I try to avoid capsule reviews for almost everything. I find capsule reviews pointless because I’m not reading to get a simple recommendation or not, I’m reading to get insight into the film. This is why I usually read most critiques after I see a movie, to see what different thoughts are out there and what directions they take. A capsule review provides no real insight and is usually meant as a mere “yes” or “no” response to the reader’s unspoken question, “Should I see this?” Of course, rather than simply say “yes” or “no” they usually throw some words together that mean, essentially, nothing. The problem is, plenty of people read capsule reviews and the language of them gets co-opted into conversations about movies and, often, into even longer, full length reviews where they have no place at all. The end result is a lot of people saying a whole lotta nuttin’ about the process of making movies.
Let’s go through some of the better known examples. I read one recently that said, “Good cast, uneven direction.” For all I get from that it could have said, “Red table, salted pavement.” Or maybe, “Falling frames, dissolving souls.” It would have been just as helpful. What exactly does the author mean by uneven direction? Do some scenes involve a static camera filming actors giving soliloquies while other scenes have swirling, rushing, ramping camera motions while the viewer is inundated with special effects and explosions? Because that would feel pretty uneven, I gotta say. Somehow, I don’t think that’s what the author means though. I don’t think the author really knows either because, honestly, it’s not the easiest or most intuitive thing in the world to critique direction.
When a film is “well-directed” what does that mean? Does it mean the actors give outstanding performances and, thus, the director did his job in directing them to solid efforts? Does it mean the movie moves quickly and feels tightly constructed? Does it mean the movie has extraordinary visuals? Take every question I just asked and the answer to each one, respectively, could be the performances were great because the actors were, the movie moved quickly and felt tightly constructed because it had an excellent editor and a superb screenplay, and the visuals might be extraordinary because so was the cinematographer. You might watch a movie that’s great from beginning to end and not one damn bit of it has anything to do with the director. I mean, I’m sure the director did a fine job but because of his or her cast and crew, it made the director look better.
And why would “uneven direction” even be bad, necessarily? Wouldn’t “uneven direction” be the definition of the direction behind Gone With The Wind? I mean, besides Victor Fleming, whose name finally wound up on the opening credits, it had George Cukor, Sam Wood, David O’Selznick and, I believe, the first born son of every member of the crew, taking a stab at directing the film at one time or another. Surely, that’s uneven! And yet, it has made zero difference in the history of that movie.
Another favorite is “uneven cast.” This one’s even better than “uneven direction” because all casts are uneven. That is to say, they all involve actors from different generations, different schools of thought, different levels of talent. Except for small cast movies, like Sleuth or Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf, the evenness of a cast could hardly matter. Now in Sleuth, it would matter. If one actor is a wooden, third rate bore who got the job because he’s the director’s nephew and the other actor is either Olivier or Caine, well, there’s a problem. But in most movies, even actors clearly below the level of some of the others, like Carol Lynley compared to Shelley Winters in The Poseidon Adventure, or Pamela Sue Martin acting up against Gene Hackman, doesn’t really affect anything. I’d say The Poseidon Adventure has a remarkably uneven cast. I’d also say it makes absolutely no difference. I’d further say the direction is good, I think. It appears to be functionally handled by Ronald Neame but I couldn’t say for sure. One thing I could say is, “Uneven cast, good direction” and I wouldn’t be lying. But do I recommend the movie? Good luck figuring it out from that.
Then there’s the classic, “Plodding.” Plodding? Are the scenes long? Because I don’t find long scenes plodding if they’re interesting or exciting or challenging. I can watch the one take room search scene in Touch of Evil a million times and that thing will never be plodding and it’s fairly long as scenes go. Is it plodding because the movie moves at a slow pace? I’ve watched Spirit of the Beehive many times more than once and it remains a movie that moves at a methodical, relaxed pace that allows for reflection. For instance, the shot of the two girls running across a field is held as long as one would hold a scene of important dialogue but instead lets the viewer reflect on the imagery, the meaning, and the characters instead. It’s anything but plodding. Are the scenes quiet with long visual takes rather than constant speaking to advance the story? Because I can think of dozens of movies that I love that fit that description. So, plodding. It means nothing.
There are other nuggets of wisdom that every reader will recognize from “needs editing” to “bombastic score” (and my hat is off to both Matt Zoller Seitz and Bill Ryan for reminding me of those a few weeks ago on Facebook in their own discussions) that are also, without further elaboration, meaningless. As I responded on Facebook, Star Wars has a completely bombastic score and it’s perfectly suited to the movie. I mean, I can’t imagine anyone coming up with a better score for that movie than the one John Williams composed. Of course, I’d call it a triumphant score, not bombastic, but that’s the word people like to use for triumphant scores they don’t like and it makes them feel as though they’ve made a valid critique. And as a few people pointed out about “needs editing”, it’s like the emperor telling Mozart there are too many notes so just cut a few. Editing isn’t just cutting frames out, it’s about connecting ideas and visual expressions, it’s about creating a language for the film that communicates those ideas to the audience. ”Needs editing” needs explanation. Otherwise, don’t write it.
I understand the need for capsule reviews because I know a lot of people want a quick, easily consumable piece of opinion they can digest before seeing a movie. We use them here at TCM, mainly from Leonard Maltin. And despite my jabbing at some of the terminology, I don’t really mind it in a capsule. My problem, as stated at the start of this piece, is the spillage into conversations and full length reviews that should know better. I like reading critiques for insight not generalities, so I’ll continue to hope the full length reviews I read avoid the shorthand of capsules. When they don’t, they can be uneven, plodding, and bombastic. And who wants that?