Criticism
Sun 12 Oct 2003
Ann and her father were walking home from the movie theater. It had been fine that afternoon when they went into town, but as afternoon became evening the temperature fell. It wasn’t cold enough to get a cab, but only just. If their minds hadn’t been on the movie they had just seen they might have done so, but they were abstracted, and didn’t care about the chilly breeze. An occasional flake of snow fell.
“What did you think?” Ann’s father asked, pulling his coat more tightly round him. He glanced across to see if she looked cold, but she didn’t.
“I liked it,” Ann said. Bright shapes swam in her mind, overpowering the darkness around her.
There was a short silence. “You liked it…” her father said. It sounded like he was expecting more, but there wasn’t any.
They walked some more in the rain. “Mmm,” Ann said. “I liked the way the blue fish kept forgetting things. That was funny.”
Her father waited a minute, but that was it. “Dory. Anything else?”
She glanced across at him. “No. I told you, I liked it. Didn’t you?”
“Very much. Want to know why?”
She nodded.
“I love animated movies, and I’ve been looking forward to this one for months. You know, the first animated movie was Snow White, back in 1937. There were a few shorts before that, but Snow White was the first full length animated film. It’s now almost seventy years old, but still more watchable than any other seventy year old movie I can think of. It’s dated, of course, but little kids enjoy it – try getting them to see anything else that old. But about ten years ago people thought animated movies had run their course. Very few people went to see those that were made, at least in this country – Japan is different – and even Disney was thinking of making only live action films. Then computer animation appeared, and changed everything.”
They strolled side by side under the bare trees for a while, and then he went on.
“Like almost every generation, every person, we’re living in a time of rapid change. You have any idea how quickly things around you evolve as you grow up?” She shook her head. “Fast. Very fast. You realize this more the older you get, when you realize there are so many huge differences in the way things are from when you were younger. Computer animation is one of the fastest ways things are changing just now. When you’re my age you’ll see entire computer generated movies and never know they’re not real. The characters will look and talk and act exactly like real people. The places, the lighting, the appearance and movement of the characters, will all be perfect. You will never, ever be able to tell what was made inside a computer and what was shot in real life with real actors. We’re at one of those pivotal points in history. The problem is, every day is pivotal in some way.” He looked at her. “So how do you tell?”
“Tell what?” She didn’t understand the point he was trying to make.
“Tell when something is important and will lead to change.”
“I don’t know. When it’s exciting and new?”
“Perhaps. But a lot of revolutionary change – like Toy Story – gets lost in the general run of things. You only realize how important it was looking back, not at the time. But there is a way to get some bearings. Read what other people have to say about things at the time. Broaden your vision. You know what I found out about the movie before I saw it? That just as Toy Story 2 was a big advance on Toy Story -“
“The dogs!” Ann said, laughing, remembering how bad the first one had been.
“- the dogs, in particular – so Finding Nemo is a step forward from Toy Story 2 and Monsters Inc. Pixar developed new shader technology to give the effect of underwater lighting. And as this is their first movie with non human like main characters, with no arms or legs, they put a lot more care into how characters communicated with eyes and body movement. They learned a lot doing that, both the art and the technology. And did you know that the voice of the Crush the turtle is actually the director, Andrew Stanton?”
She stared at him. “No… Actually, that’s kind of scary. Is he really like that?”
“I have no idea. But it gives you a new outlook on the film, doesn’t it? How relaxed they were. How comfortable they were with this amazing technology, and how creative they could be because of that.”
“Yes. I didn’t know you knew so much about it.”
“But that’s just it, honey. I do this every time. Every time I go to see a movie or read a book, I read a few reviews and learn something about it in advance. Then I can make more sense of it at the time, even if I don’t end up agreeing with what the critic said. I can always write a different review, mentally, later.”
She frowned. “But if you might not agree… what’s the point of reading reviews? Or of them being written at all? Why do people review other people’s work? It’s just personal opinion. Everyone’s different.”
“Yes and no,” her father said. “Even though each critic’s opinion is personal, and may even be based on ignorance or misunderstanding, if you read several reviews you’re going to find areas of agreement. Those are what is generally important about the piece, good or bad. And if a critic knows a lot about an artist, or a style of art, or art in general, then he can make useful comparisons in a review. He can show how the artist’s work has evolved over time, for example, or how he differs from other people working in the same field. He can suggest ways the piece could have been done better, or worse, which will be useful to the artist in question, to other artists, and to people who are going to experience the piece.”
“I can see that.” Ann said slowly. “If I make a movie and it’s reviewed, that might stop me making the same mistakes next time. But why should anyone else read that review? Can’t they decide for themselves?”
Her father thought for a moment, and then went on. A work of art, he said, isn’t made in a timeless void. It’s created by a person or a group of people at one stage in their life and career, in a particular situation and society, at a particular time, and for a particular reason or combination of reasons. When you see a painting in a gallery without knowing anything about it or the artist you can say what’s in it and how it was made, but nothing useful, nothing of what makes that painting a work of art as opposed to meaningless blotches of color on canvas. Only when you know something of the artist and their time can you appreciate that it was a revolutionary new way of representing movement, for example, or how it was the forerunner of a whole school of painters who used classical scenes to comment on contemporary social problems. It gains even more when you know that the painter was dying when he painted it, or that he lived in a shack with rain pouring through holes in the roof so that he had to put his paintings under bed sheets until they dried, and that is why there is that torn off fabric texture to many of the brush strokes, or that someone once saw it and was inspired to become a great artist themselves. If you know this, then what you see becomes a marker fixing a place in time and space, but one that is also unique to the person who made it – their history, situation, opinions, successes, failures, and dreams.
Listening to her father, glancing across at his profile outlined against the dark sky. Ann began to see art and literature as a vast web of points in space and time, sparkling like the stars above them. Criticism was a guide to finding one’s way among those points of light, even of finding pattern and reason in them.
“It just sounds bad,” she said at one point. “Being always critical seems so mean.”
“It’s not mean, just confusing, because the word is ambiguous. In everyday speech to say somebody is criticizing something is to imply they’re being negative. But the act of criticism doesn’t mean that at all: it’s making a judgment or expressing an opinion, good or bad. A rave review is just as much criticism as the worst panning. Whenever you hear the word criticism, try substituting judgment or review. It means the same but doesn’t have the negative associations.”
“Judgment,” Ann said. She liked that. It brought to mind her sitting in judgment on endless books, movies, and paintings. She imagined them being carried into her presence, laid on a table, and, from a tall carved chair, judging them. Great writers, actors, and artists hung on her words, hardly daring to breathe.
Her father was speaking again. “So tell me – when you see a movie or read a book, do you weigh it up in your mind afterwards? Do you take ten or five, or even two, minutes to think back and decide if it was worth the time and money spent on it? Do you remember it after a week or two? Or is it a superficial experience, rented by the hour, and when it’s ended, it’s gone. Do you rent or buy what you spend time on?”
It didn’t take long to decide. “Rent, mostly,” she admitted.
“Well, there you are. Get more value for your time. Reading a few reviews before, or taking a few minutes’ reflection after, gives meaning to any work of art. It’s like placing a brick in a wall rather than leaving it in a pile on the ground. And sometimes an artist will use a book or a movie as an allegory: a careful review, or a little thought, can reveal a whole layer of meaning that might have stayed hidden.”
“So one can criticize – review – anything?” Ann said.
“Pretty much, I guess,” said her father. “Try it. Review this conversation.”
She laughed. “This conversation took place on a cold stage. With snow effects. But it’s almost over. The two person cast was good. As always. The dialog was… factual and rather unrealistic, but could probably not have been any other way if it was to get its point across in the limited time available. The author, who has used this technique before to communicate what he considers useful points to his daughter, might consider more entertaining art forms at this point in his career. Animation, for example.”
“Not a chance,” said her father, smiling. “Nice idea – but this is as animated as I’m going to get.”