ReviewsOn Wednesday, I posted a review of the horror film We Are Still Here. As with all my blog entries, to try to increase traffic I put up links on both Facebook and Twitter. I figured maybe a few other film or horror fans would read. I use Google analytics, at this point the number of hits I get is fairly modest (to put it mildly). I don’t really have any delusions that tons of people are coming here to read these entries, but soon after I posted to Twitter, the director of that film replied stating that I’d misspelled his name (accidentally dropping a nonexistent ‘r’ in there). Truth be told, I was surprised the filmmaker himself had read it. I used the hashtag #horror, but I didn’t include his name or even the name of the movie, merely the banner for the film. But knowing he read it put me in a state of questioning the way I presented my opinion in that review. Granted, I might be reading too much into this, but he didn’t need to respond at all. By tweeting back at me, it seemed a reminder, not just that I should double check name spellings, but that there was a real person out there who worked long and hard on the film I’d just dissected. And while I’ll stand by my opinion, was it necessary to be so cutting?

I suppose where I’m coming from has to do with a type of golden-rule mentality. I never imagined the review I wrote getting back to the person who created the film. Then again, I want people to read the things I write here. If I were only writing reviews, I might not feel any guilt. As someone who creates, I understand the hurt felt when someone doesn’t like what you’ve done and wouldn’t want someone to tear into my work. But at the same time in putting it out into the world, I also understand you have to brace yourself for it. On Marc Maron’s podcast, he often talks about how people can praise his work and it just rolls off his shoulders, but that one guy, even some anonymous entity on Twitter who zeros in critically, can cause him to obsess for hours, especially if that guy homes in on a point he feels is valid. I get that. I’ve never experienced it on a large scale, but I’ve had my stories workshopped. I know how it feels.

Of course, I’m reading all this into it. He probably shrugged it off. But it’s important to me to find the line between offering my opinion and tearing someone’s work apart. I missed it here. It’s possible that whenever you turn a critical eye on a work you’re not effusively positive about this can happen. Some might argue that I shouldn’t take this into account, but I reread the review after I got the tweet with an eye to what he might have saw. It struck me then that some of it was mean, that I’d reacted more harshly because the film seemed so celebrated, and I was heading into it expecting a masterpiece (and critical responsibility can extend both ways: maybe before posting something harsh you need to think twice about your delivery, but excessive praise can create false expectations and ruin the experience of what might have otherwise been an enjoyable viewing). In the end, I should have communicated my thoughts more gracefully. I think what I’m getting at is that I need to develop a particular set of guidelines for myself about how to talk about work that doesn’t strike a chord with me. I’m not sure what that is. It’s likely that I’ll figure it out as I write more. I’m not saying I plan to change my opinions based on the potential to hurt someone’s feelings. A work of art is a work of art and is put in the world to be talked about and judged. I’m just saying I’d like to refine my method of talking about that work.