The Art of Dismantling a Dream

I recently developed a whole new respect for critics (or those who fancy themselves such) shortly after watching what I can only describe as pure-100-proof-face-melting-teeth-gnashing-tear-inducing-I-believe-in-unicorns-magical-awesomeness. The movie of which I speak is, of course, Les Miserables, which loosely translated means, "come and see how good your life really is, and don't you feel petty for complaining, so shut up and go be a better person" in French. The movie, in my opinion, was a masterpiece on every level.

But, of course, I'm no critic. 

What do I know?

After reading a few reviews in which the critics -- aka experts (or those who fancy themselves such) -- complained that the singers weren't to their liking, or the camera angles were too close, or the CG was "cheesy," or there was too much singing, or that the approach of having actors sing live while filming "didn't work," I realized how little I must know about movie-making and what truly defines a masterpiece. And then it occurred to me the vast capacity of cinematic prowess possessed by these fine folks must be such as the world has never seen. They know so much about movies, and what makes them so good (or so bad), and they speak (or write) so freely with such eloquence against the artists behind such films, that they themselves must have made dozens of perfect movies that were loved by billions. Thus my newfound respect for critics.

And to think a hack like Tom Hooper had the audacity to muster all the artistic and creative passion within him to produce a work of such epic proportions. Clearly, such endeavors should be left to those who would rather dismantle a work of art than actually make one.

Now I've said too much.