This Week in Rankings

This week we finally recorded the Johnnie To They Shot Pictures episode, you can read about it, download and listen by following the links in this post. Next up for me on the podcast will be the first of two shows on Akira Kurosawa, focusing on his more modern-day films. We’re thinking No Regrets for Our Youth, The Idiot and Red Beard right now, but that’s subject to change. I’ll be watching as many of them as I can in the next few weeks anyway. Look for that to appear on an internet near you sometime in May. I also made a list of the Best Movies of the 1990s over at Letterboxd.

Here are the movies I watched and rewatched over the past week, and where they place on my year-by-year rankings. I’ve linked to my Letterboxd notes where applicable.

Le Doulos – 9, 1962
Dragon Gate Inn – 4, 1967
My Left Eye Sees Ghosts – 11, 2002
Throw Down – 2, 2004

Yesterday Once More – 12, 2004
Exiled – 3, 2006
Eye in the Sky – 12, 2007
Romancing in Thin Air – 8, 2012

They Shot Pictures Episode #13: Johnnie To

The latest episode of They Shot Pictures, wherein we discuss Hong Kong filmmaker Johnnie To is now available over at the website, or on iTunes. After six weeks and 50 or so movies watched, we were a bit disappointed to find that most of the Johnnie To studies we found focused almost entirely on his crime movies, ignoring his comedies and romantic films. So this podcast is an attempt to produce a unified theory of Johnnie To as an auteur, a way to integrate both halves of this highly prolific director’s career and examine the thematic ideas and visual styles that run through all his work, not just the more critically-esteemed action art films.

The discussion focuses on his 2002 Sammi Cheng-starring romantic comedy My Left Eye Sees Ghosts, his 2006 gangster-Western Exiled and his 2004 judo movie Throw Down, but as usual those films are only jumping off points for wider considerations of his work. Unlike other episodes, though, we manage to remain mostly spoiler-free.

Over at letterboxd I have a list of all 42 of the movies I’ve seen so far directed or produced by Johnnie To and/or his frequent collaborator Wai Ka-fai. I also wrote here about his early crime film The Big Heat, and about how the films Infernal Affairs and The Departed highlight certain unique aspects of To’s work in relation to Hollywood and Hong Kong films. I also created the Johnnie To Whimsicality Index, which is exactly what it sounds like.

This Week in Rankings

We’re coming down the the end of what has been six weeks or so of Johnnie To movies to the exclusion of almost everything else. In between Milkyway films, I managed to answer the Springtime Movie Quiz from Sergio Leone & the Infield Fly Rule, create the Johnnie To Whimsicality Index and write about Infernal Affairs, The Departed and Johnnie To.

Here are the movies I watched and rewatched over the past week, and where they place on my year-by-year rankings. I’ve linked to my Letterboxd notes where applicable.

Loving You – 28, 1995
The Odd One Dies – 14, 1997
Expect the Unexpected – 11, 1998
A Hero Never Dies – 27, 1998
The Mission – 1, 1999
Infernal Affairs – 7, 2002

PTU – 1, 2003
Love for All Seasons – 15, 2003
Breaking News – 7, 2004
Sparrow – 2, 2008
Written By – 6, 2009
Vengeance – 20, 2009

On Infernal Affairs, The Departed and Johnnie To

In the midst of a lengthy binge on Johnnie To movies, preparing for a They Shot Pictures episode we hope to record this weekend, I’ve tried to fit in a few other Hong Kong films that I thought might have influenced, or been influenced by To’s work. I rewatched Ringo Lam’s City on Fire and John Woo’s 1986 A Better Tomorrow, two of the first Hong Kong movies I ever saw way back in the late 90s and the latter of which I’m now convinced is not only one of the most influential movies of the last 25 years, but also one of the best. I also watched the one major Woo film that had previously eluded me, his Vietnam epic Bullet in the Head, featuring a star-making turn from future To regular Simon Yam. Additionally I finally watched Peter Chan’s acclaimed romance Comrades, Almost a Love Story, a movie that doesn’t appear to have had much impact on To: his romances are almost always more tongue-in-cheek (with the notable exception of Linger, which might be the most inert film he’s ever made), though his 2003 film Turn Left, Turn Right is a kind of variation on the last 20 minutes or so of Chan’s film. The least interesting film I watched was The Heroic Duo, by Benny Chan, a To-knockoff with Ekin Cheng and Leon Lai playing a cat and mouse cops and robbers game (think Running Out of Time) with a silly supernatural gimmick (Lai can hypnotize people just by staring into their eyes and asking them highly personal questions).

The last film I watched is Andrew Lau and Alan Mak’s smash 2002 hit Infernal Affairs, a film impossible to imagine without Johnnie To’s Milkway Image cops and gangsters movies (The Mission, The Longest Nite, Expect the Unexpected) that nonetheless proved far more financially successful than any of To’s films had been to that point. The first time I saw it was shortly before Martin Scorsese’s remake The Departed was released in the fall of 2006 and it was weird coming back to it almost a decade later, having seen Scorsese’s version a few times since its release. The plot, if you’re not familiar, follows two undercover agents: Tony Leung (Leonardo Di Caprio in the remake) plays a cop who has infiltrated a Triad gang and Andy Lau (Matt Damon) is a gangster who has infiltrated the police. Both characters rise to a trusted position and are each ultimately tasked with uncovering the other as both sides become aware that there’s a mole within their group. Infernal Affairsclocks in at a mere 100 minutes, lightning-fast by the standards of contemporary American film, where even the slightest of romantic comedies regularly slog past the two hour mark, which I think reveals something interesting about the ways the two industries (Hong Kong and Hollywood) work.
The running time difference is not merely the result of the remake having added more story. Though it does integrate some elements of Infernal Affairs’s two sequels, this amounts to maybe fifteen minutes or so of the extra time. The only major transformation of the narrative The Departed makes to the original (one which has no real major effect on the running time) is to combine the two female characters into one person. Instead of Andy Lau having a girlfriend (Sammi Cheng) and Tony Leung having a therapist (Kelly Chen) with whom he has a platonic friendship, Scorsese gives us only one character: Vera Farmiga as both Damon’s girlfriend and Leo’s therapist. This adds an element of wild metaphysical coincidence, as if there’s only room for one woman in this hyper-masculine gangster world. In this respect, an improbable coincidence that reinforces the doubling between the hero and villain, the Scorsese movie is actually more Johnnie To-like than the original, as many of To’s films are built around chance and fate. Scorsese gives the material a further complication by having DiCaprio sleep with Farmiga (something Leung does not do in the original), the professional rivalry between the two men thus becomes a sexual one as it’s implied that Damon is impotent while Leo is. . .the opposite. Scorsese films are littered with sexual insecurities and rivalries between men, so this addition thus makes the film even more his own.
So it’s not story changes that account for the difference in length between the two films. Rather it is the approach to characterization, genre and action. The kind of ruthlessly efficient filmmaking on display in Infernal Affairs is typical of the output of a genre-based studio system that relies on familiarity, both with character types and the various actors’ star personae, to do a lot of the narrative background work, much like Hollywood’s pre-Code gangster or ‘good-bad woman’ cycle, the films of which rarely clock in at more than 75 minutes. Scorsese’s film, by comparison, has to take its time developing its characters, because every Leonardo DiCaprio performance is different and this particular type of cop movie is fairly rare in modern Hollywood, where crime films are built more around action set-pieces (Michael Mann’s Heator Michael Bay’s Bad Boys, to take examples from two extremes, though it should be noted that hero-villain doubling is an essential part of Mann’s film) or gruesome bits of horror (David Fincher’s Se7en, or Jonathan Demme’s Silence of the Lambs).
Hong Kong fans can just look at a massive star like Andy Lau and know that he’s a cool, charming striver who might be a bit stiff, a bit amoral, but is probably a decent guy, while Tony Leung always looks anguished and his goatee tells you he’s done bad things he regrets (he also played almost the exact same role in John Woo’s Hard-Boiledten years earlier: a cop who’s been undercover too long) but is almost assuredly the hero (a notable exception is in Johnnie To’s The Longest Nite, where Leung plays a very dirty cop who somehow manages to still elicit audience sympathy by the end of the film, partially because he’s Tony Leung and he’s a great actor and partially because he isn’t quite as bad as the gangsters trapping him). Similarly, Sammi Cheng’s character is given almost no dialogue or character, but she is also major pop and movie star in Hong Kong who we know well from her other work, especially her prior films with Andy Lau, like Johnnie To’s Needing You and Love on a Diet.
Additionally, Infernal Affairs was merely the latest in a long string of so called ‘heroic bloodshed’ films, inspired by A Better Tomorrowand City on Fire: films about cops and triads with elaborate codes of honor and where the mirroring identification of hero and villain is a recurrent trope (see also Woo’s The Killer and Hard-Boiled, To’s The Big Heat, The Longest Niteand Running Out of Time among many others). These films in turn are a continuation of older traditions, such as the Shaw Brothers films of the late 60s and 70s, especially those directed by Chang Cheh (One-Armed Swordsman, Crippled Avengers) and the samurai movies of the 50s and 60s, especially those of Akira Kurosawa (Seven Samurai, Yojimbo). The audience for Infernal Affairs was likely familiar with many of these antecedents, even if they weren’t conversant with the films that had originally inspired them (American gangster films and film noir, Spaghetti Westerns, Jean-Pierre Melville’s crime movies, the whole history of action-adventure literature in Japan and China, American hard-boiled fiction and so on). A filmmaking culture with a strong genre- and star-based system is able to cut narrative corners based on the assumption that the audience will be able to follow along simply because they’ve seen this kind of thing, by these actors (or actors much like them) before. The Departed is almost an hour longer than Infernal Affairs, and much of that difference is in giving character-defining speeches and actions to the performers, as well as in the Hollywood-mandated repetition of key plot points in order to create the relatively unique generic world.
(It’s apparently some kind of rule in mainstream American film that you have to state everything three times in order to make sure everyone in the audience always knows what’s going on (or in case they got up for popcorn or something). Infernal Affairs in this respect is much closer to the way Johnnie To works. In a film like Sparrow, for example, To only relays a bit of information once. If you miss it the first time, you’re just going to have to figure it out on your own. This has the affect of making the audience both more attentive (don’t want to miss anything) and less (once you’ve missed something, you’re forced to take in other, non-story elements of the film, compositions, editing, music, etc, until you catch up again). In either case, its very rare in a Johnnie To film to feel like you’ve been pummeled, something all-too-common in contemporary Hollywood.)

The other big difference is in the approach to the violent sequences. Infernal Affairs is very matter-of-fact in its depiction of violence: it erupts suddenly and is over quickly. Scorsese though follows a build-and-release model, where suspense and tension accumulates over the course of a scene (often while Jack Nicholson is making a crazy speech) before being capped by an act of graphic violence. Take for example the breaking of Leung/DiCaprio’s cast. In both films, the undercover cop is wearing a hard cast on their forearm when the top gangster begins to suspect there’s a mole in his group. We’re shown before the scene begins that the cop will be wearing a wire, the implication being that it will be located in the cast. In Infernal Affairs, the gangster, with no lead up, simply grabs Leung’s arm and smashes it on the table just as their criminal scheme has been foiled. The violence is shocking, and the fear that Leung has been exposed is quickly felt and just as quickly resolved as no wire appears. In The Departed, the action takes place sometime after the scheme has been foiled. DiCaprio meets Nicholson in a bar and listens to him talk. They go to a back room where Nicholson talks some more (the tension here is all verbal: Nicholson can explode at any time (something we know well from his star persona) and we’re in a constant state of anticipation/dread). Ray Winstone, playing Nicholson’s enforcer calmly walks up, takes DiCaprio’s arm, and smashes the cast on a pool table. Nicholson then hammers his hand a few times with a boot, in case he (or we) didn’t get the message (Nicholson is angry with DiCaprio and doesn’t entirely trust him). Again, the wire is not there and DiCaprio’s cop remains safe, if rattled. It takes four minutes for Scorsese to cover the same story terrain Infernal Affairs accomplished in 15 seconds.
(Here’s where I explain that I don’t think this is a flaw of The Departed, merely a different approach to filmmaking. Yes, those speeches don’t advance the story much, but much of the pleasure of the film comes from the delightfully profane dialogue, spoken with relish in broad Boston accents by the film’s remarkable actors.)

The difference here is simply one of approach. Infernal Affairs is all quick, punctuating violence, violence that appears and disappears with no warning, no time to prepare. The Departed, on the other hand, creates a palpable dread. It very much wants to put us inside the mind of DiCaprio, to feel the kind of paranoia and pressure he has to deal with every day in his life as the only good guy in a world of very scary men. The Departed is as much about the psychology of violence as it is anything else and it creates a world dominated by this kind of pathological fear. Infernal Affairs is about tracing an intricate web and much of our enjoyment comes from watching the ways it plays on and varies its generic forebearers. To drastically simplify: in The Departed, we identify with the characters, in Infernal Affairs, we admire the filmmaking craft.
The success of Infernal Affairs certainly inspired a burst of creativity from Johnnie To, as he followed it up with his greatest cops and gangsters films, movies that challenged and critiqued the genre more successfully than he ever had before. Where his 1999 The Mission is a perfect expression of the heroic bloodshed genre, later films broke down and analyzed the genre’s ideals, codes, and psychology from within both the cops (PTU, Breaking News, Mad Detective) and the gangsters (Exiled, Vengeance, the Election films). None of these films managed to be as popular as Lau and Mok’s film, though they did win To critical acclaim both in Hong Kong and around the world. As yet, none of them have been remade in Hollywood.

The Johnnie To Whimsicality Index

All 41 of the films by Johnnie To and/or Wai Ka-fai that I’ve seen, by Whimsicality Score over time. Whimsicality Score is how whimsical I think the film is on a scale of 0-100. The recent film with the lowest Whimsicality Score I can think of right now is Dear Zachary, which I’d give a 5, whereas Duck Amuck would approach a Whimsicality Score of 100.

The SLIFR Springtime Movie Quiz, Answered

It’s been years since I answered one of Dennis Cozzalio’s quizzes at Sergio Leone and the Infield Fly Rule, but here we go with Miss Jean Brodie’s Modestly Magnificent, Matriarchally Manipulative Springtime-for-Mussolini Movie Quiz:

1)     The classic movie moment everyone loves except me is:
It’s only 15 years old, but I think it might be considered a classic already, so I’ll go with the Normandy Beach sequence from Saving Private Ryan. Give me the recreations of the same events in The Big Red One or The Longest Day instead.
2)     Favorite line of dialogue from a film noir
“He was some kind of a man. What does it matter what you say about people?” – Tanya in Touch of Evil
3)     Second favorite Hal Ashby film
The Last Detail
4)      Describe the moment when you first realized movies were directed as opposed to simply pieced together anonymously.
I think when I learned that Raiders of the Lost Ark and ET were made by the same person.
5)     Favorite film book
Truffaut’s The Films in My Life was the first real film book I ever read, so it occupies a special place, and there are so many books I love by Sarris, Rosenbaum, Wood, Richie, Bordwell, Haskell, Naremore, and so on. But for favorite, I’ll have to go with James Harvey and Movie Love in the Fifties.

6)     Diana Sands or Vonetta McGee?

Vonetta McGee was in Shaft in Africa. Case closed.  
7)     Most egregious gap in your viewing of films made in the past 10 years

I’ve only seen one Steven Soderberg film since 2001’s Ocean’s Eleven remake (which was Che).

8)     Favorite line of dialogue from a comedy

“We need the eggs.” – Alvy in Annie Hall

9)     Second favorite Lloyd Bacon film

Footlight Parade

10)   Richard Burton or Roger Livesey?

Richard Burton never had the good fortune to star in a Powell & Pressburger film.

11)   Is there a movie you staunchly refuse to consider seeing? If so, why?

Not really. There’s plenty I’d refuse to watch, but I’d consider anything.

12)   Favorite filmmaker collaboration

Michael Powell & Emeric Pressburger were perfect.

13)   Most recently viewed movie on DVD/Blu-ray/theatrical?

DVD: Linger (Johnnie To, 2008)
Blu-Ray: Mad Detective (Johnnie To & Wai Ka-fai, 2007)
Theatrical: Porco Rosso (Hayao Miyazaki, 1992)

14)   Favorite line of dialogue from a horror movie

“We all go a little mad sometimes.” – Norman in Psycho

15)   Second favorite Oliver Stone film


16)   Eva Mendes or Raquel Welch?

Eva Mendes in Holy Motors is greater than anything Raquel Welch has ever done (at least as far as I know). And she was also in Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans.

17)   Favorite religious satire

Life of Brian is the obvious choice, but I’m going with Guru Dutt’s Pyaasa, about an obscure writer who becomes a cult phenomenon after he’s reported dead Upon returning and seeing how lame followers are, rejects them all to wander the earth with the cute hooker who loves him.

18)   Best Internet movie argument? (question contributed by Tom Block)

All the arguments for The New World and Miami Vice on The House Next Door many years ago.

19)   Most pointless Internet movie argument? (question contributed by Tom Block)

Most of them, probably. But every time the argument over aspect ratios for late 50s movies comes up, my eyes glaze over.

20)   Charles McGraw or Robert Ryan?

Robert Ryan is one of my favorites. I’ve seen a number of Charles McGraw films, but still had to look him up.

21)   Favorite line of dialogue from a western

“You know what? If I was you, I’d go down there and give those boys a drink. Can’t imagine how happy it makes a man to see a woman like you. Just to look at her. And if one of them should pat your behind, just make believe it’s nothing. They earned it.” – Cheyenne in Once Upon a Time in the West

22)   Second favorite Roy Del Ruth film

Broadway Melody of 1938. Eleanor Powell’s third-best Broadway Melody movie.

23)   Relatively unknown film or filmmaker you’d most eagerly proselytize for

Johnnie To. If he’s not obscure enough, then Liu Jiayin, whose Oxhide II is one of the best films of the past 10 years.

24)   Ewan McGregor or Gerard Butler?

Big fan of Ewan McGregor. Not a fan of Gerard Butler.

25)   Is there such a thing as a perfect movie?

Oh yeah. There are tons of them.

26)   Favorite movie location you’ve most recently had the occasion to actually visit

I have no idea. Probably some random street in Seattle or Vancouver.

27)   Second favorite Delmer Daves film

Never Let Me Go

28)   Name the one DVD commentary you wish you could hear that, for whatever reason, doesn’t actually exist

Yasujiro Ozu on his final film, An Autumn Afternoon

29)   Gloria Grahame or Marie Windsor?

Crazy doesn’t get any better than Gloria Grahame

30)   Name a filmmaker who never really lived up to the potential suggested by their early acclaim or success

We only got about 10 years worth of great films out of Buster Keaton and Josef von Sternberg, and that should be enough, but I want more.

31)   Is there a movie-based disagreement serious enough that it might cause you to reevaluate the  basis of a romantic relationship or a friendship?


This Week in Rankings

This week I wrote a thing on auteurism and created a bunch of They Shot Pictures-related lists in Letterboxd, ones for the directors we’ve discussed thus far (Josef von Sternberg, Yasujiro Ozu, Hou Hsiao-hsien and Mikio Naruse) as well as ones for upcoming episodes (Johnnie To, Akira Kurosawa, John Ford, FW Murnau). I’ll keep these updated as I watch more films from these directors. The Johnnie To list has been in a constant state of flux as I watch more and more of his movies, which inevitably leads to re-evaluation of the previously seen ones (that’s auteurism at work).

Here are the movies I watched and rewatched this week and where they place on my year-by-year rankings. (Yes, they are all Johnnie To movies). I’ve linked to my full review of The Big Heat, the rest are linked to shorter reviews I wrote for each movie at Letterboxd.

The Big Heat – 13, 1988
The Heroic Trio – 23, 1993
Executioners – 24, 1993
Help!!! – 12, 2000

Turn Left, Turn Right – 10, 2003
Election – 5, 2005
Election 2 – 5, 2006
Triangle – 22, 2007
Linger – 29, 2008

On Some Objections to Auteurism

“You are at least watching here a filmmaker with a vision, with a style, making bold choices. I’d rather watch that any day of the week than something else that maybe hits more conventionally satisfying notes. ”

— Adam Kempenaar, Filmspotting #436 in 2013
Putting auteurism in a nutshell

“The second premise of the auteur theory is the distinguishable personality of the director as a criterion of value. Over a group of films, a director must exhibit certain recurrent characteristics of style, which serve as his signature. The way a film looks and moves should have some relationship to the way a director thinks and feels. This is an area where American directors are generally superior to foreign directors. Because so much of the American cinema is commissioned, a director is forced to express his personality through the visual treatment of material rather than through the literary content of the material.”

— Andrew Sarris, Notes on the Auteur Theory in 1962

“Paradoxically, however, the personalities of modern directors are often more obscure than those of classical directors who were encumbered with all sorts of narrative and dramatic machinery. The classical cinema was more functional than the modern cinema. It knew its audience and their expectations, but it often provided something extra. This something extra is the concern of the auteur theory.”

— Andrew Sarris, The American Cinema in 1968

Criticisms of the Auteur Theory, or Auteurism, of which there are legion, tend to make a few simple mistakes, of which this is certainly not a complete list.

1. They get the causality backwards. For example, this formulation from the wikipedia entry:

Auteur theory holds that a director’s film reflects the director’s personal creative vision, as if they were the primary “auteur” (the French word for “author”). In spite of—and sometimes even because of—the production of the film as part of an industrial process, the auteur’s creative voice is distinct enough to shine through all kinds of studio interference and through the collective process.

The correct formulation should be: Auteur theory holds that if the director’s personal creative vision is distinct enough to shine through studio interference and the collective process, then that director can be considered an auteur.

This simple misunderstanding explains the logic behind the “what about screenwriters?” objection. Not only is auteurism not necessarily confined to directors, it quite often recognizes the work of producers (Selznik, Thalberg, Bruckheimer), screenwriters (Hecht, Goldman, Kauffman), actors (Lloyd, Marxes), even production designers (Menzies). Jonathan Rosenbaum even posits four different auteurs for Taxi Driver, the director, the screenwriter, the star and the film’s composer. The point is not that the director necessarily is the source of a given film’s creative vision, it’s that when a film does show evidence of a personal creative vision, often, but not always, the source of that vision will be the film’s director.

2. They assume the theory is a definitive statement.

Auteurism is an analytical approach to film history. It’s not the only one, and it’s not the only interesting or valuable one. Because an auteur’s personal creative vision can often be obscured by the collaborative process, commercial or generic demands, studio interference, or various other noise, the best way to find evidence of the presence of an auteur is to watch as many of their films as possible. Auteurism is inductive, always in search of more evidence and never satisfied.

To make a simplified example: An auteurist does not deductively assert “Johnnie To is an auteur. Johnnie To directed this set of movies. Therefore everything about these movies reflects the personal creative vision of Johnnie To.” Instead, an auteurist takes the set of movies and compares all the elements within them. Say there are nine films, all directed by Johnnie To. An auteurist would note that Set One is three films co-written with Wai Ka-fai, Set Two is three collaborations with director/choreographer Ching Siu-tung, and Set Three is three written and directed by To himself. Johnnie To’s personal creative vision would be found not just in Set Three, but in certain elements found in Set Three that also pop up in the films within Sets One and Two, whereas the stamps of the other two potential auteurs could be inferred from the absence of certain elements in the sets of films they were not involved in. If cartoonish stunt-work only appears in the Ching Siu-tung films, then that is evidence for Ching’s auteurist signature. If complex plot twists leading to a spiritual epiphany occur only in the Wai Ka-fai films, then that is evidence for Wai’s auteurist signature. And if character doubling, game-playing and images marked by bright white lights within dark shadowy spaces occur in all three films, then that might be evidence for Johnnie To’s personal creative vision.

3. They assert that the Theory commits the Intentional Fallacy.

This inductive approach is how Auteurism avoids the Intentional Fallacy. It proceeds first from the evidence of the film(s) to develop a theory of auteurial personality, not from a theory of auteurial personality to analysis of the film. It is impossible to truly know what is in the mind of anyone else, so intention is irrelevant. It doesn’t matter why Kenji Mizoguchi uses so many long takes, why he thinks he uses so many long takes or why he says he uses so many long takes. It’s the role of the film critic to come up with a theory of what, if anything, Mizoguchi’s long takes mean, and what effect, if any, they have on the film and/or on the viewer. And it takes an auteurist to note that Mizoguchi uses a lot of long takes in the first place.

These studies can be exhaustive and exhausting. For an example of the kind of evidence that can be accumulated through studying an auteur’s career, check out the website maintained by Mike Grost. Here’s his page on Raoul Walsh. This is the raw material of auteurism, not speculative psychologizing of personal biography.

4. They say it amounts to snobbery. This is a two-pronged objection.

A. It elevates the art house above the mainstream.

Sometimes this may be the case, but this is hardly the necessary consequence of auteurism. It’s an easily refuted objection, given that the original auteurists were denigrated as “Hitchcocko-Hawksians” for their elevation of mainstream genre filmmakers like Howard Hawks and Alfred Hitchcock to the status of great artists, to the same level, or higher, than prestige filmmakers like Ingmar Bergman or Stanley Kramer. This is how Vertigo, a film received, when it wasn’t panned outright, as a mainstream genre picture of little interest to “serious” filmgoers, over 50 years came to be recognized as one of the greatest films ever made (and is now enshrined as such for the next 10 years by the Sight & Sound poll). The purpose of the theory is to discover artistry within the mainstream or without, whether high-, middle- or low-brow. This is why the name of the recent movement Vulgar Auteurism strikes me as redundant. By seeking personal creative visions within the works of mainstream action and genre cinema, these critics aren’t creating a new, ‘vulgar’ form of the theory, they’re just being auteurists.

B. It is esoteric and obscurantist

It is true that an auteurist will often value the lesser well-known, less “successful” films of a auteur’s career. This is not necessarily out of belligerence, but rather because it is often in these lesser works that the auteur’s personal creative vision becomes more evident, and because autuerism takes it for granted that demonstrating a personal creative vision is a value in and of itself. Thus can a film fail to meet all the conventional standards of “success” and still have value if it shows that personal vision. Which is exactly the point that Mr. Kempenaar made at the beginning of this post.