FALLING ON THE LIGHTSABER

I FORMALLY WITHDRAW ANY RESPONSE, CRITICAL OR OTHERWISE, ON STAR WARS THE LAST JEDI, DUE TO SUSCEPTIBILITY TO SUCH INANE AND PETULANT CRITICISM BY SUCH BABY-ASS GROWN MEN AND IT’S JUST NOT WORTH THE HEADACHE OK But, see, what I’m asking is any of this even worth the headache? Sorry for yelling. But, I mean, really, because already, I feel like I should be talking about something else, anyways, you know, something fresh.

Like All The Money In The World. 

Or Oprah.

Alas, guys, alas, every pop culture idiot savant poindexter dipshit yammering in comment sections and discussion boards across free-market blogospheres, believes, by a measure of neither their own might nor mettle, but rather through a prickly mire of incessant trivial debate among one another, e.g. “What is the correct spelling for the onomatopoeia of Wolverine’s claws?” or “Would Monty Python still be funny if they were American?” or “Fuck Marry Kill! The Baroness or Evil-Lyn?” that we earn the dot-com-given right to publish a our “year in review.”

And for that, I am deeply sorry.

SIDEBAR. Like, WHOA. Sidebaaaar. Can I just get into some shitty shit real quick before I continue? Can I just, like, fucking rap at you all for a second? Can I bitch? I mean, like can I bitch like a fucking BITCH, bitch? Fucking Esquire Magazine, man, those fucking tweed-clad uppity pricks, and look, I mean, yeah man, OK, I know I’m just another nattering nerdnik moron desperate for a respected opinion in a discussion about inane shit, a douchebag with a debit card and a WordPress account, a self-important geek who keeps squandering an MFA in creative writing on go-nowhere bullshit like this, a brunch-dodging couch sprout who spends weekends pontificating online in sweatpants who’s always jealous of the glossy sheen of, like, yet another issue of Esquire featuring yet another celebrity profile of, like, Robert Downey Jr.’s kung-fu sensai’s reiki teacher’s acupuncturist’s assistant’s second-cousin’s tattoo artists’s cosplayer girlfriend’s Internet boyfriend or whatever, written by, like, a porkpie hat-wearing ascot-sporting manbag-having Vasser grad motherfucker who can MATRICULATE RIGHT UP MY BUTTHOLE AS FAR AS I’M CONCERNED! A FUCKING YEAR IN REVIEW. Listen, I read Esquire’s 2017 year in review for film and I DIDN’T KNOW ANY OF THE FILMS! I mean I also don’t wear spats or carry money clips as well as billfolds as well as an attache case or, like, dig experimental jazz or whatever, so I guess it’s MY FAULT! IT’S ME WHO IS SO FUCKING RETARDED CULTURALLY! AND I’M SO SORRY! MANY SHAMEFUL APOLOGIES TO ALL MY WIFE AND FRIENDS AND LOVED ONES! But, like, Jesus, their number one film for 2017 is already a documentary and then there are, like, black-and-white adaptations of obscure Serbian romance novels and English movies that are in French and also subtitled in French and so I GOTTA LEARN FRENCH I GUESS and then Shape of Water? SEX WITH A FISHDUDE? Yo, I know ‘sign language’ for fish dick now! 

But, lucky for you, reading that Esquire write-up made me realize how little-to-nothing our #yearinreview reviews matter. It’s like, if Esquire got it so so so so so so wrong for me, personally, but is still, like, the a gold standard for, like, a dude with shoes that match his belt that match his pocket square that match his exquisitely-waxed mustache, well, shit guys, I’m probably gonna get it all wrong for Esquire, too. So, what I’m saying is, does any of us telling the rest of us what the best movies last year were mean shit about dick about fuckall about anything ever for any reason? Or, I mean, like, is it just a way for us to create a tertiary market in a dimension on the outskirts of the visual and performing arts medium that do not contribute to it in any way? Or is it just a way for us to get a collective toe-hold in trend and where it’s moving for this year so that we can, like, get together in a room with a team and an erasable white board and assemble data, per se, and tighten the curve on this shit and get it right for next year? Or is it just a way to help people who have particular taste in how they prefer culture viewed and assessed get exposure to other things they might also like based on the things that they already like, and to provide a moment of recognition so they feel like the things they like are important because someone of esteem said they liked those same thing because nothing means anything until it’s in print? Right? Yeah. I think that’s it.

For movies of 2017, I liked the one with The Hulk in it.

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HULK LOVE HULK MOVIE WITH HULK IN MOVIE

Now, this isn’t a resolution or anything, because I have too many this year already, but I am making a soft rule that I hope will become habit. As often as possible, I want to lead with the language of appreciation and not criticism. Like/dislike instead of good/bad. One is for me to say, the other is just not for me to say. The black hole of criticism is for the artist to decide. An audience can be moved or unmoved. Beyond that, an audience member can decide to evolve from appreciation to patronization, at which point it becomes for a market to decide.

A piece of art’s relevancy is maybe the rarest currency of all. Whether or not a thing matters collectively. That estimation, apparently, is for the academics to decide, but, of course, they’re just a bunch of assholes like the rest of us.


 

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