The work of
criticism is always, let’s say, ephemeral; Saint-Beuve’s name survives only
because Proust was against him. Even more fleeting are the reactions of the
mere reviewer. “No serious critic can devote himself, frequently, exclusively,
and indefinitely, to reviewing works most of which inevitably cannot bear,
would even be misrepresented by, review in depth,” sniffs Renata Adler in her
screed against Pauline Kael.
So the
outpouring of emotion in the wake of Roger Ebert’s death might seem a transitory
thing; already, the passing of the Iron Lady (of whom more later) has moved him
off the screens. The rise of Siskel and Ebert neatly paralleled in time the
switch from the decade-long Prague Spring of New Hollywood to the
blockbuster-driven economy still churning its way through the Marvel and DC
lineups. Even if Ebert’s courage and openness in the face of his disfiguring
illness and his resolute identity as a newspaper journalist in the twilight of
that industry render him heroic, he and his partner might still
seem like emblems in a narrative of cultural decline, banally and profitably
celebrating the culture industry’s assembly line, whatever caveats they might
have about individual products.
But I want
to offer a different view. Sneak Previews
and its successors enjoyed an astounding success, given how unpromising the
show’s basic structure might have seemed: two untelegenic, middle-aged white
guys bickering about movie clips. The show operated on the premise that arguing
about culture could draw a mass audience. And it did. “Thumbs up or down” may
have been the takeaway message, but both critics made clear that those
decisions were made for reasons, and reasons that each would emphatically try
to make the other acknowledge.
Maybe those
arguments weren’t always the most sophisticated. And maybe the very act of
treating Weekend at Bernie’s 2 as
worthy of detailed consideration was as much a con as it was a tribute to
critical open-mindedness. But in their humble way, Siskel and Ebert offered a
model of rationality, one on which thinking wasn’t a matter of following an
algorithm or asserting a purely subjective preference. In other words, it was a
humanistic kind of education.
And it
strikes me that poetry criticism, that much-lamented field, could do with more
of a dose of At the Movies-style debate. We have our dramatic flareups, as with
the fascinating byplay between Marjorie Perloff and Matvei Yankelevich last
year. But too often, even when critical disagreements break out, they either
proceed at an austere level of abstraction or wind up with people talking past
one another. I’d love to see a pair of writers devote themselves to detailed
and contentious consideration of recent books or poems of note. There are some excellent examples approximating this: Al Filreis’s Poem Talk, for instance,
or the byplay between Christian Wiman and Don Share on the Poetry podcast, but
I think there’s room for a similar effort that's neither tied to a particular
publication nor emphasizing a scholarly conversation.
***
The use of thumbs in the poetic context, though, might have its risks:
What a thrill—
My thumb instead of an onion.
The top quite gone
Except for a sort of hinge
Of skin,
A flap like a hat,
Dead white.
Then that red plush.
(Sylvia Plath, "Cut")