Being a Film Cricket

Aw. You know something, Marge? It's not that tough being a film cricket. -Homer Simpson

Movies are essentially three things; an art, a business, and an entertainment. There is no question that they are art. Like any art they can make us think and feel. Movies, when they're good, make us question the lives we lead, the beliefs we hold, the feelings we feel. They, for example, are the best form of art to makes us empathetic. Paintings and sculptures, while given to empathy, are only so successful. We are too actively aware that what we're seeing is static, a representation of one second in the life of the subject, frozen forever. Movies have life to them and that's what makes us empathetic. They move, so they move us. True, when not watching a documentary, it's still only an illusion. When we watch "Raging Bull" we know we are not watching Jake LaMotta punish himself, we are watching Robert DeNiro pretending to be Jake LaMotta punishing himself. But because DeNiro has earned it through his performance, and because Scorcese has deceived us in his direction, and because Paul Schrader has convinced us in his screenwriting, we care about this person. We don't like him, but we don't hate him or pity him. We empathize with him. Great art can do that to its audience. Movies, even once that aren't that great, do that with regularity.

Sometimes it's done cheaply. "Old Yeller" doesn't have to reach very far to gain our empathy. But consider "Silence of the Lambs." How do we feel about Hannibal Lector? He's established as a cannibal before we ever meet him but by the end, well, it's complicated. I don't think anyone who has seen that movie would want to spend any time with the man in real life but we have strange feelings towards that character. He's a monster and should be locked up forever, but, we almost like him. Think also of "Grand Illusion," a war picture. War movies are usually the best for creating good guys and bad guys, but the deathbed scene between the French and German officer is so poignantly sad we see through the visor of nationalism. Nothing is better than putting one into another's shoes than the movies.

Movies, of course, are a business as well. I don't have to go far outside the door of my central Los Angeles apartment to get constant reminders of this. Billions of dollars are spent to ensure you the consumer know what your options are at the marketplace that is the cinemaplex. Millions of dollars have been spent to hire the star that has been proven to make millions more back if he's in a new film this summer. At times, this aspect of the movies is at odds with the artistic side. "Awards are nice," the moneymen say, "but will it sell?" "Transformers 2: Revenge of the Fallen," will most likely end as the year's highest grosser but will it receive anyone's nod as the best film of the year? Michael Bay's perhaps. But this is rather unique in the art world. If I walked into a McDonald's and asked them to sell me one of those paintings of sail boats or trains they often hang in fast food restaurants (to bring a touch of class, you see), how much do you think I'd have to offer for them to part with it? Thirty bucks? Five, if I let them keep the frame? And if I waltzed into the Sotheby's and asked them how much it would take to walk out with a Picasso I'd better be prepared to pay more than thirty bucks and not expect a frame. This is, of course, because one is considered great and the other crap. Obviously, one is also very rare and the other common place but the point is, in most forms of art, popularity and quality often come hand in hand. The most famous painting in the world is so valuable it cannot be purchased. Tiger Woods is the planet's most popular athlete because he is the greatest at his sport. The biggest and most lucrative rock band of all time is also that young art's finest, The Beatles. Students across America are required to read "The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn," "Invisible Man," and "The Great Gatsby," because they are some of this country's greatest contributions to the art of fiction. But how many students are required to see "Citizen Kane?" Or "Network?" Or "McCabe and Mrs. Miller?" Explosion-laden trash like "Transformers" will sell out retailers when it hits DVD, while great films like last year's "Ballast" are impossible to find. But that's business. For all the throngs that lined up to see this summer's pedestrian, dime a dozen "Star Trek," how many have the patience for an original idea like the one's shown in 1998's "Dark City," a box office flop?

But because they are a business, and because business is so good, movies are also an entertainment. Am I discouraged by the numbers that "Transformers" is putting up? Would I think less of someone who went and enjoyed it? No, of course not. Movies are meant to be enjoyed and for all my talk about the seriousness and artistic value of them, most people use them for their primary purpose; diversionary escapism. Do I thumb my nose at those who want to kill a few hours at "Transformers?" No, it's their right, plus, I have a feeling they knew what they were getting into when they bought the ticket. In fact, if your aim is to leave your brain at the door and give in to loud pointlessness, you could hardly do better than "Transformers." But not only are movies the great art of empathy, the are the most accessible. It doesn't take a film education to understand a great film. While as technical and complicated as a car engine, because films deal primarily with feelings they can be understood by children and adults. And that fact doesn't diminish the quality of a great film. The films that are national treasures are that way because they touch a nerve we all share; the difficult choice that right and wrong so often is ("Casablanca"), the importance of home ("The Wizard of Oz"), doing your best to be a good man ("It's a Wonderful Life"), and the irrepressible coolness of frankly not giving a damn ("Gone With the Wind"). So, as an addendum to the thesis of my previous paragraph; while the top earning films from week to week are a caravan of forgettable and sometimes regrettable entries into the film ether, the art of film has it's own priceless valuables that are as great and rare as any Picasso. Take away all the technical jargon, all the shop talk about weekend grossers, and the artistic obscuration, a great film is a great film because it's enjoyable to watch. It's a better use of two hours than doing nearly anything else. They're fun, dammit. And everybody likes fun. Even "Sophie's Choice" is a little fun.

So movies; art, industry, entertainment. And I become even more interested in those that are all three at once, like "Raiders of the Lost Art," or "Who Framed Roger Rabbit?" This blog is dedicated to great films like those two and many others that fulfill at least one of the tree things movies can be. On a pace of about a film a week there will be a new essay about some of the greatest films of all time. They won't be ranked, although I intend on selecting the first one hundred from a personal list I've made with rankings. There might be odd essays on film topics or particulars peppered in but the purpose of this blog is to honor this pieces of art. I don't have the resources to give timely or comprehensive reviews of current films but I'll be sure to write something up on whatever I happen to see. I'd like this to be an interactive experience with suggestions from readers on what films I should write about and see because if there's a fourth thing movies are, they are conversation pieces. That of course depends mostly on me being a quality and productive writer. I'll do my best. Enjoy.