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as against the “best movie of the year” award from the critics’ group to which she belongs—proves again that following an important artist’s career while it’s actually going on is rarely that peacefully exciting cycle of anticipation and gratification we would like it to be.
Perhaps it never has been, not even in the golden age.
I still hold these views now, but in a much milder form.
The unreasonable vehemence with which I held and expressed them before seems to have come from a nervous need for independence, as if to show that I could dislike Antonioni as energetically as anybody else.
that they were fed up with movies about bored and boring people, since they personally knew plenty of interesting and lively people who were interested in work and able to love other people and they didn’t see why movies couldn’t deal with these once in a while, and so forth and so on.
But this is all conscious expertise, not vicarious experience, and nothing in the movie suggests that the photographer’s fantasy life centers around things like revolvers and murders.You could excuse his agent for urging him to try something new, but then it’s an agent’s job to worry about show-business like over-exposure and image-adjustment.The critic’s job is to worry about single works of art, and today that job seems to require a disciplined refusal to play the culture-market.And therefore I was taken aback to hear enthusiastic admirers of with triumphantly vindictive malice.And 1 was astonished at what this malice allowed intelligent people to say.