A Not-so-Brief Note on Rejection and Rejuvenation
A few weeks ago, I wrote to the Governing Committee of the Online Film Critics Society to ask why they'd denied me membership for the second year in a row. Presented here is the answer I received yesterday, in its entirety:
"First, let us explain that to gain membership in the organization, you must have approval from 75% of the talent scouts. You got some votes to accept, but not enough to be admitted.
"Our biggest concern with regard to your reviews is that your site feels more like a fan's blog than a site on film criticism. We are looking for writers who look at film as an art form or even as a process and are able to dig into each movie and explore its various themes and ideas while understanding and appreciating the form that goes with the content. Going into depth on each film shows your appreciation for your specialized genre, but your reviews don't push beyond that superficial examination. You would be well served to improve your analysis of each film, and look beyond your genre for outside influences, keeping your intense fascination with the genre in check when providing your commentary."
What do I do with that? My first instinct, of course, was to throw a childish word tantrum. Indeed, the original version of this post saw me turning my back on the OFCS and proclaiming that I didn't need their snobbish organization in order to make it as a bona fide film critic.
Sure, I feel that way, but the last thing I want to do is burn bridges across paths that aren't even defined yet. I'm going to apply again next year--and the year after that, and the year after that, until either I break through or I don't need them anymore (professionally or personally).
But I have no plans to change the way I review movies. The term "fan's blog" stung me for a full day, until I realized that I should embrace it. The best film critics--ideally, the only ones worth reading--are huge movie buffs (i.e. fans). They channel their vast knowledge of cinema into reviews that either lead readers to great movies or steer them away from wastes of time.
There are two ways to do this: by typing stuffy dissertations about how certain camera filters contributed to a director's overall theme of post-war ennui in Poland--or through light and learned commentary that gives the reader an idea of what they're in for, hopefully in an entertaining way. There's a place for the former, but I personally consider that to be the domain of college papers and industry-magazine essays. I write the kind of stuff I like to read, and just because it seems irreverent, or contains the occasional, well-placed curse word, that doesn't mean I take film criticism lightly.
On the contrary, I average five movie reviews a week. That's a lot of early, dark mornings with darker coffee and movies that don't always inspire me to write about them; it's also a lot of late evenings spent doing just that--Hell or high water. In between, I have an increasingly demanding day-job, a wife and a toddler who need my full love and attention, and a DVR that is positively suicidal from neglect. This isn't the lifestyle of someone specializing in "superficial examination(s)". I could very easily rattle off three-paragraph reviews, like some OFCS members*, but I'm committed to a minimum of eight-hundred words (I don't recall if I've topped two thousand yet). Not to point fingers, dear reader, but when was the last time you wrote eight hundred or twelve hundred words about anything?
Please indulge another tangent before I wrap this up--actually, it's constructive criticism regarding the Governing Committee's idea of constructive criticism: when implying that a writer's devotion to a particular genre is detrimental to their work, it's helpful to specify what that genre is and to provide examples of bias. I assume their problem lies in my penchant for reviewing horror and sci-fi movies, but in the last two years, I've written about romantic comedies, buddy comedies, inspirational short films, experimental short films, foreign period epics, documentaries, and any other kind of movie that either strikes my fancy or is recommended to me.
And even if I were trapped in a sci-fi/horror rut, does that make me less of a valid critic than someone who only writes about movies from The Criterion Collection--who, in fact, wouldn't deign to watch Laid to Rest if his or her Whole Foods membership depended on it? There is nothing that I won't watch and give serious consideration to; I can't say that about the members of the Online Film Critics Society.
I said earlier that I don't intend to change. I mean that I won't deliberately change. Evolution is inevitable for artists. The process of creating something new every day is itself a subconscious method of learning and improving. Maybe one day I will be the kind of stuffed shirt the OFCS appear to be interested in--or maybe I'll become the most extreme version of whatever it is they don't like about my approach to the craft (Who knows? Maybe the Governing Committee of the future will actually dig what I do--the rejection letter says that at least some members thought I was a strong enough candidate to let in.)
Whatever the outcome, I can assure you that my writing five years from now will be as heartfelt as it is today. Both of us deserve nothing less than the truth, and I can't thank you enough for keeping me honest.
*That's not a slam against any critics, just my way of pointing out that the OFCS's annual quality checks--enacted according to their bylaws--seem to have missed a few folks who forgot to put on their high-falutin' deep-dive hats.