by Jillian Butler, Ampersandology
A dear friend of mine recently took to Facebook to ask for nominations: what recent films, she asked, do you think will stand the test of time? In other words, what are we watching now will be watch later? What contemporary movies will age into ripe old classic status?
Fantastic question. The answers she got, however, is what prompted this post.
Classic--was ever a word more fraught with meaning for those in the know? In literature, it speaks to tradition, giving the books labeled as such an air importance and, more precisely, relevance; in music, preferring classic rock will, depending on the audience, telegraph either a refusal to keep up with the times or a finger on an ironic, backdoor pulse.
But when we're talking films, classic means so much more. In the more traditional definition, calling something a classic is almost a shorthand for 'old'. Which means a film can be a classic in part by simply surviving---Casablanca, Vertigo or Citizen Kane are 'classics' not just because they are splendid examples of storytelling, but also because despite their age, they thrive with life even 50, 60, 70 years later. They're timeless, they're outside the medium, they're modern even in their age.
But, and this is what I noticed as people began to chime in on my friend's thread---classic has become another word for 'favourite.' This becomes especially true when the entry is decidedly niche--one astute friend on the above thread suggested Scott Pilgrim vs. the World as a classic, and, as a terrifically entertaining piece of cinema immortalizing the Nintendo-tinged youth of a generation, it's already achieved classic status in some circles. But...there's a but.
But it feels premature to even presume this more traditional label of 'classic' to anything post-millennial, and a little naughty even when using it around a beloved John Hughes film. It's all a game, in the end, a way of trying to predict our own inadvertent cultural time capsule. And sometimes, we as a society will never know what is a classic, well, until it is. A film should earn its stripes by surviving even when the societal minutia has dissolved any immediate ties to relevancy.
That's it, isn't it? The real power of a film is to trap its culture in vivid motion; it acts as a little cannon shot into the future, stuffed with politics, beliefs and life as we knew it. So maybe a real classic film doesn't just entertain its audience. It, in many ways, ought to represent them.
And all of this led me, as usual, to the idea of the good old days. This grand myth that before this wretched modern world came along, folks really knew how to make a car, a song, a novel...a film. Anyone who doesn't like the fare at the box office can look to an earleir period, where theaters had real films on their roster: Gone With the Wind! Taxi Driver! The Third Man!
It's a ripple I've noticed throughout a lot of cinema and media studies that looks back a little too often--hell, as a scholar of postwar American film, I can't say I'm immune--with dewy, wistful sighs, as if the old days didn't produce any schlock.
To these people, I offer this as a comfort: the 1960s is a decade seemingly embarrassed with cinematic riches: releases included Easy Rider, Bonnie and Clyde, The Graduate, In the Heat of the Night, Cool Hand Luke, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid---all in all, a banner decade.
But the list doesn't stop there: the 1960s also saw the release of not one but two Gidget sequels, Valley of the Dolls, western/musical Paint Your Wagon (your rare chance to see Clint Eastwood sing!) and the truly troubled production Doctor Dolittle (which, tellingly, nabbed its 1967 Oscar nod largely due to studio sweet talk). This isn't counting all the Godzilla movies or inflated studio cash-grabs trying to replicate past successes.
What am I trying to say? Maybe it's just that we've always been making schlock; the democratization of Hollywood means this happens in greater numbers, but studios have always catered to that lowest-hanging denominator.
The difference is the schlock doesn't usually survive. All we're left with are--you guessed it--the real classics.
 |
| Casablanca--a classic by any other name. |
A dear friend of mine recently took to Facebook to ask for nominations: what recent films, she asked, do you think will stand the test of time? In other words, what are we watching now will be watch later? What contemporary movies will age into ripe old classic status?
Fantastic question. The answers she got, however, is what prompted this post.
Classic--was ever a word more fraught with meaning for those in the know? In literature, it speaks to tradition, giving the books labeled as such an air importance and, more precisely, relevance; in music, preferring classic rock will, depending on the audience, telegraph either a refusal to keep up with the times or a finger on an ironic, backdoor pulse.
But when we're talking films, classic means so much more. In the more traditional definition, calling something a classic is almost a shorthand for 'old'. Which means a film can be a classic in part by simply surviving---Casablanca, Vertigo or Citizen Kane are 'classics' not just because they are splendid examples of storytelling, but also because despite their age, they thrive with life even 50, 60, 70 years later. They're timeless, they're outside the medium, they're modern even in their age.
 |
| In order: Scott Pilgrim vs. the World; The King's Speech; The Social Network; Up: are any of these modern classics? |
But, and this is what I noticed as people began to chime in on my friend's thread---classic has become another word for 'favourite.' This becomes especially true when the entry is decidedly niche--one astute friend on the above thread suggested Scott Pilgrim vs. the World as a classic, and, as a terrifically entertaining piece of cinema immortalizing the Nintendo-tinged youth of a generation, it's already achieved classic status in some circles. But...there's a but.
But it feels premature to even presume this more traditional label of 'classic' to anything post-millennial, and a little naughty even when using it around a beloved John Hughes film. It's all a game, in the end, a way of trying to predict our own inadvertent cultural time capsule. And sometimes, we as a society will never know what is a classic, well, until it is. A film should earn its stripes by surviving even when the societal minutia has dissolved any immediate ties to relevancy.
That's it, isn't it? The real power of a film is to trap its culture in vivid motion; it acts as a little cannon shot into the future, stuffed with politics, beliefs and life as we knew it. So maybe a real classic film doesn't just entertain its audience. It, in many ways, ought to represent them.
*
It's a ripple I've noticed throughout a lot of cinema and media studies that looks back a little too often--hell, as a scholar of postwar American film, I can't say I'm immune--with dewy, wistful sighs, as if the old days didn't produce any schlock.
To these people, I offer this as a comfort: the 1960s is a decade seemingly embarrassed with cinematic riches: releases included Easy Rider, Bonnie and Clyde, The Graduate, In the Heat of the Night, Cool Hand Luke, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid---all in all, a banner decade.
But the list doesn't stop there: the 1960s also saw the release of not one but two Gidget sequels, Valley of the Dolls, western/musical Paint Your Wagon (your rare chance to see Clint Eastwood sing!) and the truly troubled production Doctor Dolittle (which, tellingly, nabbed its 1967 Oscar nod largely due to studio sweet talk). This isn't counting all the Godzilla movies or inflated studio cash-grabs trying to replicate past successes.
What am I trying to say? Maybe it's just that we've always been making schlock; the democratization of Hollywood means this happens in greater numbers, but studios have always catered to that lowest-hanging denominator.
The difference is the schlock doesn't usually survive. All we're left with are--you guessed it--the real classics.
Have a suggestion for a future Ampersandology topic? Got something
you’d like to say? All feedback welcome! Shoot us an email at ampersandology@gmail.com, or follow Ampersandology on Facebook.
No comments:
Post a Comment