Ten years ago today I posted for the very first time on this
blog, an act which would, without getting too unreasonably bombastic about it,
change my life in a lot of ways. I began blogging as an act of personal
fulfillment, an outlet that signified trying to put something of myself out
into the world, while at the same time having no reasonable expectation that
anyone would care enough to read what I wrote or respond to it.
Strangely, at just
around this same time, several people with whom I would become well-acquainted,
were embarking upon adventures in what would soon be known (before it would also
soon somewhat derisively become known) as the blogosphere, folks like Matt
Zoller Seitz (The House Next Door),
Farran Smith Nehme (Self-Styled Siren),
Sheila O’Malley (The Sheila Chronicles),
Larry Aydlette (That Little Round-headed
Boy), Brian Darr (Hell On Frisco Bay)
and, perhaps most importantly for me, Jim Emerson (Scanners). These were writers who became friends, whose comments
sections were wonderful places where ideas, affinities, dissatisfactions and
thoughts of the future of Internet film criticism, were exchanged. And I, along
with SLIFR, soon became part of that community,
thanks to the generous encouragement of Jim, Peet Gelderblom, Girish Shambu and
a host of others whose names, after 10 years, don’t bubble to the surface as
quickly as they should.
Not too long ago Larry, a man I’ve never met whom I also consider
a good friend—such is the blogosphere—said that he thought that those years between
2004 and, say, 2008, of writing for ourselves and delighting in the connections
made not through conscious networking but by what seemed more like natural
selection, or perhaps just 100% pure happenstance, were the film blogging equivalent
of the Roaring ‘20s. And that feels to me about as accurate a description as I’ve
ever heard. Because in the days before Facebook eclipsed the moderated
interactivity of the blog comments column, finding voices worth following, reading
what they had to say, and then joining in the sometimes heated but usually
civil discussion that would usually follow, well, there was an electricity about
all that. Pressing “send” on a post you’d written was an act of faith, an
attempt to truly connect, not necessarily with those who would always come to
the same conclusion that you might, but with individuals who could be counted
on for their passion, their seriousness (which, by the way, does not preclude a
sense of humor), their dedication to movies and other arts, and how knowledge
of each could cheerfully feed the other.
There was also a sort of giddiness to the notion of sending
one’s words out into the ether unedited, or more accurately not being mandatorily
subject to the objective eyes of an editor other than oneself, that was, at
least among the writers cited above, accompanied by a sense of responsibility to
provide posts, thoughts, essays, reviews—for lack of a better word, content-- that was worthy of a reader’s
time. Because it certainly wasn’t a requirement that anyone actually pay to read what I and others were
offering on our blogs during those heady days. There was a lot of talk, and not
entirely just among ourselves, about being involved in an important moment in
the evolution of film criticism. Manohla Dargis even alluded to it in an
article which I linked to in one of my earliest SLIFR posts, one which ruminated upon
21st-century cinephilia. Film blogging was indeed something of, if
not a revolutionary act, then certainly one that took advantage of the democratization
of technology to get words and ideas to an ideal, sympathetic audience.
Of course that’s a double-edged sword if there ever was one.
Finding voices like those belonging to the above-cited writers, or emerging bloggers
like Ali Arikan, Kevin Olson, Greg Ferrara, Bill Ryan, Stacie Ponder and
countless others was often a pleasant byproduct of sites like Matt’s, which
soon became a gathering place for some of the best, brightest and most
contentious young film writers; or comments columns like Farran’s or Jim’s,
where writers and film buffs I had never been exposed to would routinely link
to their own blogs and continue the discussion. But, technological
democratization being what it is, one also had to sift through a lot of crap
floating on the surface, a cacophony of alleged film “writing” which merely regurgitated
lists and numbers and bite-sized bits of banality dedicated to an never-too-expansive
list of fanboy-friendly titles.
And somehow nobody had the foresight to anticipate how all
this writing-- the good, the bad and the genuinely shitty—suddenly made
available to anyone at any time, would dilute the value of the pool within
which professional writers, hereby defined as those who are paid by newspapers
and magazine, which also paid editors, once swam. Some of us were too giddy at
the thought of being on the cusp of the evolution of a new sort of film writing
establishment to consider that we might end up helping erode away the presence
of those paid jobs to the point where making a living as a film critic in 2014
is something that few can still do, and even fewer would now ever harbor illusions
of attempting.
I still think about these things. But I also think about how
my life appreciably changed, and for the better, because the associations and
achievements that were made available and possible to me through my
establishment of this blog. Again, I’m certainly not talking about money. Over
the course of my 10 years as proprietor of this site, having established a tiny
little corner of the Web from which to operate and develop something that
sounds like my own voice as a writer, I can think of one instance where I was
paid to write a piece. I made $500 for it, and it was a proud moment. But even
in that particular afterglow I knew this would likely be the exception and not
the rule. I could probably have pursued more freelance opportunities, but my
energies always seemed to be pulling me elsewhere, and frankly, even in 2004
but certainly now, beating down doors for freelance work always seemed like
work for a much younger person than me.
No, when I think about the true value of this blog in my
life, I think about the people I know now, and perhaps even more interactively
through the extended family of Facebook, who I first met because of the happenstance
of my writing. (Take a deep breath.) People like...
Simon Abrams, Kent Adamson, Jeff
Allard, Allison Anders, Aaron Aradillas, Peter Avellino, Sean Axmaker, Larry Aydlette, Howard S.
Berger, Robert Beveridge, , Tom Block, Paul Brunick, Steve Carlson, , David
Chute, Paul Clark, Doug Cummings, John Damer, Joe Dante, Brian Darr, Brian Doan,
Bilge Ebiri, David Edelstein, Jim Emerson, Greg Ferrara, Paul Gaita, Peet
Gelderblom, Ed Gonzalez, Jim Gibson, David Hudson, Robert Humanick, Odie
Henderson, Richard T. Jameson, Larry Karaszewski, Craig Kennedy, Matthew Kiernan, Charlie Largent, Craig D. Lindsey, Violet Lucca,
Don Mancini, Nicholas McCarthy, Maria McKee, Kim Morgan, Farran Smith Nehme, Peter
Nellhaus, Andrew O’Hehir, Sheila O’Malley, Craig Phillips, Anne Richardson, Carrie Rickey, Patrick
Robbins, Bill Ryan, Matt Zoller Seitz, Ariel Schudson, Michael Schlesinger, Chris
Schneider, A.O. Scott, Girish Shambu, Dave Sikula, Craig Simpson, Richard
Harland Smith, Paul Talbot, Charles Taylor, Anne Thompson, Michael Torgan, Keith
Uhlich, Mike Werb, Bob Westal, Matthew Wilder, Chris Willman, Ray Young, Stephanie
Zacharek, Adam Zanzie and probably a hundred or so others.
And this is to not include all the wonderful and creative
people those above and the hundred or so others ended up introducing me to. I
haven’t meant this as some sort of epic name-dropping situation—I am truly
grateful to everyone mentioned above (and the hundred or so others who weren’t)
for every moment of friendship and challenge and joy and creative inspiration
you’ve afforded me over the past 10 years, all of which I would have missed
without you.
I don’t know what the future holds for Sergio Leone and the Infield Fly Rule. If you’ve read this site for
any length of time over the past 10 years, you will have noticed that I am no
longer as prolific as I was for the first five or so years. I am not an old man
yet, but I am considerably older than when I started, a time in my life which
was defined, even more than it was by my little writing endeavor, by learning
to be a father, going back to school, and juggling all that with a schedule of
day-job paying work which often bleeds into the nighttime, midnight hours
in which during the past I would have been writing. In those days I often would stay up until 4:00,
sometimes 5:00 a.m., to get a piece written and edited for the blog. Then off
to bed for a couple hours of sleep before dragging my ass out of bed to get
kids ready for school and to go to the office, propping my head up at my desk
and trying not to let my dedication to movies interfere with my dedication to
breadwinning. Sometime around 2007, when I added in my pursuit of a master’s
degree in education to the mix, the camel’s back began to buckle, and since
then my output has been far less frequent (but hopefully no less intelligent)
than it was during the “Roaring ‘20s.”
I’ve come to look upon what I post on SLIFR these days as far less filler-driven than it has been in the
past. If it makes it to my blog, one thing is practically guaranteed—I feel
strongly enough about it to take what dwindling time I have to myself to
address an audience that has most certainly dwindled as well. I’m just not allowing
myself to feel guilty when I go for extended periods without posting. I look at
the blog these days as a magazine that can’t afford to publish more than two or
three pieces a month, with varying degrees of consistency. But it’s a magazine
that’s still there, and those who are disposed to seek it out, my ideal
audience of sympathetic film buffs, will know where to find it. Just like the
early days, my expectations are considerably lower in terms of an audience. But
I have every confidence that, however few or many I reach in 2014, those I’m
able to reach will be exactly the audience I’ve always hoped to engage.
So I suspect that, as tired as I often feel these days, Sergio Leone and the Infield Fly Rule
will continue for the foreseeable future. As I approached this anniversary I
couldn’t tell even myself whether or not that would hold true. But truth be
told, as much as Facebook has usurped the immediate interactivity that used to
be the domain of the blog, I remain addicted to having a place like SLIFR solely dedicated to expression of
my thoughts on movies and whatever else in life that might be related to them.
Facebook, in some ways, has helped make SLIFR
a less cluttered place for the good—it often serves as a platform to try out
ideas and notions that may or may not be good enough to fashion into
full-fledged posts. (I posted something today, as a matter of fact, that began
as a throwaway Facebook status update.) It has also helped me train myself to
be a little less logorrheic and allow myself the pleasure of a cleanly worded
600-word review, without the nagging impulse to go on and on and on—the post
you’re now reading, if you still are, and God bless you if you are, being an
obvious exception.
In addition to this elongated state of the blog address, as
a way of marking the 10th anniversary I began looking at some of my
very first posts, from November-December 2014 and January 2005, and decided
that linking to them here might be amusing—probably the highest quality to
which this blogmeister has ever really aspired. It’s a strange and difficult
thing to do without some level of embarrassment—some of the things I’ve learned
since I started SLIFR are clearly not
on display in these posts. But I offer them to you here in lieu of champagne as
a way to toast the 10 years I’ve spent here in your company and once again
express my gratitude at your fortitude in sticking with me and my rambling
messages of cinematic hope, encouragement and occasional disappointment. Fair
warning: I may not be able, in the coming weeks, to restrain myself from
linking to more of these bloggy bonbons. But for now, take these as you will,
along with my thanks, for coming along with me this far.
UNSUNG PERFORMANCES: SHAWNEE SMITH IN SAW The first time I ever really took a swing at a
piece of acting.
THANKSGIVING 2004 Worth
remembering what I was grateful for at the time, much of which I remain grateful for today.
I'LL SLEEP WHEN I'M DEAD The first real review I ever published on SLIFR, as well as what ended up being a sort of manifesto for me during the first five or six years of writing this blog.
ON BARBET SCHRODER'S MORE I guess I wasn’t too impressed…
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