Criticism-Writing, Writing-Criticism

Some reflections on writing criticism while making art

Guido and his critic in 8 1/2.

I’ve spent the past few months working on a screenplay. Now that I’ve finished a draft, it’s back to writing some Besides the Mise-en-Scene posts. I haven’t talked much about it here, but I often think of these processes – the fiction writing and the criticism – as interrelated. In reflecting on the strengths and weaknesses of certain books, shows, movies, I’m also working through my own process and sensibility, in addition to broader convictions about art and its value (to life, society, Architectural Digest celebrity tours, etc).  

There are some problems that arise from this approach. Sometimes it’s compromised by a desire to play nice rather than lean into my negative responses to a thing, given I am often criticizing the work of people I would like to one day collaborate with. Other times it is seeing all the ways in which my work falls short of the high standards I hold other artists to. ¹

I occasionally catch myself holding back in some of my more biting reflections, especially for work I admire more than my criticism here suggests. But the reason I (ultimately) never shy away from my honest impression is that I find a lot of the fun in consuming art comes from the secondary discussions around it. And when it comes to discussing those experiences, a staunchness of opinion is something I’ve often admired in the teachers, critics, and peers I’ve measured my own sensibilities against. Especially those I’ve disagreed with. 

When someone stakes out a clear position, it gives everyone else something to seriously consider and respond to in light of their own personal engagement with the thing being critiqued. Thoroughly understanding another’s point of view helps us better formulate our own. The same is true of other artistic endeavors. 

For example, when pressed to articulate what I think the value of reading fiction is, I usually emphasize that specific quality it has of rendering experience – invented or otherwise – through the specific consciousness of the author or narrator. Real life is rather chaotic by comparison. If one were to try to evenly account for every detail in one’s day – every thought, event, or exchange – it would be kind of a mess to read about. Fiction creates order out of that chaos by employing a distinct point of view.

I think you could change the terms a bit (depending on the nature of the art you’re talking about) and say basically all other inherently creative work accomplishes, or aims for, the same thing for its audience – including criticism. The act of taking and discarding this or that interpretation, emphasizing or deemphasizing an element of the work in question, taking into account the author’s intentions or ignoring them in light of some happy accident one has observed, is akin to the choices a painter makes by adding this or that form of expression to a canvas through the paintbrush. 

It's this iterative act of reception, the push and pull of criticism, that inspires new art in the first place. Take the French New Wave. What started as a bunch of film critics writing think pieces about misunderstood Hollywood films, eventually led to critics themselves taking up cameras and making movies in an entirely novel way. Meanwhile, back in the United States, the distribution of said films in cinemas around the country inspired a generation of filmmakers that basically laid the foundation for American cinema ever since (e.g. Spielberg, Scorsese, Lucas, Coppola).²

Criticism is based on subjective evaluations of art and its relationship with society, and can itself become the subject of further criticism. I think of the criticism I write here like that: just a small contribution to a passionate, ongoing conversation about art (usually cinema). Yet sometimes criticism still gets mistaken for the act of legislating taste – although it’s rarely as serious as that (unless you’re talking about conservative book-banning groups in Florida). As Fran Leibowitz once said, “I’ve never understood why [my opinions] anger people. I have no power, I’m not the mayor of New York, I’m not making laws. These are just opinions!”

Another reason I never shy away from a “hot [though hopefully well-substantiated] take” is that there is a material reality underlying all of this in that the artists I’m critiquing are in a position where they get to be critiqued. It is a privilege to have one's work reviewed. As a writer myself, I’m under no illusions about how enviable that position is. It means one is receiving financial compensation for following a passion, which means one can continue doing so without waiting tables, covering phones, drafting spreadsheets, or tutoring college students. 

If a sort of sensitivity to criticism remains – even after an artist experiences the career breakthrough of getting one’s work published, displayed, screened, or what have you – it’s probably because we’re talking about a different kind of value: artistic value, which is subjective. In which case, why be sensitive about it at all? 

Once the work is finished, presumably according to the creator’s own intrinsic measure of good, it is now out of one’s hands. It has entered the precious sphere of public discourse where the creator is also a participant. And there’s something very democratic about that. At the very least, it diminishes the tendency to think of artists – especially more impenetrable and prestigious ones – as superior to their audiences instead of what they are (i.e. another member of the audience).  

That doesn’t mean the discourse doesn’t come with any awkwardness or baggage. Check out this quite uncomfortable roundtable with Quentin Tarantino and several critics of Jackie Brown where the discourse plays out in real time (as it probably shouldn’t):

 

There is another angle to consider on all of this too. While someone like Tarantino has a lot of freedom to do what he wants with his medium – and thus may have relatively less trouble defending his choices in the face of strong criticism – most artists have to balance their work on the double-edged sword of artistic value and market value. 

In a profit-driven environment, no career lives and dies on its artistic merit. More often it’s about the money it brings in. So I understand why the average working artist has to compromise between these two values. Besides, one’s intrinsic understanding of good and one’s understanding of what the market will judge to be good aren’t always in conflict. And sometimes compromising is ok if it means one gets to keep working on and improving one’s artistic prowess.

Such considerations usually don’t show up in criticism though, because criticism is about artistic value, not the dollar count a work accumulates or what it sells for at auction. If a price tag or paycheck is the kind of validation an artist is searching for – whether for self-preservation or fame and riches – they can always try to game the odds in their favor: cater the work to perceived trends, wine and dine investors, master the art of pitching one’s ideas, or cultivate an undeniable following on social media. But that won’t exempt the work from a spectrum of criticism.

The job of critics then – and when I say critics, I mean audience members who do more than simply like or dislike a thing for arbitrary reasons and make some effort to articulate the dimensions of their reaction to a thing – is to be as honest and thoughtful as possible in their responses while also open to the idea that this response might be underbaked in some way. 

I find this endeavor is fulfilling in itself, and even more fulfilling when it informs my work as a writer. I think of this newsletter (or blog or whatever Substack is) as a platform where I’m held slightly more accountable for those interpretations as they become public facing. At the very least it’s a way to keep trying, regardless of the outcome.

So… back to it.

1.  I was not surprised when I recently heard the New Yorker critic Parul Sehgal say in a podcast interview that she had little interest in making friends with the authors of the books she critiques (whether she loved their books or not). It would change her relationship to the work she’s evaluating and possibly tarnish the criticism as a result.

2.  I suppose the direction of that influence blurs around Cassavetes, but I’m painting in broad strokes here.