Today we'd like to introduce our new guest blogger, Jordan Oakes, whose work has graced the pages of our Culture section (check out his profile of local musician, Charles Glenn). Every Wednesday at 9am, we'll publish a new installment of "Mediatribe," Jordan's musings on books, movies, music, art and all things media-related. This week, he weighs in on the two last mega-hits of the summer movie season.
This week, after seeing a couple of the more critically touted movies, including Inglourious Basterds, I developed a conspiracy theory. Worn down by hype, outvoted by box-office receipts and too often swayed by peer-pressure and studio lobbyists, movie critics have become followers, not leaders. In many ways, Hollywood has perfected its marketing masterpiece, its indestructible Frankenstein’s monster -– the critic-proof movie. By ensuring the hype is not only louder than the reviewer’s voice but played in booming Dolby Digital stereo, the film industry has rendered the movie critic not only inconsequential but irrelevant. Next comes obsolescence. When a film’s opening-weekend honeymoon is more important than its marital prospects to a committed audience, it’s time to reinvent the reel. Before Basterds started to bloody the screen, I sat –- make that squirmed -- through several coming attractions, including Halloween II. (Truly, does the world need a new Rob Zombie movie?) Each preview had giant explosions (we in America love our explosions); and I endured the predictable deafening pyrotechnics as if it were my civic duty. Then, finally, came the feature presentation, Basterds, the new, proud-to-be-misspelled Quentin Tarantino movie that wears its critical plaudits like war medals. But were they honestly earned? I know; who would be uncool enough to pan the latest Tarantino talk-fest? That would be like raving about his last one, the flopping but occasionally exciting Death Proof. Who among the critics would dare warn us that there are just as many dull, self-indulgent scenes as brilliant, snappy ones? Who would be the brave soldier to admit that Brad Pitt was in a lighthearted military spoof while the rest of the cast threw body and soul into a serious war movie? If there is anything a critic hesitates to do, it’s pan a movie that’s bound for success. Despite the free screenings, a critic wants a winning ticket. He or she needs no special credentials to write about film, of course; only a plot of land in a newspaper to enshrine his or her opinion. Based on the seemingly unanimous raves, I also decided to check out District Nine. I really had my hopes up because, after all, the great science fiction movie is a nearly extinct cinematic species. Perhaps this was an “instant classic, “ the oxymoron used casually by reviewers these days, as if standing the test of time can be achieved in less than three hours. District Nine, to be sure, starts off brilliantly – almost like a sci-fi mockumentary -- but soon descends into a splattering action movie with a stock villain and self-important choral soundtrack. Who had my back? Who looked out for my nine dollars and fifty cents?
Jordan Oakes is a local journalist who has written for publications such as St. Louis Magazine and the Christian Science Monitor. He has strong opinions that begin to atrophy if he doesn't exercise his right to express them.
