Word: artists
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...intervene in the strange commercial career of The Long Goodbye, released last year. The Long Goodbye, was based on the Raymond Chandler novel, with Elliot Gould playing Philip Marlowe. It dealt with an author untouched since Bogart's formidable version of the hero. Last spring United Artists opened the film at several locations across the country, avoiding the usual New York premiere. The critics reacted with dismay. "The truth is," Altman says, "that most of the reviewers across the country have the New York reviews to guide them." And so it bombed. Altman, furious that the promised New York premiere...
...loathe the profession. Being a critic is embarrassing enough to start out with. The very term "critic" has a negative connotation: One of the definitions in my Webster's reads "a person who indulges in faultfinding and censure." Is that what we do? Indulge in faultfinding and censure? The artist bats his brains out for months or even years to come up with one small work, and the critic sits down and bangs out his review in one night. If there were no artists, there would be no critics--it's a parasitic profession. I'm reminded of those small...
...question of why the critic is the way he is--not the question of why the film is doing what it does. In other words, the personal approach to criticism almost by definition involves a personal language and aesthetics system--but if there is to be dialogue between artist and critic or between reader and critic a common language must be found. The other approach, by attempting to deal with a film in its own terms, minimizes the critic's own personality precisely in order that he may find the common language with the filmmaker and viewer-reader: the language...
Behind the tragi-comic white mask, Marceau winks at a spellbound audience, at himself, at the whole of humanity. He is a magical and magnetic artist, in the face of whose genius we can merely laugh, cry and be struck dumb...
...churning out his or her cigarette packets, car grilles, Mickey Mice and talking Coke bottles. The result was a babel to surpass the ceaseless yammer of neons in Times Square. The problem of how to survive in this battering surplus of gratuitous images became acute for the serious artist, especially when the public became surfeited by having its quotidian environment rammed back down its throat, lubricated by an arty sauce...