Really, does anybody need my opinion? No, I would say not. Being the only man in a house full of females has pushed my opinion into it’s proper tiny perspective.
That said, I like reviewing stuff. I find it cathartic to categorize, and I feel a kinship to the writings of Roger Ebert. Ebert has a way of looking at films that is at once consistent and amazingly off-kilter. His writing style is sublime stream of consciousness and still has an order about it.
This is not a replication of his style. I don’t think I could ever do that. Instead, this is a way for me to pay tribute to the man by indicating his profession, often overlooked and degraded, is worthwhile.
What is someone trying to accomplish when they make a movie, an album, a book? Is it an artistic expression, assembly line product or a lucky combination of art, relevance and watch-ability? Why can something of questionable value become a classic, when something of noble intentions become a steaming pile?
My wife often gets annoyed when I mention how a song works well in a particular scene or not. Why should this matter, she thinks? It matters as a manner of respect for the work or an artificial commercial tag on to sell records. Immediately I realize I am thinking way too much about this, for a typical schlub tax payer. Or am I? It’s my money, and more importantly (these days raising a family) my time. Wanting it to be spent on a worthwhile gesture is important to me. Is my way the only way? No, but I think as a domesticated human American male, I am closer to the average viewer than I was before. When I thought my opinion mattered. Which it doesn’t.
Don’t let this stop you from reading. Don’t let it stop you from commenting when you think my opinion stinks. I love talking about this stuff, and I am wrong way more now than I was before I got married.
Thanks for reading,
CPE
Ebert Did It Better: Gasbag Reviews 