Just a quick note to acknowledge that the unofficial colloquium on film criticism has officially reached its meta-meta phase, with Andrew O'Hehir (with whom I do, in fact, remain cordial) at Salon taking note of various contemplations and kerfuffles and sagely advising "Shut the fuck up." (Emphasis his.) Some might argue that to comment at all on the whole business is, in point of fact, to enter it, but, oh hey, honey, look at the time!...
For the record, I consider "jesuitical" a compliment. Also for the record, as long as I'm the guy paying the annual Typepad fee to maintain this blog, I'll write about whatever the fuck I want. (Emphasis mine.)
Meanwhile, at Facebook, the man who helped foist Lauren Wissot on an unsuspecting world enthuses, "Harsh, Andrew, but it needed to be said." And there was much rejoicing.
UPDATE: ...and I'm not gonna make a habit of updating this post, honest. But a friend wrote this morning, genuinely concerned that I was genuinely angry with the person I refer to above, who is Matt Zoller Seitz, and who is also, my friend notes, a "sweetheart." He is indeed, as well as a saint and a near-genius whose video essays are setting a new standard for new media criticism. And, no, I am not angry with him, at all. Nor am I angry with Andrew O'Hehir, although now that I've given his piece a thorough reading I'm kind of aghast at how much of it I take issue with, and how many category errors (particularly concerning "elites") it contains. I like these guys, I think they're lively engaging writers and good people. But, like all of us, they are prone to errors in judgement. I'm just giving 'em a little shit, that's all. Usually when I'm really angry you can tell, I think.