The Worst Thing I Can Say About Your Project

Let’s assume that you’re a filmmaker of some sort, whether you’re an actor, a producer, a director, all of the above, or whatever else.  Your project has finally made it to the combat zone that is the land of critical scrutiny.  What do you think is the single worst thing that I or any other critic could possibly say about your project?

If you’re like most people, your gut reaction was to say “It sucked.”  If that’s the case, you’re wrong.

Perhaps you took it a step further and went with something on the order of “That’s the worst crap I’ve ever seen.”  If that’s the case, not only are you wrong, but you’re even more wrong than the first guy was.

I’ve been doing this for over a decade now, and I’ve picked up on a few secrets of audience psychology, though really, there’s nothing secret about them; it’s just a matter of remembering how to think like everyone else, which is a skill that many people – both critics and creators – lose the moment that they enter into their chosen arena.  So what, then, is the single worst thing that I or any other critic can say about your project?

“It’s okay.”

Even the actual words “disaster” and “doom” don’t convey the reality of disaster and doom to a project as swiftly as the phrase “it’s okay.”  There’s just no creative death sentence as sure as being chucked into the pile of dispassionate mediocrity.

Here’s the full equation:

 

Best Ever > Excellent|Great|Good = Worst Ever > Bad > Okay

 

Here it is broken down:

 

Best Ever.  Whether we’re writers or actors or directors or plumbers, it’s the accolade we all strive for, and why not?  It’s really kind of a no-brainer, isn’t it?  The best is the best.  As long as an audience has respect for – or, perhaps even more to the point, no active disrespect for – the critic making the determination, then an accolade like “Best Ever” or even “Among the Best” will grab attention, and it will have an impact.

Excellent|Great|Good.  While these words represent a sliding scale by definition and in the minds of most critics, as well, most audiences when looking at a review tend to lump these and similar words into the same judgmental pile.  An actor, of course, is likely to and should catch the difference in degrees when seeing his or her own performance described, but being honest, the audience at large is far less likely to make that distinction.  It’s a curse of overuse, but on the plus side, all of those words still translate into “go see my movie or watch my show,” so if the audience misses the nuance, it’s still a positive result.

Worst Ever.  You’re either nodding and smiling with understanding or you’re very confused.  Yes, folks, I’m telling you that “Worst Ever” or “Among the Worst” is just as good as and sometimes even better than “Good.”  Why?  There are a few bits of psychology at work here.

First, there is a massive contingent of people out there who are magnetically drawn to crap.  They take phrases like “the worst ever” and “steaming pile of animal waste” as personal challenges.  I know these people well, for I am one of them, and we are legion.  Gaining a reputation as an ultimate stinker in a genre (especially one that doesn’t get a lot of popular respect to begin with) can actually lead to greater success for a film than being called “decent.”  For example, does anyone really think that the Dino version of Flash Gordon is beloved by fans even thirty years later because it’s good?  Hell, no!  People love it because it’s so horrible that it’s come out the other side!  That is the power of “the worst ever.”

Hell, I’ve even had a filmmaker or three thank me for laying that kind of label on their project.  One said “it proves you’re honest” (and hey, that proves that the guy was real about his own stuff), and another said that if a few more people said the same thing, it could easily triple the rentals.

This is also where an audience’s disrespect for a critic can come into play.  I knew a guy in university who always wanted to know what Leonard Maltin thought of any given movie.  It’s not because he liked Maltin, though; it’s because he couldn’t stand him, and so he was automatically suspicious of anything Maltin liked, and almost certain to go see anything Maltin called out as garbage.

Bad.  All of the above applies to a lesser degree to this category.  Much like “Best” is to “Good,” the superlative value of “Worst” has got steroid-ridden muscle.

Again, though, “bad” is far from being a death sentence.  Just ask Kristen Stewart and everyone else associated with Twilight, or the Wayans brothers.

Okay.  Now that you’ve had time to give it some thought, it should be obvious that there’s nothing in the critical universe worse than “okay.”

It often means “your project was so uninteresting that I couldn’t even get pissed off about it.”  At least when a critic hates something, you know that your project was able to stir some kind of emotion in someone.  But when a critic – who is more likely as a matter of course to be trying to find the emotion in something that he or she is watching – can’t be stirred at all, even to complain?  Uh-oh.  After all, isn’t that what we’re supposed to love to do?

Looking at it from another angle, imagine some other aspect of your life, like lunch.  When a friend asks how your boring, unexciting meal is, what are you likely to say?  “It’s okay.”  But you don’t mean it.  Two days later you’re probably not even going to remember what it was.  Now flash forward again and replace that lunch with the project you’ve worked so hard on as a creative professional.  Do you really want someone to find it so uninteresting that they call it “okay,” the kiss of “I’ll forget it before next week”?  I suspect you’d rather they were pissed enough to remember it instead.  At least then you know you reached the person.

At least then, too, you’d have a shot of appealing to the “bad” instincts noted above, whereas “meh/mediocre” is a pretty universal “I’ll pass, thanks.”

 

So the next time you read a review that says “this movie sucks” or “that was the worst performance ever,” remember: it could be worse.  The critic could have spoken in vague generalities and then said “it’s okay,” thereby telling everyone that he or she actually couldn’t give a shit less one way or another.

The Video Store Lament

A few months ago, I was having an email chat with my old partner in crime (read: guy I used to write reviews with on my old site), Kenner.  He’d kept going with review writing on his own for a while after I went on indefinite hiatus, but finally stopped doing reviews a couple of years ago.  I asked him why, expecting the “rest of life getting in the way” thing that happens to so many people (as it did to me).  Instead, he said this:

 

“I lost a lot of my desire to review movies when the rental stores started to die out.   [Now] I’m pretty much limited to whatever Netflix or the Redbox has.  This, for me, sucks, because I always was a martial arts fan, and there are a lot of Grade Zilch karate epics that I can no longer get my hands on… I mean there was nothing for me more fun than going to the local video hut [and] renting something obscure or B-grade…  You just don’t have that anymore… A good amount of crap hasn’t surfaced on DVD yet,  and the new crap [that is] on DVD isn’t as fun.”

 

The man’s got a point.  Several, in fact, and I think that many people who jumped into The World According To YouTube and never looked back just don’t understand.

The “Digital Revolution” was supposed to make everything accessible to everyone all the time, on demand, but that’s not what really happened.  In fact, in a very real sense, it’s helped to hasten the disappearance of a lot of stuff from the pre-digital age that doesn’t fit into the standard definition of “current market” or “classic.”  If it’s not part of a rights package picked up by Netflix or Apple or Amazon, odds are that it’s going to be gone for everyone but the Library of Congress, the pirate community, and the descendants of Ted Turner in very short order.  If it’s one of those that never made it past the analog world of VHS, it may be gone already.

And if the Canadian government ever decides to relax its “Canadian content” rules for its television stations, ninety percent of the 1990s action genre could be wiped out in one stroke, because that’s just about the only place where those movies seem to live anymore.

Like Kenner, I remember many a late night safari into a video store, looking for anything that caught my eye.  It didn’t have to resemble anything else I’d watched in the past few weeks (probably best if it didn’t), and I wasn’t in the mood to go through a bunch of survey options about what stars I wanted or what genre I wanted.  What about the first few letters of a title?  I didn’t know, and that was the point of the whole exercise.  I just wanted to look, and if I saw something interesting, I’d pick up the box and look some more.  It was an adventure in controlled randomness that you just don’t get by going through drop down menus.

I discovered a lot of great – and wonderfully bad – stuff that way.

And if I didn’t find something interesting at one video store, I could always go down the street – because once upon a time, video stores were like coffee shops are now – and go to another one, and they’d have an appreciably different selection.  It was like magic.  Store A might not have had much in the way of action, but they did have stuff like Nasty Rabbit and Capricorn One.  Store B, meanwhile, had the entire Cynthia Rothrock library, and a pretty decent selection of Bolo Yeung.  Score either way.

Whereas now that the video stores have closed up and gone (there’s exactly one left that’s anywhere near me; it’s smaller than an average apartment), you fire up your Netflix account, and either they have Capricorn One, or they don’t.  Anywhere.  There’s no “checking another store.”  Go to another Netflix-capable device and the answer will be the same whether you’re in Baton Rouge or Seattle.  And you’ll have to either know exactly what you’re looking for or go through a bunch of menus to find out.  Adventure?  Fun?  I don’t think so.

As for Redbox… please.  That’s like a Top 40 radio station.  Useless.

Sure, you could hop on Amazon and see what’s there, but the stuff that made video stores fun is disappearing fast.  Basically, Amazon is now the clearing house for the stores that went under at this point, and once that stock is gone…  There’s a reason that some of these movies can sell used on VHS for $80 and up.  It’s because they’re endangered.  Entire classes of movies are on the brink of availability extinction.

And again, forget browsing on Amazon.  No matter how many suggestion algorithms the tech and marketing guys throw in, that’s one experience that cannot be digitally replicated.  Suggestions are based on what you’ve done before or on what’s being pushed.  If anything, the experience is designed to prevent you from “stumbling across” something different and exciting on “the shelf.”

Of course, times change.  I know that.  Music stores went first, then video stores, and now they’re working on bookstores, with big box electronic specialty retail on deck.  But in the race to close down the brick and mortar world, something magical is being lost.  There really is nothing like that adventure safari of browsing to find something different; the invitation to Chance to come along for the ride and help you pick out a movie.

So, do I understand where Kenner’s coming from?  You bet I do.  I feel it, too.  My response is different from his, but I do understand.

Sure, you can write those safaris off as nostalgia if you want, but there’s also something more pressing and perhaps even more sinister that goes along with them.

The tighter we channel our outlets, the fewer choices we have, not just individually, but societally.  Your Netflix is my Netflix.  Same exact selection.  Same exact limits on that selection.  Still a lot; sure.  But as the clusters that had been centered around local stores now converge centrally in the world of Netflix, et.al., many niches start to disappear.  It takes a much larger customer segment for the sales and marketing guys to justify getting the rights to something.  It may not quite be the Top 40 pointlessness of Redbox, but Top 1000 isn’t out of the question.  As above, it’s a betrayal of the promise of the Digital Revolution: instead of making content more available, it’s setting the old stuff on fire so that only the popular stuff and the stuff that has the best sales representation at the time get to keep playing.

One result is that people like Kenner and people like me are watching not just some of our favorite movies but even entire genres of old die.  That’s depressing enough, but it also means that no one else will have a chance to discover them, either.

And let’s have another look at those suggestion algorithms used by Netflix, Amazon, Apple, and the other digital players.  Again, they’re not designed with chance – or diversity – in mind.  You’ll get what they’re sure they can sell you.  You’ll be directed to your established patterns and maybe some trends based on your demographic profile.  If you’ve been into comic book hero movies, that’s what you’ll get.  Not a shot in hell you’ll discover Juliette Binoche in Chocolat under that system, or even find out that Billy Blanks used to do something in front of a camera other than Tae Bo.  No chance to broaden your horizons.

And to cap it all off, anything you find on Netflix, et.al. is as temporary as the studios want it to be.  It has to keep getting renegotiated, so the movie you can always get today, you might not ever see again starting tomorrow.  Even downloaded material can be controlled with the right code attached to it.  And since it’s just digital, it’s not like there’s stock left to sell after the delete or disable key gets pressed, which is just how the studio wants it.  Secondary markets don’t make them any money.

So come to think of it, better enjoy the solid copy stuff you can get from Amazon while you’re still able to, as well.

I suspect that the Video Store Lament is just starting.