Who are the true bastards?

Something has been happening to the profession, and I use that word reluctantly, of "film criticism." Thanks to the immediacy created by the internet, and the resulting cancerous spread of media outlets into it, people are able to put words out there that are searchable and linkable. In other words, it's the biggest rumor mill of all time. And while rumors are part of the meat of the internet, surprisingly it is also real information—or at least those who are supposed to be responsible for creating it—that has become just another ingredient in that meat grinder.
Film criticism now is in the hands of anyone. Really. You go see a movie, come back home, log into Rotten Tomatoes or your own blog and you express your opinion about it there. In and of itself, there is nothing wrong with that. What has become disturbing is how the gatekeepers of information, i.e. newspapers, television shows, magazines, media conglomerates, etc. are now counting these opinions as currency. Literally. Rotten Tomatoes and the meter it features has now become an industry barometer, sometimes featured in the articles of people who are supposedly professional critics! What's more is how some of these bloggers and such, are now being taken seriously as journalists. If you run a film site and have enough traffic, you can actually go to a prestigious festival like Cannes on a "Press" credential.
Which brings me to this article from Empire Magazine. In it, the author describes the mood at Cannes and how the people gathered there to watch films have metamorphisized into some venomous serpent ready to strike at anything that comes by. Quentin Tarantino's latest seemed to be the focus of a lot of ire, some of which I have personally read on many blogs and "film news sites." And like the author of said article, what you will not find lacking in these online "critiques" are richly textured words expressing exasperation over Quentin not meeting their expectations. "Less talk, more rock..." as one "reviewer" cutely concluded her rant. Almost all of the reviews I have read rarely talk about the film as made; rarely mention what it's trying to do rather than what they want it to do; and rarely engage in analysis of why certain shots, sets, dialogue were used instead of dismissing the work and its creators because they did not match up to their standards. In other words, film critique has devolved into the same level of content as your average conversation at a bar, at the office break room, etc. And those who are supposed to write about films, in an attempt to be the "soundbite" people are quoting at those conversations, are no longer engaging in intelligent, objective criticism of the work and have instead joined the ranks of anyone out there with a keyboard and a blog. It's a shame really. Considering the pure acidity of critiques that come out of places like Cannes, one must wonder if today's writers actually "love" cinema. Or do they just love their opinions about it? Even Roger Ebert had to take pause to assess the mood at Cannes with regards to his review of Inglorious Basterds.
This particular commentary may seem hypocritical considering it's posted on a platform this article accuses as being a conspirator to the problem. However, Sleepless Films exists because of our recognition that writing, in general, is an art that is being lost. This site is our response to those who think expressing oneself in written word is the same as expressing oneself when speaking; it is a response to those who can not and fail to take films as they are made and not how we wish them to be made. If such opinions are expressed, it is clearly said as being so. Most of all, however, Sleepless Films is a reaction to the industry who seems bent on packaging and marketing art as if it were soap or cereal. We do not subscribe to that philosophy and will take great efforts in combating such nonsense. "Why?" you may ask? Because we DO love films.