The Critical Subtext: What Do Reviews Really Tell Us?

Why so critical?

What should a critic accomplish in a review? For the mass culture art forms (film and music, then literature and theatre and occasionally the visual arts) reviews are mainly read to determine whether or not the work in question is ‘worth the bother.’ Should we see the film or not? Should we buy the album or not?

Beyond this essential question, the critic can also elucidate the work. He can put the work in artistic and historical context, point out its subtle technical flaws and challenges, entertain, sermonize, show off. But when he analytically targets the work of art in question, the critic’s statement can only do two things: describe and critique. In the sentence, ‘The film is long, too long,’ the critic accomplishes both. One is merely descriptive, the other is a normative evaluation; ‘it is this way’ versus ‘it would be better if it were another way.’ (I’ve adopted much of this from this from the introduction to Monroe Beardsley’s classic, Aesthetics.)

To demonstrate how this works in practice, I’ve taken apart David Denby’s recent review of The Dark Knight. I just saw the film last night. I might share my thoughts about it later, but it’s important to recognize that I needn’t have seen the film in question to analyze a review of it. I’m not interested in Denby’s impression of the film. I’m only interested in the mechanics and ramifications of his critique. This is an exercise in meta-criticism.

I chose David Denby because he is a respected film critic, and also because his reviews are straightforward (if not as populist as Roger Ebert’s). Denby’s tastes are rarely compatible with my own, but he’s a clear-headed, unpretentious writer and film scholar, and his reviews stay focused on their subjects. (His colleague, Anthony Lane, tends to abuse reviews as demonstrations of his erudition.) The text is plain and his critiques of the film clear, but let’s examine what some of his judgments actually entail. We’ll try to reveal the critical subtext and find out how it might serve us.

* * *

‘Past Shock,’ by David Denby

In the new Batman film, “The Dark Knight,” many things go boom. Cars explode, jails and hospitals are blown up, bombs are put in people’s mouths and sewn into their stomachs. There’s a chase scene in which cars pile up and climb over other cars, and a truck gets lassoed by Batman (his one neat trick) and tumbles through the air like a diver doing a back flip. Men crash through windows of glass-walled office buildings, and there are many fights that employ the devastating martial-arts system known as the Keysi Fighting Method. Christian Bale, who plays Bruce Wayne (and Batman), spent months training under the masters of the ferocious and delicate K.F.M.

So far, Denby has described the film and its action aesthetic. Now he’s ready for his first critique:

Unfortunately, I can’t tell you a thing about it, because the combat is photographed close up, in semidarkness, and cut at the speed of a fifteen-second commercial. Instead of enjoying the formalized beauty of a fighting discipline, we see a lot of flailing movement and bodies hitting the floor like grain sacks.

He finds this aspect of the film ‘unfortunate.’ We assume that Denby would prefer (for himself, for the viewer, for the director) that aspects of the film be ‘fortunate’ – in the ideal world, all art would be perfectly edifying. When a critic deems an aspect of a work of art unfortunate, if his opinion is to be of any use (for philosophers, artists and curious viewers), he must also provide the reader with a ‘fortunate’ alternative. The critic is saying, in effect: ‘The film is this way and thus it is not good. Had it been this other way, it would have been good.’ We’ll consider the validity of this formulation at the end of the article, but for the moment we will attempt to interpret every critique Denby offers to fit this X = Not Good, If Y = Good model.

Now, given Denby’s critique, we can deduce that Denby believes that it would have been a better choice to photograph the combat from a distance (not close up), in brighter light (not in semidarkness), and edited less frenetically. Were the director to make those changes, the viewer would then be able to enjoy the formalized beauty of a fighting discipline and this aspect of the film would be rendered ‘fortunate.’ We will consider that the first direct aesthetic proposition, P1.

Denby has specifically criticized the framing, lighting and editing. Now he addresses the sound:

All this ruckus is accompanied by pounding thuds on the soundtrack, with two veteran Hollywood composers (Hans Zimmer and James Newton Howard) providing additional bass-heavy stomps in every scene, even when nothing is going on. At times, the movie sounds like two excited mattresses making love in an echo chamber.

His critique is subtle. The words ‘ruckus,’ ‘pounding,’ ‘thud’ and ‘stomp’ are crass, negative words. The phrase ‘even when nothing is going on’ suggests extraneousness. The ridiculous image that follows confirms his dislike for the film’s sonic design. But a critique without an alternative is useless to us. We could assume that Denby would prefer the opposite, but to be charitable meta-critics, we have to minimize conjecture.

He continues by alluding to the cinematic legacy of Batman, a common critical maneuver (especially when the critic perceives the source material or past interpretations as more dignified or tasteful):

In brief, Warner Bros. has continued to drain the poetry, fantasy, and comedy out of Tim Burton’s original conception for “Batman” (1989), completing the job of coarsening the material into hyperviolent summer action spectacle.

The poetry, fantasy and comedy of the first Batman are which are less salient in this installment. We now have our second aesthetic proposition, albeit a vague one: P2: poetry, fantasy and comedy are positive qualities;The Dark Knight is inferior because it lacks them. We find another, truncated critique here: there is something unsavory about hyperviolent, spectacular action films released during the Summer months. Again, because Denby doesn’t explicitly describe the alternative, we can’t interpret it as a rule and it remains only a suggestion.

Now Denby takes a brief break from the aesthetic and appeals to the corporal effects of the film:

Yet “The Dark Knight” is hardly routine—it has a kicky sadism in scene after scene, which keeps you on edge and sends you out onto the street with post-movie stress disorder.

This section is difficult to parse. We assume that a Denby prefers films not to be ‘routine’ (especially because it follows the conjunctive adverb ‘yet,’ which works to distinguish this clause from its negative precedent.) However, the desirability of the film’s ‘kicky sadism’ and its consequent ‘PMSD’ is obscure. He continues with a string of murky adjectives:

And it has one startling and artful element: the sinister and frightening performance of the late Heath Ledger as the psychopathic murderer the Joker. That part of the movie is upsetting to watch, and, in retrospect, both painful and stirring to think about.

Ledger’s performance is ‘startling,’ ‘sinister,’ ‘frightening,’ ‘upsetting’ and ‘painful’ – but also ‘artful’ and ‘stirring.’ Denby will return to this, but first he has to give practical information like plot summary and personnel. Any review that appears in a non-academic publication has to include these details at some point:

“The Dark Knight,” which was directed by Christopher Nolan (who also made “Batman Begins”) and written by Nolan and his brother Jonathan, is devoted to perversity. Bruce Wayne, attempting to bring order to Gotham City, has instead provoked the thugs. The mob is running rampant, and they’ve infiltrated the police department. The Joker, who doesn’t care for money and wants only the power to sow chaos, intimidates everyone, including the gangsters. Wayne and the noble Lieutenant Jim Gordon (Gary Oldman) decide to get behind the new D.A., Harvey Dent (Aaron Eckhart), and set him up as Gotham’s crime-fighting hero. Batman even thinks of retiring. But the Joker won’t let him; he needs him, as someone to play with. An anarchist by philosophy, the Joker uses terrorist methods (bombs, bombs, bombs), and he has an enormous advantage over the principled Batman—he’s ruthless. So the Joker taunts and giggles, and Batman can only extend his wings.

Now Denby returns to the critique:

It’s a workable dramatic conflict, but only half the team can act it.

He tepidly compliments the plot as ‘workable…but,’ its potential is compromised by the performance of the actors. We can’t derive an aesthetic proposition yet, but Denby has begun to isolate the weak aspects of the film.

Christian Bale has been effective in some films, but he’s a placid Bruce Wayne, a swank gent in Armani suits, with every hair in place. He’s more urgent as Batman, but he delivers all his lines in a hoarse voice, with an unvarying inflection. It’s a dogged but uninteresting performance, upstaged by the great Ledger, who shambles and slides into a room, bending his knees and twisting his neck and suddenly surging into someone’s face like a deep-sea creature coming up for air.

Bale has been ‘effective’ elsewhere, and although his performance in The Dark Knight is ‘dogged,’ it is, ultimately, ‘uninteresting.’ Unfortunately, the word ‘interesting’ has so long been used as a substitute for more precise words that it’s almost completely lost its meaning. Calling something ‘interesting’ in an intelligent review is useless and I don’t know why professional critics continue to say it. However, we can deduce an aesthetic proposition from this section, although a very specific one: P3: an actor playing Batman should not speak his lines hoarsely or monotonously. The film would be improved, then, if Bale could re-shoot his scenes with more euphonious diversity.

Denby now returns to Ledger’s performance:

Ledger has a fright wig of ragged hair; thick, running gobs of white makeup; scarlet lips; and dark-shadowed eyes. He’s part freaky clown, part Alice Cooper the morning after, and all actor. He’s mesmerizing in every scene. His voice is not sludgy and slow, as it was in “Brokeback Mountain.” It’s a little higher and faster, but with odd, devastating pauses and saturnine shades of mockery. At times, I was reminded of Marlon Brando at his most feline and insinuating. When Ledger wields a knife, he is thoroughly terrifying (do not, despite the PG-13 rating, bring the children), and, as you’re watching him, you can’t help wondering—in a response that admittedly lies outside film criticism—how badly he messed himself up in order to play the role this way. His performance is a heroic, unsettling final act: this young actor looked into the abyss.

There is no critique here. Explaining why an aspect of a work of art is praiseworthy is a different pursuit than explaining why it’s bad and how it could have been good. Still, it’s worth examining how Denby expresses his approval. Ledger’s voice is ‘odd’ and ‘devastating’. His performance overall is worthy of Brando, ‘mesmerizing,’ ‘terrifying,’ ‘heroic,’ ‘unsettling’ and, in a good way, abysmal. Again, if the critic doesn’t compare these good qualities with bad ones, we can’t learn much, and we can’t just assume the opposite attributes are negative; a disillusioning, encouraging, cowardly, and reassuring performance by a young actor with his eyes towards the heavens could presumably also be good.

Parts of “The Dark Knight” were shot with IMAX cameras, and if you see the movie on one of those enormously tall screens you will feel, as Batman swoops down from a building at night, as if you were falling into a canyon. It’s a giddy thrill—bring Dramamine.

The ‘giddy thrill’ sounds fun, but does it contradict the ‘post-movie stress disorder’ mentioned earlier? Either way, this passage is more visceral than aesthetic.

The rest of the movie, photographed by Wally Pfister, is sharp and clear, with shots of Gotham (i.e., Chicago) in glistening night splendor, and plentiful use of vast modernist interiors with slab floors.

The opening paragraph critiqued the photography of the fight scenes, so we’ll incorporate this passage into our first proposition and add ‘sharp’ and ‘clear’ to P1’s roster. Adherence to those guidelines allows us to admire scenes like a ‘glistening night splendor,’ a phrase as lovely as the image it denotes.

Everything Denby has said so far leads to this kernel of judgment:

Yet I can’t rate “The Dark Knight” as an outstanding piece of craftsmanship.

Then the levee breaks:

“Batman Begins” was grim and methodical, and this movie is grim and jammed together.

P4: If a film is grim, is it better to be ‘methodical’ than ‘jammed together’.

The narrative isn’t shaped coherently to bring out contrasts and build toward a satisfying climax. “The Dark Knight” is constant climax; it’s always in a frenzy, and it goes on forever.

P5: Film narratives should be shaped coherently to bring out contrasts and, P6: build towards satisfying climaxes.

Nothing is prepared for, and people show up and disappear without explanation; characters are eliminated with a casual nod.

P7: In a film, things demand preparation and there should be explanations for people who appear and disappear.

There are episodes that are expensively meaningless (a Hong Kong vignette, for instance), while crucial scenes are truncated at their most interesting point—such as the moment in which the disfigured Joker confronts a newly disfigured Harvey Dent (a visual sick joke) and turns him into a vicious killer.

P8: If a part of a film is expensive, it should be meaningful. P9: Crucial scenes should not be truncated at their most interesting point.

The thunderous violence and the music jack the audience up. But all that screw-tightening tension isn’t necessarily fun.

This takes a bit of effort, but: P10: If a film succeeds in arousing tension in an audience, it is preferable that if the experience be fun.

“The Dark Knight” has been made in a time of terror, but it’s not fighting terror; it’s embracing and unleashing it—while making sure, with proper calculation, to set up the next installment of the corporate franchise.

These last two critiques are more ethical and commercial than aesthetic – they’re also half-baked and irritating – so I’ll only partialy include them. P#: If a film is made in a time of terror, it is the film’s duty to fight the terror, not embrace and unleash it. P$: There is something dubious about leaving a film’s ending open to a sequel if the film is part of a corporate franchise.

* * *

We are left with ten aesthetic propositions. Here they are again, slightly enhanced to underline their normative suggestion:

P1: A combat scene should be filmed clearly and sharply. The lighting, composition and montage should all accent the formalized beauty of a fighting discipline.
P2: Poetry, fantasy and comedy are positive qualities in a film. (The more they are present, the better?)
P3: An actor portraying Batman should not speak his lines hoarsely or monotonously. Variety is preferable.
P4: If a film is grim, is it better for the film to be ‘methodical’ than ‘jammed together’.
P5: Film narratives should be shaped coherently to bring out contrast.
P6: Film narratives build towards satisfying climaxes, not climax constantly.
P7: Characters, themes and objects (‘[…]thing[s]’) in a film should all be there for a reason and that reason should be made clear. If they then disappear from the story, that disappearance should also be explained.
P8: If a part of a film is expensive, it should be meaningful.
P9: Crucial scenes should not be truncated at their most interesting point.
P10: If a film succeeds in arousing tension in an audience, it is preferable that if the experience be fun.

(I also counted five similes: tumbles through the air like a diver doing a back flip, bodies hitting the floor like grain sacks, like two excited mattresses making love in an echo chamber, like a deep-sea creature coming up for air, and as if you were falling into a canyon. They have little to do with the critical subtext, but they stand out as one of the few creative freedoms critics are allowed in their reviews.)

Now that we’ve extracted these propositions, what can we learn from them? The first thing that strikes me is how fundamentally Aristotelian they are: I imagine that you learn P5, P6, P7, and P9 on your first day of film school (and P8 soon after, I hope). Although, Aristotle would have catharsis (P10) lead to enlightenment, not just enjoyment.

Seeing these platitudes denuded, what does it serve for Denby to repeat them? Does he do it for the viewer’s sake? Do we forget these essential (narrative) maxims every time we see a film and need to be reminded? Does he think that the Bros. Nolan would disagree? Or is Denby just pointing out that, regardless of what the director intended, he failed? In a way, Denby proclaims certain rules and condemns Nolan for defying them. Is this the critic’s duty?

Propositions 1, 3, and 4 are more subjective, and I agree with them wholeheartedly. (P2 is too vague.) More so than the other propositions, these are matters of taste. And I think Denby, in these instances, exhibits great taste. They are intelligent, valid critiques of the film. I can attest that Bale’s wearisome rasp (P3) was one of its most glaring shortcomings, and the fight scenes were difficult to appreciate. Who couldn’t agree with P1 after being exposed to the spare, sublime swordplay of Yoji Yamada’s Twilight Samurai (’02)? Or the grim, methodical glory of Zodiac (’07) compared to its grim but gaudy contemporaries? Again: matters of taste. But what are critics but the arbiters and champions of an era’s preference?

My project here wasn’t to critique the critique. I wanted to expose the critical subtext, to find out what we can do with it and uncover its unspoken (but inevitable) conclusion. We critique things all the time: food, weather, lovers. Our comments might seem mundane and spontaneous and contradictory, but they reveal our deep visions of how the world should be.

If I were more rigorous, I could dissect all the other reviews of The Dark Knight. Would their propositions align? I’ve fever dreamed a philosophical project that would probably strike my professors as mad. It’s sort of an aesthetic alchemy. What if we were to collect the critical writings of fifty major film critics since the inception of film criticism and dissect each of their reviews? At what sort of consensus would we arrive? What sort of ‘truth’? And what would we do with the results? Give them to artists? Would it help them to make better art? One of the contradictions I see in criticism is the critic’s insinuation that there are certain qualities which, if fulfilled, would produce an excellent work of art. What if Nolan could remake The Dark Knight to following Denby’s specifications and to Denby’s satisfaction? What if all filmmakers could? The exceptional would become the routine, but the routine would be elevated to steady excellence.

Perhaps such an epic project would give us some insight into the obscure atoms of good art. But how would we handle the result? No wonder artists see critics as a threat: art will only be safe as long as it remains a mystery.


~ by ohkrapp on August 15, 2008.

8 Responses to “The Critical Subtext: What Do Reviews Really Tell Us?”

  1. Great entry, as always; but that is quite the loaded, porous last sentence, particularly after such a methodical and tightly-constructed study. It seems in its own need of analysis of a kind with the one you’ve here given Denby’s review, one teasing out precisely what you mean by “threat,” “safe,” and “mystery,” in particular. Your philosophical project would be fascinating, but you seem, in elaborating upon it, to somehow fall into the trap of your own criticism : namely, that “good art” is a constant, or has a constancy, that can in some way be gauged, that the “atoms” are somehow decipherable. And it presumes an inviolable barrier between artist and critic, presuming that by the latter term you are not solely referring to those of the Denby, Ebert, or Lane variety of “journalistic criticism”; it seems, rather, that the most profound and lasting of critical and analytical voices have come from those who are also, otherwise, or primarily classified as artists. All going to say: I miss you.

  2. I will not stray beyond the fact that indeed your agreement with Proposition 3 is, in fact, subjective as I found this daring trial to be a true success. Masterfully effective, in my opinion. Yes, I know…an opinion, but one worth sharing, I believe.

  3. Sorry, that’s a dickish response; it’s more “porous” than anything in your entry.

  4. thanks, brian.

    ben, not dickish at all and very well said. i want to respond at length but i’m running late to the airport right now and won’t be around my computer for a few days. (en provencehar har) short answer: i’m pretty bad at endings. i should just delete that last sentence but kind of enjoy being ‘educated in public’ (greenberg) haha. also, i think i can elaborate/defend it slightly.

    contradictory, indeed – but really only as contradictory as all aesthetic lit is dating back to ‘standard of taste’-era hume, i.e. ‘we know that taste is subjective but CAN’T WE ALL AGREE THAT MILTON IS BETTER THAN F&!@#$ OGILBY I MEAN WHAT THE HELL?’ we all know what we’re supposed to think but we can never remember to think it.

    er, anyway, more considered responses forthcoming.. to the mischa ‘beach reading’ queries as well

  5. Here is why my response was dickish: the final sentence of this entry does not in any way — at the very least I do not believe that it does — betray some deep-seated conviction of yours that has otherwise lain dormant and undetectable beneath the veneer of your otherwise more precise, and at the very least always immensely curious, critiques and analyses. I should have read it for what it was, and for what I knew it was: an overly pat conclusion to a much more open-minded piece by a much more open-minded person; it should not have been held as representative of your opinions as an entirety, but, at best, as the residue of a thought not fully divulged. I know that you have a more nuanced view of artists and critics than as sheer polar entities, one producing and one examining the production; and I presume that you believe that critics are, at their best, as capable of artistic production — albeit in a traditionally “critical” format — as anyone else, and artists of critical production. By saying that your final sentence seemed to presume that there is an “inviolable barrier” between artist and critic would be to presume that you are utterly ignorant of anything that has happened in the past hundred years; I know this to not be true, and, furthermore, I know you to be an immensely cogent and fluent thinker in the area. Frankly, I’m embarassed that I would have suggested otherwise, and instead offered what amounts, at the contemporary state of artistic analysis and criticism, to nothing more than truisms and platitudes: that artists also, and primarily, are the best, most profound critics of their media, and so on. In all honesty, I just wanted to ask you to elaborate, but I felt that I had to add something else in order to justify this; what I added, unfortately, were precisely these truisms and platitudes, ones that do nothing to further discourse of any sort, ones that, rather, drag it down to its most basic level, to the lowest common denominator from which any strong discussion then seems impossible, to a point so embarassingly naive that it makes me want to shoot myself in the face with a staple gun. The ‘standard of taste’ question is, at least as far as I am capable of reasoning, an eternal one; the “gotcha” attitude with which I said you contradicted yourself only served to make it seem as if I were utterly unaware of its complexities, and of the value of contradiction, and in exploring it. The study you’ve proffered would be really fascinating; I think almost moreso in a cultural and social sense than an artistic one. Most critics — particularly those who write on deadline, such as Denby — are entirely tied to their times, and so, necessarily, must their criticisms be. Would examining the critical writings of major film critics ultimately provide a glimpse into the artistic “essence” of film, or would it rather prove an “anthropological study” of the film critic? Ultimately, do film critics such as Denby — those who write for the specific purpose of near-immediate publication, with the intention of, at best, elucidation, but, more often, of simple quality judgment — offer artistic analyses — particularly of any “essential” sort — more than they do cultural or sociological ones, or simply ones of their own lives and stations? What do these critics — as opposed to someone like Greenberg, those critics whose studies are concerned with more than addressing immediately palpable questions such as “Should I see this?” or extending some such purely qualitative authority — actually do? I apologize for what truly was the dickishness of my comments, and thank you for nonetheless treating them as thoughtfully as you could. I look forward to further reading, as always, and wish you the best en provence shnark shnark rumtumtum.

  6. I should have read that over before submitting it; feel free to edit out however many “somewhats” and “otherwises” as you’d like.

  7. thanks for the thoughtful response. ‘an overly pat conclusion to a much more open-minded piece.. the residue of a thought not fully divulged’ is a charitable (and accurate, methinks) description of the last part.

    if only i could put a large caveat lector before every post: nothing i write here (or anywhere) is going to be infallible, and only a few occasional phrases and ideas will be of any real worth. i put a lot of thought into the longer posts, but if i refrained from posting anything that wasn’t airtight, then i’d never manage to ‘publish’ anything. one of the boons of blogging is that you can leave the edges rough. it’s what makes so much of the blogosphere unreliable, but it also allows for a bit of free wheeling. (think fleetwood mac– papers for publication: rumours :: blogging : tusk) … don’t think that i’m comparing myself to nietzsche, but i admire his merciless, carpet bombing approach to philosophy. thankfully, unlike a politician, the writer willing to revise (or disown entirely) a previous thought can’t be condemned as ‘flip-flopping’. revision is an almost necessary consequence of rigorous, intellectually honest introspection. besides, if everything i wrote was consistently innovative and informed well, hell, i should be given a more prestigious platform, right?

    that said, i still want you all to keep me on my toes, but i hope that you’ll read my writing (at this point in my life, and on this blog) in the same spirit that you would, say, shop in a thrift store: you can’t blame them for having a bunch of tacky, useless crap around (because someone else *might* want it; one of my least useful posts, the one on yukio mishima, is, besides the air france orgasm, far and away the most popular post on this blog), and, occasionally, you’ll find a sweet coat that fits you perfectly (even if it kind of smells like gasoline and has someone else’s name written in it).

    that could all be said more clearly but i’ll continue with my response to your question. first, re: the aesthetic alchemy quest, you’ve already said more enlightening things about it that i could have:

    “The study you’ve proffered would be really fascinating; I think almost moreso in a cultural and social sense than an artistic one. Most critics — particularly those who write on deadline, such as Denby — are entirely tied to their times, and so, necessarily, must their criticisms be. Would examining the critical writings of major film critics ultimately provide a glimpse into the artistic “essence” of film, or would it rather prove an “anthropological study” of the film critic?”

    “do film critics such as Denby — those who write for the specific purpose of near-immediate publication, with the intention of, at best, elucidation, but, more often, of simple quality judgment — offer artistic analyses — particularly of any “essential” sort — more than they do cultural or sociological ones, or simply ones of their own lives and stations?”

    these are good questions. i’m going to incorporate them into an upcoming post that should elucidate the problematic last line. until then, though…

    the two most convincing metaphors for art i’ve encountered so far are Art as Metaphor (Danto) and Art as Mystery, which I’m sure someone else has mentioned before, but I’m not sure who has identified mystery as perhaps the essential property of art..

    Is the aesthetic simply that which eludes definition/resolution? the most enduring works of art (and the most enduring problems in philosophy) have been those that have asked the least answerable questions. And the reason they’ve endured is probably because they are unanswerable.

    In theory, if any of these questions were definitively answerable, then the works of art that hinged on them would be rendered.. well, demystified. Oh, commitment to civil law IS more important than commitment to the self? Don’t need Antigone/Billy Budd anymore, I guess.

    What I didn’t say is that I don’t think art is in any real ‘danger’; Denby’s preferences are hardly definitive. But if the ambiguities art raises were ‘solved,’ if we knew when we were justified to kill, why love dissolves, whether it were better to be or not to be, then we’d have no need to pose those questions. Hamlet was given a solider’s burial; no one ever mourned Iago.

    more later. (i wrote this really quickly)

  8. […] The Critical Sub-Text: What Do Reviews Really Tell Us? […]

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