Hi, I'm Derek Armstrong

After five years, nine months and six days of writing this blog, I thought it was finally time to come out of the shadows and introduce myself.

Hi, I'm Derek Armstrong.

For years now you have known me as Vancetastic. The reasons to remain hidden behind that handle are no longer practical, if they ever were.

I originally gave myself the name merely as a means of more or less copying the naming convention used by my friend, Rob, who called himself Gimpadelic when he started his blog. It was reading his blog that made me think I could write a blog.

Gimpadelic was derived by taking his name and turning it into an adjective. So I did basically the same thing, except I used a nickname rather than my real name to distance myself from it. (Yep, Rob used to call me Vance. Still does sometimes, actually.)

Why did I want to distance myself from it?

I can't say for sure. I originally thought that bloggers were supposed to be anonymous or something. Maybe we were all unduly paranoid that something we wrote was going to be traced back to us and that we would be held responsible. That's a heck of a lot of importance to place on random observations about the world, cinematic or otherwise. Most bloggers aren't discussing government secrets, you know. (Though I guess some are discussing deeply personal issues.)

However, I quickly realized that there was a value to not having my name on this thing. After all, I sometimes updated posts at work, and if someone ever wanted to know why I was visiting this website so regularly, I wanted to have plausible deniability. I wanted it to seem like, maybe, I was merely a big fan of The Audient. "See, it doesn't even have my name on it! Vancetastic? That could never be me!"

Except it is me, and now, I actually do want people to know.

You see, I've decided I'm making a concerted effort to "get back out there." It's been nearly three years since I wrote my last paid review for All Movie Guide. I don't know if I'll ever get paid to write a movie review again, but I have to try, dammit. Even if I don't get paid, I have to try to write in a forum in which I am actually recognized as myself.

There may be some opportunities, so now is the time.

And if these opportunities arise, and if I need writing samples, I want to be able to point them to this site and say "See? That's my blog. You can see my name right there." Sure, they could try to tell me it's some other Derek Armstrong, but they'd have to be looking for a reason to disbelieve me, in which case I probably wouldn't be getting anywhere with them anyway.

Look, writing about movies isn't what it once was. Few people get paid for it, and those who do usually don't get paid much. They either have to have entire other jobs to fully support themselves, or have to do a bunch of other boring things as part of that job in order to collect their paycheck.

But if there's any distant glimmer of a possibility that I will one day be gainfully employed as a critic again, I can't be hiding in the shadows. I've got to put myself, my full self, out there. I've got to sign my name to what I contribute to our collective discussion of the glorious world of cinema.

Hi, I'm Derek Armstrong.

You'll be hearing more from me soon.

I won't read, but I'll listen

In a film discussion group on Facebook in which I am a semi-active member, we've been discussing recently the idea that we don't like to read reviews of movies before we've seen the movie. Some are critics themselves, some are just film buffs, but most shared this sentiment.

This applies primarily to movies we're interested in seeing. With movies that utterly repel us, it might be fun to read what a particular critic we like has to say. At worst, it confirms our suspicions that the movie is terrible, and allows us to delight in the linguistic thrashing given by a writer whose style we like. At best, it changes our thoughts on the film, and maybe now we would like to see it.

So yeah, as a critic myself -- albeit one who is not currently working -- I am doubly disinterested in reading a review of a movie I have yet to see, in part because I always feel like I might eventually review it, and don't want to be unconsciously influenced by the criticism of that particular work that I've already read.

Reading is one thing. Listening? Quite another.

I've included as my artwork on this piece a picture of Joe Morgenstern, film critic of The Wall Street Journal, whose reviews appear in audio form on the local NPR station, KCRW. (See, Morgenstern is a fellow Angelino, even if his publication is located in New York.) I don't read Morgenstern's reviews. In fact, I don't think I've ever read a single printed word he's written. But I listen to everything that comes out of his typewriter when he is the person reading it to me, during his weekly Friday night reviews (which play at precisely 6:46 p.m.), or much more frequently, as a podcast.

When it comes to Joe Morgenstern, he's such a gifted writer -- a talent made only more impressive by his mellifluous readings of his own writing -- that I can't bare to skip a single morsel of his criticism. Which means that I frequently subject myself to the rich depths of his impressions of film, even the films I'm planning on seeing, despite the fact that this makes me uncomfortable, despite the fact that this unconsciously colors my own impression of the same films.

Why do I break this rule when it comes to Mr. Morgenstern? I doubt that it's he in particular who is so special, nor can it can't simply be the difference between listening and reading. After all, I'm doing all I can to render that distinction unimportant on my commutes to and from work. See, now that I live about 24 miles from my office (rather than a mere eight), I'm listening to audio books during my drives to and from work. When I'm perusing the available options on the shelves at the local library, I make sure always to select the unabridged version, so I can get full credit for having "read" the book. I contend that listening to every word of a book is the same as reading it, and I certainly want credit once I complete the final four discs of Nathaniel Hawthorne's The House of the Seven Gables, since I'm unlikely to ever have the time to read it in the traditional sense. Just as a blind person wants credit for "reading" his/her audio books, I want credit for "reading" mine. My brain has been doing the same work, it's just been using my ears as an instrument rather than my eyes. (And if listening to Hawthorne's sumptuous and literate work is making my own writing a tad more florid in the meantime, I wouldn't be surprised.)

No, I think it has more to do with my strict obedience to the unyielding structure of a podcast feed.

When it comes to the podcasts I listen to, I am a staunch completist. If I've committed to a particular podcast, I listen to all of its episodes. It would be very easy for me to skip one of Morgenstern's three-minute reviews of a movie I want to watch first, but then I fear I'll never get back to it, as it might get lost in the shuffle. The consequences of never listening to it are, surely, quite small, but I nonetheless do not want to entertain them. (This last sentence is definitely the spirit of Nathaniel Hawthorne speaking through me.)

Even more so than with Morgenstern, I encounter this problem with Filmspotting, the hour-plus-long podcast hosted by Adam Kempenaar and Josh Larsen. Kempenaar and Larsen begin each program with a review of a current release. And though they are very careful to avoid spoilers, their recent review of Magic Mike told me more about it than I probably cared to know. Even little, seemingly inconsequential things are revealed that I probably wouldn't want revealed. For example, their summary of the film basically concluded that it's more of a mood piece, and that the plot is somewhat incidental. Now I know that there are probably no huge revelations, no great scandals, nothing earth-shattering in this particular film. It conditions my expectations in a way I usually like to avoid.

But the idea of skipping an episode of Filmspotting is anathema to me. They do such an excellent job with their long-established format, and this format includes so much discussion of films that are not new and that I've definitely seen, that to discard an entire episode because I haven't seen the opening film they discuss would seem ridiculous. If I know I'm about to see the film, I can hold off on listening to the episode for a week or two. But I can't, in the meantime, skip on to the next one, because then the natural chronology dictated by the podcast feed would be all thrown out of whack. What's more, with my current busy schedule and the increased difficulty of getting to the theater, I may not see many of these films until they come out on video. So I wouldn't just be discarding one episode of Filmspotting, but probably three out of ever four.

You might use the logic I've espoused in this post to suggest that I should just read the reviews I want to read, regardless of whether I've seen the movie. After all, between Morgenstern, Kempenaar and Larsen, they are reviewing most of the movies that are coming out. I'm consuming these reviews one way or another, whether it's with my eyes or my ears. And if it's a really great critic who happens to appear only in written form, it means I'm just missing out on what he/she has to say, never to return to it.

I guess the conclusion is that the price to be paid for immersing yourself in the discussion of film is that you are inevitably going to be exposed to some criticism before you're ready for it. You may have strategies for minimizing that exposure, but some of them contradict other strategies, and some of them are just altogether fruitless.

In other words, it's hard to be selective. You just have to read/listen to what you like, and hope that you're able to maintain a strong enough movie-watching pace so that you'll get to compare your own thoughts with theirs, more often than you carry their thoughts with you to a screening as an unwanted viewing companion.

I guess I should be glad most people don't worry too much about this. Film criticism as a profession is built on the notion that many if not most people want to know what a critic thinks before they see a movie.

So if everyone wanted to avoid reviews before they saw movies, not only would I not have work as a critic now, I would not have work as a critic ever.

Am I that blowhard in the row behind me?

A couple weeks ago, I was at the movies waiting for things to start up. And I heard something we've all heard before: a guy pontificating in the row behind me.

The guy was talking about the history of zombie movies. I no longer recall the particulars of what he was saying, but it had to do with the evolution of the form from George Romero through today's examples (which still include George Romero).

Now, I should say, I'm calling him a blowhard not because this guy in particular was so bad. He was actually more of a geek than a blowhard proper. I don't remember what he looked like either, but I think it was rather geekish. Not that a geek can't be a blowhard, but a geek's blowhardish qualities are usually rendered a bit more precious and cute by the lack of self-awareness involved in being a geek.

No, I'm calling him a blowhard more because he made me think of all the other times I've heard someone prattling on about cinema to his (it's usually a he) friends before a movie starts.

For some reason, this scenario always agitates me. I feel like I either want the guy to shut up, or I want to jump in. Of course, I'm never going to jump in, so usually I just want him to shut up. Either he's getting his information wrong, which makes me want to correct it, or he's sounding like a pompous ass.

The thing is, I have probably been that guy before.

And it made me wonder: Do I sound like a pompous ass when I pontificate about film?

Of course, I love discussing movies. But often, discussing movies leads to bouts of regret and social shame. You see, when I get going talking about movies, I get going. Someone might ask me an innocent question or for a simple recommendation, and I'll produce a long string of segues and mental associations that'll lead me to the other films I really love or the other films I really hate.

When I get going on these jaunts, it all spews out. It's like I've been just waiting for a good film discussion, and I open the floodgates. My wife and I do of course also have these conversations, since she also loves film. But because we see each other so much, our bedrock theories on film have already been discussed. There's always new places to go in that discussion, of course, but my old fallbacks -- like how much I love Children of Men, or how much I hate Sexy Beast -- have long ago been established.

When I get going, I develop this momentum and tendency toward extermism. Everything is "one of my favorite movies" or "one of my least favorite movies." I'm like the proud parent with no social filters who you've made the mistake of asking about his children.

Now before you really worry about me, I should say that I don't inflict this on just anybody. Usually it's old friends, or if it's somebody I've met at a party, I've first gotten the indication that they're open to it. (And if it's old friends, that may be a greater worry, because I may actually be repeating myself). In this state, it's not that I become socially clueless. I'm always extremely aware of someone's eyes glazing over, or them starting to shift their gaze elsewhere, no matter what I'm discussing, and film is no exception.

No, the situations that really cause eventual regret are when someone has indulged me, without any apparent boredom, disinterest or subtle digs at my sudden tunnel vision. Later on, I wonder if I dominated the conversation, or created a bad impression. I become paranoid after the fact. I worry that I lost control of the give-and-take of the conversation. Yeah, I listened to what they had to say, but how often was I just waiting to tell them about the next movie I either really loved or really hated? How often did I let their conribution lead the conversation onto a different logical branch, as I should? Or did I just trample over them with my own conversational agenda?

If you're a film buff, it's hard to figure out how to disseminate your knowledge to the world. This is, as you may guess, one of the reasons I started this blog. It allows me to talk at you as long as I feel like (and usually at least a third longer than you'd really like). And ultimately, it goes without saying, I believe you are somehow nourished by what I'm saying.

So maybe my conclusion is that I should give that blowhard in the row behind me a break. I've been that guy before. And for someone who's usually as socially self-aware as I like to think I am, I should realize that my great love of film sometimes causes that to break down.