There's a movie out called I'm Out There, a biographical picture based on the life of Bob Dylan. It's most popular for being one of the last movies Health Ledger's did before he died.
I give it a SHOULD WATCH on The Knit Picks Cinema Spectrum, which isn't officially a rating system, but moreover a collection of suggestions. It should be clear that I will probably never write "you shouldn't see this movie," "that movie was horrible," or any other derivative of 2 thumbs down. Its not because I've worked in film and understand the level of difficulty it takes to generate the right kind of chemistry that gives you a chance to receive a miniature gold man in the spring time.
Not really, if its a crap movie I'm not going to waste a half hour of my life writing how crappy it was, so you can see it and say, yeah that was crap. Then we've all wasted 3 hours of our lives without getting closer to the answer for: What makes a good movie? I don't have the time or luxury for that.
The Knit Pick Manual wants to capture the human legacy as its cresting. Creating multimedia snapshots of the ingredients that make us a different animal, not antics that perpetuate caricatures of our folly.
Sure I might rudely question the nature of things, but my objective is to reflect an image of ourselves we might not be able to see. To acknowledge achievements that are announced by kazoos yet deserve parade bands. No *ct*-m*ms, no J*nn!f@r @n!st*n here. Weather that is interpreted as the same sort of criticism that I'm lambasting is entirely up to you.
Telling you about a shitty movie won't stop shitty movies from being made. On the contrary, with everyone criticizing each other's art we stifle our courage to take risks, keeping us in the same corporate calculated rut that lead us into this imaginary maze.
Even the great Bob Dylan wasn't immune to public scrutiny, which the movie suggests inspired his 7 Simple Rules for Life in Hiding. The most appropriate being "Rule 7. Never create anything, it will be misinterpreted, it will chain you and follow you for the rest of your life. It will never change"
Perhaps that is a flaw in all of us. Our uncanny ability to ignore all that is perfect in this world while being honed in on it's minor failings. Maybe we lack the cognition to understand, define, and recreate perfection. It could be we accidentally stumble upon greatness every once in a while when we are looking for something else. All we know is what perfect is not. It's mustard stains a white shirt or a small seed in the crevasses of some one's teeth. Obvious defects anyone could discern and remedy.
Then again we slave uninterrupted through jobs we hate, live in houses that make us sick, and drive over pot-holed roads in smog on a daily basis.
So why is it in a world that was perfect enough to be the only rock within the explored recesses of space that could cultivate life and provide all the elements for unimaginable innovation, but all we can do is harpoon the minor unavoidable aftermath of random circumstance. Simultaneously, ignoring the self-inflicted quagmires we have created merely by free will?
Somewhere along the line imperfection became synonymous with hard. Had he known the definition of the word, a cave man would think that living in the side of a mountain and killing mastodon's during an ice age was hard. If someone explained to him the concept of central heating and North Face apparel, then gave him a Webster's dictionary, he might think his situation was less than perfect.
Yet a geologist would enshrine his arrowheads in a museum for being the perfect tools of survival. Furthermore, any anthropologist would say that same cave man's bone density and internal organs were perfect for keeping him alive in such formidable conditions. Even still a physicist would remark at the perfect universal mechanics that kept the cave man's planet spinning and his feet on the ground.
By our nature it would be effortless to degrade his cave etchings that resemble the rudimentary stick figure work of a preschoolers today. Or poke fun at the cave man's abnormally large forehead and uni-brow. Although, I've never meet one in person and I hate to generalize cave men here, but I reckon they probably smelled horrible, with absolutely terrible manners.
Through all this it should be clear, though I am a crappy writer, that things we do with seem prehistoric to the next generation, if we make it, science willing. What are the arrow heads and flint stones of our time? What will generation X 2.0 put on display in their hallowed halls? Why spend one more ounce of energy living your short life within the illusion that by looking at what we do horribly we can find the directions to make it all better.
A spaghetti necklace didn't inspire the crown jewels of Scotland. Millard Fillmore didn't inspire John F. Kennedy Jr. to run for office. Howard the Duck didn't inspire Quentin Tarantino & Roger Avery to write Pulp Fiction.
So stop fucking giving credence to all the little mixed up, muddled up, shook up things in this world. Instead, thank Jack Kirby and Konrad Kuze who's inventions, the microchip and modern computer, allow your life to be a little less boring. And remember John Tyndall the guy who's fiber optics allow my blog to reach millions of homes regardless of the fact its only read by five of those people. Then maybe rent a really good movie no one has ever heard of and tell everybody about it. Conceivably, on your advice the right person will watch that movie and make one of their own. From which we'll either have another atrocious movie that will give birth to a new critic or some one might just stumble onto perfection again.
**PART 2 COVERAGE: A LITTLE BIT MOVIE AND PERFORMANCES, SOME SONG LYRICS, SOCIAL D VIDEO.
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