Oh, Gilbert

 Oscar Wilde constructs Art and Criticism as two mirrors that reflect one another; when one is great, the other is great, and when one is poor, then “incompetence applaud[s] its brother.” When it is time to move on, criticism prevents art from reflecting itself forever and gives birth to a knew era.

 Wilde has created two mirrors of his own, Ernest of Art and Gilbert of Criticism. He favors Gilbert—the babbling, romanticizing mouthpiece of “The Critic as Artist”—and from his answers to Ernest's often moronic questions and requests for clarification, crafts two ideal relationships between Criticism and Art that can be consummated into one approach that brightens Criticism, dims Art, and obliterates the distinction between the two.

 Any true critic plays the role of interpreter of art beyond simple summary and base judgments of its worth. “The critic is he who exhibits to us a work of art in a form different from that of the work itself,” as Gilbert invokes roles—actor, sculptor, painter—that can be critics just as easily as artists, destroying the commonplace distinction between an artist as a creator and a critic as a reviewer. The Art that only creates and the Criticism that only reviews are the saddest forms of each, and they only achieve their true potential when the critic produces his own Art in his Criticism, giving new perspective to Art where before there was none.

 Good Art is accomplished through the Criticism of form, and good Criticism is accomplished through the production of new Art from old Art, and new form from old form. It is a pretty thought, but its practicality today is suspect. Either we are living in a dim age of Criticism and Art, or we have learned nothing, for the delineation between the artist and the critic is as strong as ever, if not stronger. The critic is still widely regarded as someone who knows how to talk about something he does not know how to do. Harsher judgments of critics have been made, calling the entire profession out for being nothing more than a bitter cadre of failed artists who now rudely criticize as a balm for their own aching souls.

 The easiest thing to do may simply be to believe Gilbert, fanciful as he is. If he is wrong, we are sadder creatures for it. If he is right, our desire to create is all the more beautiful for it, and critics everywhere have new, lofty goals to aspire to. We are all artists—let us create.

"Taxi" Goes to Hell in a Handbasket

 The images in “Taxi to the Dark Side” are everything that a good noir murder mystery wants to be—gritty, disturbing, and even gruesome—except real. This documentary about the circumstances behind prisoner abuses at Bagram, Guantanamo, Abu Ghraib, and countless other shadowy extraordinary rendition sites—as the euphemism goes—bluntly provides images worth seeing, alongside facts and interviews worth hearing.

 Alex Gibney does an outstanding job of obtaining the interviews that need to be heard, balancing their genuine accounts of the parts they played in instances of prisoner abuse and manslaughter with the almost humorous will-neither-confirm-nor-deny alibis of the political and military elite. It was surprising to be confronted with a first-hand testimony by John Yoo himself—formerly an important and influential Department of Justice official—when the significant use of archival footage had already set up the expectation that Yoo would not be heard directly. In comparison, other documentaries often give little, if any, voice to the “bad guys.”

 Directing, editing, and cinematography all take on additional importance in documentary, since the medium eschews actors for all but the occasional dramatization. Gibney takes a solid, opinionated stance against the excuses of our country's political elite, in spirit with “No End in Sight,” “Who Killed the Electric Car?” and “Enron: The Smartest Guys in the Room,” all documentaries that involved him. His style approximates the authoritative judgment of a Michael Moore film—with more facts and less sensationalism—mixed in with the high-brow sophistication of Errol Morris' “Fast, Cheap and Out of Control.”

 The cinematography works in concert with the editing, taking care not to obfuscate the words of interviewees or the procession of events and facts that lead up to Gibney's hard hitting points, but nor do they aspire to anything innovative. Music is integrated more soundly than in most interview-heavy documentaries, and the occasional pan-Islamic inspired interlude is a welcome departure from the usual dour classical movements.

 “Taxi to the Dark Side” is a solid documentary that burgeoning documentarians would be wise to learn from. It is resourceful in that it doesn't waste its own time, and fully exploits almost all the resources—especially interviews and archival footage—available to documentary filmmakers. It entertains with a peculiar brand of irony and dark humor as it points to the fumbling hypocrisy of the American political elite, while plucking the American heartstrings with the story of an Afghani man whose humanity remains poignantly preserved after his death.

 Good documentaries often seem to have an underwhelming impact on the actual course of events even when they bring up legitimate concerns in a convincing manner, as “Taxi to the Dark Side” does. However, the Obama administration has already made progress in closing down Guantanamo Bay, halting extraordinary rendition, and restricting the very methods of CIA-style psychological torture that “Taxi” raises grave concerns about. Perhaps art can function to make a difference in the political sphere after all.

Wikipedia: Start Here, Do Not Pass Go, Do Not Collect $200

 We've all heard the warnings about Wikipedia; it's unreliable, it was founded by some youngster know-nothing with a big head full of big ideas, and it's staffed by a bunch of 13 year-olds who think they're editors or something. In fact, here's a succinct summary of Wikipedia's shortcomings, lifted from the damnable site itself:

 “Critics of Wikipedia target its systemic bias and inconsistencies and its policy of favoring consensus over credentials in its editorial process. Wikipedia's reliability and accuracy are also an issue. Other criticisms are centered on its susceptibility to vandalism and the addition of spurious or unverified information. Scholarly work suggests that vandalism is generally short-lived.”

 That paragraph had six different references, though, which is the best part about Wikipedia for college students in a rush for a citation that will look convincing. It's an encyclopedia that sources its information right in front of you, and you can go directly to it! Beautiful. The internet is a wonderful machine.

 I used Wikipedia to unearth information about the mysterious al-Hadithi portrayed by David Suchet. I learned that his name is actually Naji Sabri Ahmad Al-Hadithi, and that he was likely an informant for the CIA, although this information became widespread knowledge some time after “Live From Baghdad” was released. There appears to be little historically rooted reason for al-Hadithi's sympathetic portrayal in “Live From Baghdad,” other than dramatic purposes and the fact that he was reportedly “one of Iraq's most recognizable faces in the West.”

 The article on al-Hadithi serves as an excellent caveat about Wikipedia, though. The article is short, poorly cited, and contains a suspiciously speculative section at the end concerning intelligence he may or may not have provided that led to the 2003 Iraq war. Reader beware.

Michiko Kakutani and the March of the Obama Books: Defense of A Wild Woman

 Michiko Kakutani is a veteran reviewer for the New York Times, made legendary by her literary criticism—she even earned a Pulitzer Prize for it in 1998, so her opinion is one to be heeded, if you trust the words of critics who sell their souls for shiny medals (pulitzer.org). She has been described as “a weird woman who seems to feel the need to alternately praise and spank” by Salman Rushdie, and a “one-woman kamikaze” who “trashes” books “just to hurt sales and embarrass the author” and assert herself as “an Asiatic [and] a feminist” by Norman Mailer (Marcus, “Rock of Ages” on Amazon.com; “Rolling Stone” 977/978). Granted, Mailer once said “I don't hate women, but I think they should be kept in cages.”

 All of this is pertinent because in the case of a book review by a personality such as Kakutani, any review is sure to be so saturated by her particular force of being that it is wise to know a little about who is being reckoned with. In the January 20th, 2009 edition of the New York Times, she takes on two books at once, both concerning the Obama campaign and upcoming administration; “The Breakthrough: Politics and Race in the Age of Obama,” by Gwen Ifill, and “What Obama Means For Our Culture, Our Politics, Our Future,” by Jabari Asim. Kakutani is not impressed. While she gives preference to Ifill's book by addressing it first and giving it more attention and a more balanced review—in contrast to her overall dismissal of Asim's book—she slaps both works with general criticism in the vein of “why did you bother,” pointing out that “their books often feel like value-added amalgamations of arguments made by other journalists during the run-up to the election.” It is a highly effective review because it is highly opinionated about what makes a good book. The subtext is barely below the surface, and it rings loudly. “Don't write books like this. You're doing it wrong.”

 In her voice, the structure of her review, her argument, and all the way down to her individual word selections, Kakutani is without a doubt the archetypal New York Times elitist that lesser minds love to hate, the haughty cultural critic who seems to think that items of popular culture such as rock and roll and People magazine have no fingers to lay on the pulse of the nation's collective consciousness. She seems almost personally offended that Asim would dare to include such tripe in his book, and then be so bold as to treat it as relevant evidence of changing times.

 If she is disconnected from the relevance of popular culture, does that hurt her as a critic? In a word, no. Her incisive reviewing skill is undiminished by the weight of her personality and her personal weaknesses, and this review proves her words can still cut to the bone and make a sound judgment without getting carried away in vitriol. And besides, every renowned critic needs something to get foolishly distracted by.

"Live From Baghdad" Shows Censorship Can Be Overcome

 The most beautiful scene in Live From Baghdad—a dramatization of Robert Wiener's legendary media story about getting CNN exclusive coverage of the 1991 Gulf War and effectively making CNN a respected network—is the nighttime bombing of Baghdad. It is beautiful because it is the culmination not only of a well-crafted plot with convincing relationships, but also a successful synthesis of real social commentary with a dramatized account of real events.

 Live From Baghdad makes an attempt at commenting on the media while continuing to entertain—much more than can be said for most made-for-television movies—and while it certainly manages the latter, it's not always clear which facet of the former the film is grasping at. Is it internal bureaucracy and infighting within huge for-profit corporations keeping the truth off of the air? Robert Wiener, played by Michael Keaton, has some enemies at CNN headquarters who seem to think that snarky background comments and devilish glares will impede the intrepid journalist's progress, but that's the extent of their involvement. It's unfortunate that Robert Wiener himself—the teleplay's writer—would rely on such hollow antagonists to make a point in an age when the number of clumsy mammoth media conglomerates that control what we know can be counted on one hand.

 Do personal relationships affect the judgment of the otherwise level-headed Wiener? His flirtatiously professional interactions with Ingrid Formanek (Helena Carter) are instead a minor distraction to kill time until the plot progresses, and while their relationship is sublime, desperate, lonely, forlorn, supportive, and optimistic all at once, if Wiener harassed Ingrid at the expense of the story, or took bribes from Naji Al-Hadithi (David Suchet) to back off, Live From Baghdad would have made a stronger comment about journalistic integrity. It is good to be reminded every once in a while that many people that we entrust our lives and our knowledge to—journalists, politicians, soldiers—are still just people. But Live From Baghdad only touches on that point.

 What Live From Baghdad makes its strongest point about is censorship, and it does so astutely and without fanfare. Its black felt tip is everywhere in Iraq, and the film's release into the fearful post-9/11 world makes it an excellent mirror for Americans to look inwards at their country's news coverage and remember that what they think they know is both tightly controlled and filtered.  

 Simultaneously, it is a celebration of American freedom; Wiener is dogged by the specter of Iraqi censorship, but he is an American journalist and he plans to uphold the freedom of the press even where there is none. He and his team get the privilege of going to Kuwait but get kicked out because they can't stick to the script in good conscience. He circumvents the stranglehold the Ministry of Information has on American news teams by getting a direct link to CNN headquarters and making friends with Al-Hadathi.

 There are several messages to be gleaned from Wiener's battles with censorship, Live from Baghdad's true antagonist. Perhaps the most important one—and the film's strongest point—is that when freedom and censorship collide, it is censorship that falters.

At the Core

 There are two competing theses within my review of Gran Torino. On the one hand, I claim that Clint Eastwood has made an effort to do more than the same old shoot-em-up Westerns, and that he should be commended for exploring outside of his personal, heavily typecast bubble. This argument essentially forms the backbone of why someone should bother seeing the film. On the other hand, the majority of analysis in the review is given over to how similar Gran Torino is, in plot structure and character development, to one of Eastwood's old Westerns.

 Further discussion of the film has led me to see that there is much more corroboration between the film and the judgment that Gran Torino is effectively a Western-style film transposed into a different time and place. I would rectify the conflict within my theses by eliminating the first one and focusing more diligently on the duality of criticism and praise Eastwood deserves for not really doing anything new, but nevertheless doing it well.

 Because of this discrepancy, along with a few other ambiguous wanderings within my review and the lack of a strong lede, this review deserves a B.

What's this newfangled hyperlinking y'all youngsters are doin'?

In case you weren't aware, for some godforsaken reason, the Internet Movie Database is probably the best concentration of movie information on the internet.  You can see the entirety of a star's career, get movie news, reviews, synopses (just in case you decided to not see a movie we were supposed to review), and cross-reference just about anything.  That isn't to say that the IMDB is the final word when it comes to all things film and television.  But like Wikipedia, it's a great place to start.

Also useful is the Internet Movie Firearms Database, which is like IMDB in name only, and apparently staffed by crazy people that just watch movies to identify what guns appear in them.  Like me.  So, if you didn't quite catch the difference between the two submachine guns used in Gran Torino by the Hmong, you can always look it up and see that both a MAC-10 and a Mini Uzi made appearances.  If you're a weirdo like that.