“Feel free to share your positive feelings about the film on Twitter after the screening,” said the usher introducing the London press preview screening of Barbie, Greta Gerwig’s Mattel-produced film. The embargo for reviews, however, would not be lifted until two days later, closer to the film’s release. The audience generally didn’t bat an eyelid and it wasn’t the first time my colleagues and I had heard such directives, yet we were left feeling censored: if they won’t allow for our negative reactions, why should they get our positive ones?
The purpose of this strategy barely needs specifying: in addition to the film’s omnipresent marketing campaign, positive reactions on social media were to seal the deal and ensure that the most dubious potential spectators would be persuaded to turn up to the cinema on the opening weekend, the most crucial days for a film’s box office success. The fact that the audience at this preview screening consisted mostly of influencers was another blatant marketing strategy, which would not have been as insulting were it not for the fact that it meant many film critics were unable to see the film before its release. The phenomenon occurred in other cities as well. A few days before the film’s release, Parisian writers were dumbfounded to see some colleagues sharing glowing takes on the film on Twitter, after being told there would be no advance screenings for any of the press. Moreover, what were presented as exclusive interviews with the cast turned out to be prerecorded and pre-approved by the studio. Ahead of its release, the film was to be seen only through pink-tinted glasses.
While it is customary for film studios to try to control the narrative by organising advance screenings if they believe in a film or avoiding them if they don’t, the methods employed for the release of Barbie were more extreme. They are symptomatic of a trend that has been evolving over the past few years and that concerns not only the film criticism profession, but culture at large. If all discussion of a film’s merits before release is left to influencers, whose driving ambition is to receive free merchandise by speaking well of the studio’s products, what can we expect the film landscape to look like? Where will engaging, challenging and, if not completely unbiased then at least impartial conversation about cinema take place, and how is the audience to think critically of what is being sold to it?
It isn’t news that many people perceive critics as pessimistic writers and frustrated artists who never like anything – thanks, Ratatouille. If critics can seem harsh, however, it is because they love cinema and want what is best for it. They want it to be as artful and life-changing as it can be, rather than a purely commercial enterprise meant to make us buy more things. But even that cliche has changed lately. As the writers and actors’ strike began – in an attempt to get streamers and studios to remunerate workers properly – and cast and crew found themselves unable to promote their work, many wondered whether film critics continuing to write reviews would be crossing the picket line, further evidence that the difference between critics and PRs is blurring in the public consciousness. Somehow, we have gone to the other end of the spectrum: a critic is now perceived as someone who loves every film, automatically and uncritically.
More worrying still, some critics see themselves that way, avoiding ruffling any feathers (internet backlash against unpopular opinions doesn’t help) and instead choosing to generate bloated excitement for any new release. The studios are partly responsible, inundating young, broke writers with extravagant film merchandise that they otherwise could never afford and taking off their mailing lists those who review their films negatively. But the problem runs deeper still: in a climate in which the film industry is already struggling and streamers (yes, them again) have worked hard to make films appear about as worthwhile as a YouTube or a TikTok video, letting you watch thousands of them for a small subscription fee rather than paying the price of a cinema ticket for each one, it is tempting for film lovers to want to promote cinema at all cost. Why discourage more people from going to the movie theatre with an unfavourable review?
If the internet has paved the way for the devaluation of cinema via streaming platforms, it has also done the same for film criticism. The democratising effect is undeniable, but so is the cheapening one, literally and figuratively. With so many more people writing about cinema online, fees for reviews have fallen to shockingly low levels and the expertise supposedly required of film critics has been forgotten – knowledge of the film history and good writing skills are less and less valued. From typos and poor grammar to evident misunderstandings about what certain words mean (the Cambridge Dictionary defines “bombastic” as “forceful and confident in a way that is intended to be very powerful and impressive, but may not have much real meaning or effect”, which would mean that Barbie is pompous rather than remarkable) and superficial readings of complex films, the quality of film writing has dwindled. It is hard to recommend people read more criticism when it so often makes for a tedious or actively infuriating experience.
This low quality, mass availability and low interest has in turn hurt publications and encourages editors to pay their writers ever less – and the vicious cycle continues. Recently, a fellow critic tweeted their review of a film newly released in US theatres, but rather than letting their words speak for themselves, they also attached a clip from that film – a clip they had illegally recorded off the online screener with which the studio had provided them (the tweet has since been taken down). They did so to encourage people to see the film because, they said: “No one was going to read my review anyway, regardless of how well I think it’s written.” When I asked why bother writing a review at all, their answer was brutal and simple: for $50. If critics themselves perceive their work as worthless and pointless and fall into marketing strategies to draw people towards films they love, what place does film criticism hold in today’s culture?
Whether a fact or a myth, we used to believe that critics could make or break a film: Pauline Kael is said to have rescued the now-classic Bonnie and Clyde and thus encouraged Hollywood to reinvent itself. The support of critics meant a lot to young Quentin Tarantino, and the French critics (and film-makers) at the Cahiers du Cinéma contributed to Alfred Hitchcock being taken seriously in his homeland and in Hollywood. It is difficult to imagine such impactful film criticism today, which doesn’t mean that good writing doesn’t exist, coming from established and newer voices. Rather than hype machines, these writers are craftspeople, bringing together their personal experience, film knowledge, critical thinking and enthusiasm to write articles that challenge perspectives and reflect on today’s world.
In a recent interview with Sight and Sound, the film-maker Paul Schrader (himself a former film critic) said: “There was a period when film criticism blossomed, but that was because audiences wanted better films.” This article won’t open this other can of worms, but in the weeks after one of the biggest box office weekends in a long time, it is worth wondering what film audiences want today. Oppenheimer, a three-hour long biopic directed by the beloved and bankable Christopher Nolan, seems the polar opposite of Barbie, which despite its creativity remains fundamentally an ad for a toy. It is precisely in such complex and seemingly paradoxical circumstances that film critics can help us understand what the film industry is going through – leaving it to Twitter can make for baffling and absurd takes. This critic would say that at least one thing seems clear: spectators want films that their makers take seriously, rather than those that are unceremoniously dumped online and copied from a previous version. It doesn’t seem a coincidence that neither Barbie nor Oppenheimer is a franchise film or a sequel, and that they both feature countless actors whose talents are put front and centre (and in the case of Barbie, who were treated like children attending the best summer camp ever) – and, finally, that both films have made for some of the best film writing this year. Perhaps the strikes will result in greater fairness for film-makers and, therefore, in greater films – and greater film criticism.
