Pauline Kael Should Have Been A Pop Star

**REVISED 2/22/10

“Kael is the only writer about whom I can say that being condescended by her felt like an honor,” notes Ken Tucker, critic-at-large for “Entertainment Weekly.  In the same article by Tucker Kael is quoted as saying, “Not many reviewers have a real gift for effrontery … I think that may be my best talent.”  What is it about such a perfected offensive, condescending personality that draws devoted followers?  Image? Controversy?  The thing that Pauline Kael was most successful at was not reviewing, but controversy;  she cultivated an image so volatile and unwavering that it struck a chord in the totality of her readership.  Kael basked in attention, and used movie reviews to glean more of it more often than she used them to provide insightful, credible evaluation.  She was good at getting talked about, fought over, and argued with.  Pauline Kael would have been an excellent pop star.

In her essay “House Critic” Renata Adler calls that single and powerful attracting quality

 “Liveliness.”  She deemed Kael an instance of everything that can go wrong with a staff critic, and called Kael's style a “lapse” that existed simply because she only wrote about movies;

–the sadism, slurs, inaccuracies, banalities, intrusions—came to be regarded as Ms. Kael's strong suit.  Ms. Kael grew proud of them.  Her cult got hooked on them … There was              always the impression … of liveliness. 

The perceived liveliness is a product of how out of place Kael's 'common' language, material, and exaggerated approach were to her contemporaries in the field.  Tucker puts it this way in “A Gift For Effrontery,”

Film criticism in the present day is dominated by careerists whose primary frames of reference are other examples of their chosen art plus the desired opinions, real or imagined, of their editors. 

 Kael avoided dullness, but at the expense of credibility.  In “House Critic” Adler cites, as an example,  a review in which Kael mistakenly accuses director George Roy Hill of “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid” of recording indoors.  In her review of “Gimme Shelter” Kael racked up inaccuracies, inspiring the filmmakers, Albert and David Maysles, and Charlotte Zwerin to write “A Response to Pauline Kael” which they intended for publication in the “New York Times.”

Instead of relating Kael offers advice, prescription, and judgment that belittle not just the film, but her audience.  In her review of “Hiroshima” Kael writes,

It seemed to be a woman's picture—in the most derogatory sense of the term … I decided that the great lesson for us all was to shut up.  This woman … was exposing one of the worst faults of intelligent modern women: she was talking all her emotions out …

 It is as if Kael projects her own fear of intimacy onto the film and onto her audience.  The movie screen is, indeed, only her starting point. And that is not necessarily negative, what is negative is that in her exploration she speaks for her audience instead of to them. On page 99 of “Afterglow: A Last conversation With Pauline Kael” Francis Davis asks if she wants movies to be “good for us” or “medicinal” and she answers yes.  She says not only that movies should be medicinal, but how.

In her review of “My Left Foot” Kael writes, “I don't know that any movie has ever given us so strong a feeling,” and  “you don't feel manipulated.”  This is a problem of style and word choice, used to convey a preaching, parental tone.  Kael seemed unwilling to grow past her initial reaction to a movie, or just unwilling to grow, and that problem is hard to overlook.

             

Final Pitch: Slam Poetry Filling in the Gaps

Spoken Word, and more specifically, Slam Poetry in the United States gives voice to those who are typically excluded from literary movements.  The "slam" format is important in its inclusive, participatory, provides a venue for engagement in literary and political exchange, and sets up a non-academic standard for judgment. 

When it began, in 1986, Slam was something for bars, and working audiences who had little time for entertainment, let alone literature and politics.  It has since taken a commercial turn (Def Poetry Jam, for example).  The implications of commercialization on a grassroots movement are incredibly relevant.  I came into the Kalamazoo slam scene in 2003 and have watched it grow, disappear, and return.  I am passionate about it.  

The Kalamazoo Poetry Slam, which existed for 11 years before folding has returned this year.  I plan to interview the host, Tracey Smith.  "The Cultural Politics of Slam Poetry: Race, Identity, and The Performance of Popular Verse in America" will also be a primary source.  Secondary sources will include other interviews and poetic examples.

Pauline kael Should Have Been A Pop Star

In “A Gift For Effrontery” Ken Tucker, critic-at-large for “Entertainment Weekly” says of Pauline Kael, “Kael is the only writer about whom I can say that being condescended by her felt like an honor.” In the same article Kael is quoted as saying, “Not many reviewers have a real gift for effrontery … I think that may be my best talent.” What is it about such a perfected offensive, condescending personality that draws devoted followers? Image? Controversy?

It seems that the thing that Pauline Kael was most successful at was not reviewing, but controversy: she cultivated an image so volatile and unwavering that it struck a chord in the totality of her readership. Kael basked in attention, and used movie reviews to glean more of it more often than she used them to provide insightful, credible evaluation. She was good at getting talked about, fought over, and argued with. Pauline Kael would have been an excellent pop star.

In her essay “House critic” Renata Adler calls that single and powerful attracting quality “Liveliness”:

I think what has happened is this: an extreme case of what can go wrong with a staff critic. Prose events that would, under ordinary circumstances and on any subject other than movies, have been regarded as lapses –the sadism, slurs, inaccuracies, banalities, intrusions—came to be regarded as Ms. Kael's strong suit. Ms. Kael grew proud of them. Her cult got hooked on them … There was always the impression … of liveliness.

The perceived liveliness is a product of how out of place Kael's 'common' language, material, and exaggerated approach were to her contemporaries in the field. Tucker puts it this way in “A Gift For Effrontery”,

Film criticism in the present day is dominated by careerists whose primary frames of reference are other examples of their chosen art plus the desired opinions, real or imagined, of their editors.

Kael avoided that, but at the expense of credibility. In “House Critic” Adler cites, as an example, Kael's review that mistakenly accuses director George Roy Hill of “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid” of recording indoors.

Instead of relating Kael offers advice, prescription, and judgment that belittle not just the film, but the audience for whom she is writing. In her review of “Hiroshima” Kael writes:

It seemed to be a woman's picture—in the most derogatory sense of the term … I decided that the great lesson for us all was to shut up. This woman … was exposing one of the worst faults of intelligent modern women: she was talking all her emotions out …

It is as if Kael projects her own fear of intimacy onto the film and onto her audience. The movie screen is, indeed, only her starting point. And that is not necessarily negative—on page 99 of “Afterglow: A Last conversation With Pauline Kael” Francis Davis asks her if she wants movies to be “good for us” or “medicinal” and she answers yes—what is negative is that in her exploration she speaks for her audience instead of to them. She tells them not only that movies should be medicinal, but how. This is a problem of style, using “I” and “you” and “we” in a parental fashion. In her review of “My Left Foot” Kael writes, “I don't know that any movie has ever given us so strong a feeling,” and “you don't feel manipulated.” Kale seemed unwilling to grow past her initial reaction to a movie, or just unwilling to grow, and that problem that is hard to overlook.

Blog on Blogs

There is an article by Roy Edroso in last week's Village Voice called "I Blog New York: Your Guide To Gotham's Best" that should prove resounding and relevant to anyone with an Arts Journalism bent, a blogging curiosity, or slightly voyeuristic inclination.

Along with a comprehensive list of amazing blogs that are particular to NYC, but not exclusively for New Yorkers, Mr. Edroso provides researched commentary on the claims and reality of a decade long blog revolution. The featured blogs range from food-centric musing, to neighborhood news items in the Burroughs, to an epic photo journalism project covering the scope of a subway construction site near Second Ave. (The Launch Box)

My favorites from the list:

*Food in Mouth: This blog features exquisite, mouth watering pictures, first off. Food is usually just a jumping off point for unique, witty, musing.

*Slant Magazine's The House Next Door: Popular Culture reviewed.

*Art Fag City: This woman seeks to make contemporary art graspable for people who aren't necessarily 'versed' but who are interested.

What comes from reading Mr. Edroso's article is, for me, pure invigoration. The next step is to step away from New York City and seek more local, extraordinary blogs. Or make one.

Charles Isherwood stole my heart: Or, what's really fair in love and war?

Reading the New York Times in Kalamazoo, Michigan is often like eating cedar grilled salmon from a plastic microwave container; the concept of mouth-watering delight prevails, but what remains is a plastic aftertaste.

Reading Charles Isherwood's review of "Time Stands Still" is not like that. I have never seen this play about journalism and the complexities of a changing relationship that he describes, and I probably won't. Mr. Isherwood brings it to life so that I may watch vicariously as a journalist returns home wounded from Iraq to relearn her life. He passes judgment and lets me decide for myself with his breakdown of the characters and their relationships, his assessment of the writer, the description of how it is played, and how the play comes together onset.

Charles Isherwood is a Theatre Critic for the New York Times who also, apparently wrote a biography of porn star Joey Stefano called "Wonder Bread and Ecstasy: The Life and Death of joey Stefano".

My favorite element of the review is his summation:

Mr. Margulies’s quietly powerful drama illustrates just how much pain and trauma are involved in the everyday business of two people creating a life together, one that accommodates the mistakes of the past, the reality of the present and the changes that the future may bring.

When a review reflects its subject in such a way that the reader considers questions that might be invoked by experiencing the subject its self, I think that the review has succeeded.

Isherwood's review: "What's Really Fair in Love and War"

Filling in the Gaps at Kalamazoo College: English Faculty Reading

**Edit: 2/2/10

¨We are here to generate a little heat and light.” said Gail Griffin at the opening of the Winter 2010 English Faculty Reading at Kalamazoo College. It was an embryonic experience; imperfect and intimate. Not every performance was strong, but the program sandwiched drier scholars between more boisterous performers. Each faculty member who stepped up to the intimidating podium put their vulnerability on display— for a room full of witnesses who will see them in class— as if to convey that they are on equal footing, and growing alongside their students.

Kalamazoo College's English Department reading was comprised of ten individuals, each of whom contributed a completely unique set of experiences and projects. Andy Mozina began the event with an excerpt from his short story “My Non-Sexual Affair” his saucy prose provided an excellent contrast to arduous observations about marriage. Following Mr. Mozina was visiting professor Beth Marzoni whose poem “Rothko Room” orbited around the Rothko Room in London's Tate Museum. Her cadence was self-conscious, but suggested that the audience should be a set of lungs taking in metaphors with her breath and sending them to every part of the body.

Marin Heinritz and Gail Griffin both read from their creative non-fiction works, and both were stunning. Ms. Griffin, in an inky voice and borrowed glasses, revisited a murder-suicide that haunts Kalamazoo college. Moments of heavy description mirrored the reality of emotional weight, and simultaneously allowed statements like, “all of us were survivors” to hit their mark without gushing. Ms. Heinritz read from her memoir, “Coming of Age With Cancer”. She dissected a murky relationship with her mother in a clear, strong delivery that gave the impression of unsympathetic empathy. Her tone resonated with concise assessment and analysis of observations about her mother.

Glenn Deutsch also read from a non-fiction piece that will appear in “Literary View”. “Monkey Version of My Father” is told from the perspective of a young boy. During his reading Mr. Deutsch paused to interject bits of humor or orienting facts. In his biography on the English Department's web page he says, “I also try to show the value of writing that avoids abstractions, generalizations, and judgments ...The point, of course, is that well-written, character-based literature lets us live other peoples’ lives vicariously.” Mr. Deutsch's portion of Wednesday's reading was particularly successful in this way.

Amy Rogers and Babli Sinha were the most academic readers, but both women avoided seeming out of place in the line-up with rich, relevant content. Ms. Rogers read from a 'process piece' in which she observed that, “writing about someone who actually existed is not so different from creating a character.” Ms. Sinha read from a conference paper on South Asian Media and understanding the “new woman”. Her quiet delivery made the eloquent writing and smart humor a little difficult to catch, but her work is well worth straining to hear.

Di Seuss and Amelia Katanski rounded out the evening with energizing, animated confessional and narrative poetry, and Bruce Mills brought it to a close. Mr. Mills was brilliant. He delivered what he called the "epigraph for the evening" infusing hard subjects with silly grace and “filling in the gaps”. He read from “Archeology of Yearning” which called the audience to Iowa with its abandoned farms and his own house littered with artifacts of Autism.

The reading overall was a thoughtful collection of juxtaposing elements placed in a casual framework which acted as an easy framework for so many personalities.