a consumer who, by definition, comes from a different place and can rarely appreciate the work as intended.
    Yes, responsible critics start the conversation and are big enough to acknowledge their subjectivity (i.e. if you’re a fan of X you might like Y even though I didn’t). But responsible artists are big enough to filter the constructive criticism from the critic who’s can’t tell their head from their ass.
    But here’s the kicker: a bad review may destroy a young theater company, art gallery, comedy troupe, etc. If your show Slugs! The Musical! looks interesting but gets panned, chances are I’m interested in 7 other shows and won’t give sluggie a chance. If you get a grumpy critic who’s biased against slugs, you’re S.O.L.
    It shouldn’t be that way. But if you’re clever enough, you’ll find the slug lovers and make them part of your marketing campaign. If you’re a whiny bitch who wants a scapegoat, then by all means pin the tale on the critic.

  2. Thanks for linking to this great discussion. As legions of new critics emerge, legions of artists will continue to complain. Sure, artists should be able to take reviews in stride but this will always be an imperfect exchange between a producer who’s (ideally) put a chunk of their soul into their work and a consumer who, by definition, comes from a different place and can rarely appreciate the work as intended.
    Yes, responsible critics start the conversation and are big enough to acknowledge their subjectivity (i.e. if you’re a fan of X you might like Y even though I didn’t). But responsible artists are big enough to filter the constructive criticism from the critic who’s can’t tell their head from their ass.
    But here’s the kicker: a bad review may destroy a young theater company, art gallery, comedy troupe, etc. If your show Slugs! The Musical! looks interesting but gets panned, chances are I’m interested in 7 other shows and won’t give sluggie a chance. If you get a grumpy critic who’s biased against slugs, you’re S.O.L.
    It shouldn’t be that way. But if you’re clever enough, you’ll find the slug lovers and make them part of your marketing campaign. If you’re a whiny bitch who wants a scapegoat, then by all means pin the tale on the critic.

  3. Kevin Smokler May 16, 2006 at 5:40 am

    Well put, my friend.

  4. Kevin Smokler May 16, 2006 at 5:40 am

    Well put, my friend.

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Thoughts on the Oscars

Some thoughts on the Oscars after 24-hours of marination.

1. The host sets the tone: The Oscars bored you to death last year only partially because the joint was overrun by hobbits. The rest of it was Billy Crystal not realizing how charmless and unfunny he has become while playing anyone other than a cartoon character. When Frodo wasn’t cleaing house, Bill Crystal moved the show along with all the alacrity of your deaf uncle playing charades on the first night of Hannukah. You wanted to yell "Just get to the damn presents!"

Which is why this year felt swift, jabby and wound a little tight, like a Chris Rock comedy special. Chris Rock set the tone by telling his standing ovation "Sit your asses down." Meaning there would be no tearful speeches, no "Yay Hollywood!" film montages, no stupid presenter banter once he took the reigns. He broke all those rules a little bit but only a little. The program clocked in at 3 1/4 hours, a full 45 minutes shorter than last year.

2. Everyone’s scared that if we don’t tell Clint Eastwood how much we appreciate him now, he’ll up and die on us. Or whip our asses.

Like I’ve <a href="http://www.wheretheressmoke.net/2005/02/it_must_be_me.html">said before</a>, while everyone I know was calling Mystic River "A Greek Tragedy on par with Oedipus", I was saying "powerful but flawed." While everyone I know and the lady at my dry cleaner was calling Million Dollar Baby "a knockout punch to the gut," I was saying "Only if you didn’t see the last act coming, which I did from outer space.

Not because I’m genius (boy how that has been disproven!) but because everyone seems to think that we have have simply not honored Clint Eastwood enough yet. He’s won just about every award possible (a previous Best Director Oscar, an AFI Lifetime Achievement Award and the mayoral seat of Carmel to name a few) and is an icon of cinema, of American masculinity. But no, we need to make sure that he gets buried in gold trinkets like the Pharoah. So who cares that Million Dollar Baby is a good-but-not-great film? Not us and yell "more, more" kneeling before the buldge in his tuxedo pants.

3. Who gets the tickets: Some ace reporter/blogger needs to investigate precisely who gets a seat at the Oscars and who doesn’t. The Kodak Theater aint Michigan Stadium. There’s maybe 2,000 seats in the place. We get that famous people and nominees sit on the main floor so they can be cut to or climb up onstage but how do they decide that Oprah gets a ticket year and isn’t involved in the show at all but Jack Nicolson (who was elected Mayor of the Oscars around 1983 in a secret ceremony and hasn’t given up the office yet) was mysteriously absent? How did Lou Gossett Jr. (still smarting from too many Iron Eagles) and Spike Lee (mysteriously wearing swimming goggles) end up there while say box office titans like Tom Cruise and Will Smith don’t. So it can’t just be who is the most famous.

Cintra Wilson argued that Oscar producer Gil Gates, aiming for a younger, hipper, and hence, not-all-white demographic stocked the crowd with people of color. There’s probably some truth to that but P Diddy? Wasn’t he a youth favorite in say 1997? Jay Z is retired. Beyoncee’ maybe but she actually had a job to do. 3 of them.

At this rate, plan next year to see Martin Scorcese sharing a knowing glance with 3 members of the Black Eyed Peas.

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