IT SHOULDN’T HAPPEN TO A FILM JOURNALIST
Editor-at-Large JAMIE GRAHAM lifts the lid on film journalism.
Writing this month’s column on the day that many of the international press arrive in Cannes ready for the 12-day festival to kick-off, I find myself pondering if seeing a movie at a film fest really is the best way to take it in.
I mean, sure, festivals provide a fantastic platform for new titles, at once celebrating cinema as an art form and turning the world’s eyeballs towards movies in advance of their release to whip up interest. But how much can we really trust the reviews that break? As someone who’s attended their fair share of festivals over the years, including 16 of the last 20 in Cannes, I know from experience that the many plusses of a festival – excitement, reverence, great theatres allowing for optimum viewing (and listening) – are offset by some serious impediments. And I don’t mean having to watch films with ice-blocks for feet because you only packed trainers for snowy Sundance. That one’s on me. I mean the stuff that affects even sensible film journos as they try to go about their business.
RUNNING ON EMPTY
Number one is exhaustion. OK, so some of it can be self-imposed, with candles burnt at both ends – when I was younger and more excitable/idiotic, I partied until 5am then was up at 7.30am, hanging, for a screening of Dogville. But even those who resist the lures of a hedonistic nightlife are going to be brought to their knees by a punishing schedule that decrees you can’t pause for dinner until 10pm. Two weeks of that, fuelled mainly by crappy food grabbed on the hoof, and no journalist is going to be fully alert while watching 8.30am screenings. Believe me, I’ve heard the snores. Hell, I’ve emitted a fair few myself. And sometimes when I’ve struggled to stay awake, I’ve found my patience tested by ‘slow’ movies only to revisit them fresh many months later, and be met by a masterpiece. Exhibit A: Gus Van Sant’s Elephant.
Then there is hunger and thirst, for food and drink – even energy bars, and for a couple of years water bottles – are confiscated. Try watching a three-hour film with your stomach growling and your throat clicking each time you swallow. Add to that the two-hour queues, the lack of any downtime or personal space (I’ve shared rooms with multiple snoring colleagues) and the psychological scars caused by seeing your former publisher fall out his bed naked and flail drunkenly to the bathroom, and you hardly have a conducive environment for insightful, eloquent reviewing.
RUSH HOUR
Yes, all of the above are first-world problems – except, perhaps, seeing your boss naked, which is genuinely traumatic – but they do have a negative impact. And even on those rare days when you’re feeling fresh, is having to tweet a reaction as you exit the cinema and then get your review up online an hour later really ideal? Isn’t it better and fairer on the film to allow for it to sit for a few days, or at least overnight? But movie journalism in the digital age doesn’t afford such a luxury – the need for speed makes Maverick look like a slowcoach, and if acuity and quality is sacrificed, so be it.
So no, I’m not sure reviewing films at a festival is the most reliable thing, and I’ve attended press screenings back in London, down the line, when puzzled journos come out questioning what the hell their colleagues in Cannes or Venice or whatever were on. My answer is tiredness, poor nutrition and brutal deadlines. Plus a tendency to exaggerate, whether borne out of the excitement of being one of the first people in the world to see an anticipated title, or the rather darker desire to bait clicks: a fivestar or one-star review makes a lot more impact than a reasoned three stars.
My advice? Read festival reviews with a dollop of empathy and a pinch of salt.
JAMIE WILL RETURN NEXT ISSUE… FOR MORE MISADVENTURES, FOLLOW: @JAMIE_GRAHAM9 ON TWITTER.
‘I’VE HEARD THE SNORES. HELL, I’VE EMITTED A FEW MYSELF’