Every one of us, when we go to a movie, brings what I like to call the "baggage of expectation" with them. Every time we go to see a movie, our expectations are based on what
kind of movie we're led to believe it is, based on our understanding of genre conventions as well as what the trailer has led us to believe. But quite often, we're left unsatisfied by the movie we've seen because it didn't necessarily
conform to those expectations, and we're left disappointed by what we feel the film
isn't. Which then leaves the question: What exactly
is the movie we're seeing?
We all know that certain movies achieve an elevated status within popular culture
in spite of being a box-office failure upon its initial release, or if not exactly a failure, then merely a lukewarm, "break-even" sort of success. Sometimes movies are just ahead of their time, or sometimes merely out of sync with the audience's (and critics') tastes at the time. A good example of this latter phenomenon would be the relative failures of John Carpenter's
The Thing and Ridley Scott's
Blade Runner in, which were both out of sync in 1982, the year of
E.T. The Extra-Terrestrial.
Quite often, it takes a while for us to understand what exactly the virtues of a movie
are. David Fincher's
Fight Club underperformed during its initial theatrical run in late 1999, and people's first reactions to it ranged from perplexity to outright hostility. Quite frankly, as much as I outright
love Fight Club (it's one of my Top 10 favorites of all time), my feelings about it are
still in a state of flux, and I understand why the movie made (and continues to make) people somewhat nervous. But it's one of those films that always reveals something new and offers new insights every time I watch it.
In my opinion, professional movie critics are especially vulnerable to this "baggage" because their job entails that they keep seeing one movie after another after another on a regular basis, and under such circumstances they can become numb. Honestly, I think it would be nothing short of amazing if a critic managed to maintain any sort of intuition or understanding of what they're seeing, or if they could tell a well-intentioned, professional piece of hackwork that ticks off all the correct boxes from an original, uncategorizable work out of left field from some maverick not given to observing rules and conventions.
Part of
my problem - if I'm to be perfectly honest - is that I'm
disinclined to be negative about any movie I see. If I pay a good chunk of money to see a film in a theater, or pay an even greater sum for a DVD or Blu-ray, I want to feel like my investment was worth it, and I focus on what was
positive about my viewing experience. And if it doesn't necessarily deliver the goods that I expect it to, then I'm more inclined to believe that my own compass is off or that I'm misperceiving something. Partially it's just because I want to separate myself from those "nattering nabobs of negativism" (thank you, Spiro Agnew) who are
always first off the block to criticize and trash something before anybody else has a chance to get a positive word in. Another thing is, sometimes the "failures" tend to possess kinks and quirks and eccentricities that more successful movies are too - for lack of a better word -
sensible to have. Hence my great love of John Boorman, whose
Exorcist II: The Heretic and
Zardoz continue to perplex and appall people who consider themselves possessing sensible taste, but whom I am a die-hard fan of.
Perhaps the ultimate test of whether any movie is worthwhile or not is this: Do you remember the movie five years down the road? Does the movie leave an imprint or mark on your psyche? How many times do you find yourself rewatching it? I remember when I saw the J.J. Abrams-produced
Star Wars Sequel Trilogy (2015-2019), I remember
wanting to like each film perhaps more than I ultimately
did. I'm never the type of guy who sits down and tightly folds his arms and thinks,
"OK, impress me!" But four years on from
The Rise of Skywalker, the most telling thing I can relate about the
Star Wars Sequel Trilogy is this:
Those films don't particularly resonate with me, and I even forget many of their specific details and plot elements. (OK, I guess
The Last Jedi gets extra marks for being perversely contrarian, which is something I always appreciate, albeit in measured doses.) Something else you might like to know:
I purchased the Blu-rays for each film in the Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, and I've seen each of them a total of once!
Furthermore, in my opinion, the artistic failure of the 2015-2019
Star Wars films definitely gives a new luster to George Lucas' Prequel Trilogy (1999-2005). Granted, those films are not necessarily perfect (my unconditional love of
Revenge of the Sith notwithstanding), but at least they look like the work of someone who had a plan and stuck to it! George Lucas may be a dullard when it comes to dialogue, and he may be tone-deaf when it comes to the chemistry of his actors, but he's certainly a deft hand at story structure and one of the great visual masters of cinema history.
Anyway...