David Thomson (1) (1941–)

As a cinephile who has perhaps seen at least 2000 films predating 1970 alone, I felt like this volume should be in my small collection of books on film. My approach has been to read it as one would a book, starting at page one. It being the work of a single film critic, it is subjective — one man’s opinion. What I found is that Thomson can write well with considerable insight one moment, only to be bafflingly ignorant the next. His style also relies heavily on the rhetorical question. By show more the way, mine is the third edition, published in 2002. Not that that should matter too much, as it covers at least ninety of the last one hundred and twenty years (and I predict that those most recent twenty years won’t produce many classics).

Thomson has a lot of preconceived ideas of about cinema; what should constitute a good or great film. It is not enough, for instance, to be entertaining (and that means “entertaining” to Thomson). An example is Wes Anderson, whom he dispenses with in three very short sentences: snark alert!

At times he is very obtuse, and for the life of me I can’t figure out what he’s getting at. He can start out an entry seemingly hostile and then later on be praising. Hey, I’m not reading this as your therapist, dude! Talk about conflicted…

It’s this lack of consistency that is so irritating. Then there is his prejudices about female actors. He seems to have crushes on certain mediocre or merely competent ones (such as Rebecca De Mornay, Candice Bergen, or Melanie Griffith) and mostly dismissive of better ones (such as Faye Dunaway). Then, out of the blue, he writes an insightful entry on Kate Hepburn.

Still, I do find him refreshing in his opinions on some directors, such as Allen, Bergman, and Fellini. For many critics and fans, these guys are infallible geniuses; for me, much of their work does not age well and they have become easy targets for the parodists over the years. Elsewhere, he may trash directors I find creative and refreshing.

Perhaps his most baffling opinion is on Kubrick (someone who apparently does not fulfill his preconceived notions about what Kubrick should have been doing, although there are other directors whom he could have trashed for the same reasons). He especially despises "A Clockwork Orange" and makes it central to his diatribe; of course, this is just one film. His takes follow..."2001": trite sensibilities, its vacuity, intellectual pretensions. "Full Metal Jacket": an abomination. "Eyes Wide Shut": a travesty. He only likes "The Shining", but barely mentions "Dr. Strangelove" in passing, with no mention at all of "Paths of Glory" and "Barry Lyndon"! This is definitely, what, anti-cherrypicking? There is a website called "They Shoot Pictures, Don't They?" that number-crunches hundreds of critic and filmmaker lists of the best films of all time. Currently, Kubrick had five films in the top 100 and two others in the top 500. I leave it to the reader to come to their conclusions. Personally, I suspect that Thomson has let some emotion affect his critical eye, and the cause of that emotion can only be speculated upon. (Other sacred cows skewered include Billy Wilder and Orson Welles.)

His choices on whom to include or exclude can also be baffling. For no explicable reason he includes obscure figures whose work is almost impossible to view; is this some form of showing off about his street cred with other critics? (For example, Axel Corti.) It’s more difficult to gauge whom he might have overlooked unless he or she is one of your favorites and is glaringly missing. (No Jeff Goldblum or Penelope Cruz, sorry.) As I believe other reviewers have noted, there are preciously few cinematographers and screenwriters featured; surely we could have more entries for them and fewer of the obscure directors and actors? (In his entry on composer Bernard Herrmann, he calls screenwriters "feeble bystanders" and says that "photography itself is more the miracle than what individuals do with it." This is a breathtakingly stupid comment for someone who wants us to take him seriously as a film critic.)

Okay, he does say this is a personal selection, but behold then the conceit of calling it a "dictionary". It's not like a compiler of a dictionary can say, you know, I don't like that word, so I'm going to leave it out. Kieran Hickey gets over a page; who? you may ask. He was Thomson's best friend and died of an embolism. His tender tribute is touching, but this is not the place for it - perhaps a personal memoir instead, David? The book could have been titled "The New Biographical Listing of Who David Thomson Wants to Write About, Mostly Actors and Directors, With a Few Token Others Included Who Would Be Glaringly Missing Otherwise".

At times, he is merely petty: he is inordinately upset that Michael Caine was given a knighthood. What does that have to do with his acting ability? IMO, he should be more upset that there is still a monarchy that awards these things. Others have noted the inclusion of inappropriate entries, such as Johnny Carson, or perhaps his lengthy essay on Graham Greene, who contributed only a few screenplays; not nearly as many as, say, William Goldman. And he wants us to know that he considered the real-life Garbo ordinary and dull.

How can one write an entry on George C. Scott and not mention his performance in Dr. Strangelove?

So, in summary, a mixed bag. (My examples are merely the tip of the iceberg.) Still, he has made me curious about those films I have overlooked; hopefully, tracking them down will not be a disappointment. Of course, with Thomson’s erratic views, who knows? show less

David Thomson has seen everything and has a million opinions that inform the dozen allusions that occur on each page. His take on Ingrid Bergman is that she was a tortured soul, a woman who (as they say today) made bad decisions. This is not a biography, but the equivalent of Thomson sitting across from you at a table, delivering a lecture titled, "What You Should Think About Ingrid Bergman." Along the way, he offers 3- or 4-page riffs on Casablanca, Notorious, and The Bells of St. Mary's show more (which he scorns). He made me want to see the Italian films I never have, like Stromboli and Europa '51. Ultimately, the story is a sad one. "How could anyone live at that fever-pitch for more than a few years?" Thomson asks. "As it was, Ingrid Bergman was only really Ingrid from Casablanca to Under Capricorn--seven years." It's a terrific book. I'd read David Thomson if he wrote about Tom Arnold. show less

David Thomson is a wholly engaging writer who is also a blowhard--and I say that with reverence. His opinions are fixed and numerous, and he dismisses actors and directors he doesn't like with a wave of his hand. But what a wave! His entry on Cary Grant, for example, begins, "There is a major but very difficult realization that needs to be reached about Cary Grant--difficult, that is, for people who like to think that they take the art of film seriously." And what is this realization? He show more tells us at the end of the paragraph: "He was the best and most important actor in the history of the cinema." He's right about Cary Grant and about so many others--and even when he's not, he's never dull. This is the kind of 900-page book that you keep around and pick up every once in a while to remind yourself how good it is. Thomson will also cause you to expand your Netflix queue so you can add films about which he has written. Invaluable for film fans. show less

I read David Thomson's books, not because I am particularly interested in movies - I am not, I haven't been to a cinema in years - but because he writes with such fluidity, such grace, such waspishness, and such a natural feel for language, that his books are nearly unputdownable. The themes and narratives may well be spurious, or at least highly contentious, but that doesn't matter. He spins an artful and beguiling web.

And don't' be fooled by the title either; this is not about how movies show more shaped desire, or at least, not principally. It is at least to some degree about how movies have depicted desire, and how that depiction has pretty much been from the view of the male, American, heterosexual, superiority perspective. But what its really about is how gay themes, and gay actors / directors / designers / writers have subverted these themes to interesting effect, but without any real attempt to portray gay relationships or lifestyles as what they are - utterly everyday and banal

Or at least, thats about three quarters of the book. Its sharp, vivid and often very funny. From the outset, Thomson claims on several occasions that he has no interest in outing anyone - and then proceeds to do exactly that, on virtually every page. He reveals gay themes in a large number of films that you may not have viewed in that way. Bonnie and Clyde? Thats the first one on the list

And then, the book takes a turn, and not for the better. It is as though, whilst writing it, the various scandals that emerged in 2017 surrounding Harvey Weinstein and others and their abusive treatment of aspiring female actors, broke and he felt compelled to discuss it, in a book that after all, focuses on desire. The problem is that he doesn't do it very well

That doesn't mean that Thomson isn't on the side of the abused/ exploited, but he seems to flounder for words and to struggle to make whatever points he has. Yes , its probably true that on the whole, movies have portrayed sex in terms of male power, and the relatively few attempts to turn the tables have been controversial at best. Yes, its undoubtedly true that this happened in Hollywood for years, and that everyone knew about it. Yes, it may well be the case that in some cases female actors have used sexual favors to their advantage, and you don't really need Natalie Wood as an example. But that doesn't mean that the whole genre of cinema is intrinsically to blame, as Thomson seems to suggest. People exploit other people in many other walks of life - it just doesn't make the front pages if victims or perpetrators aren't well known - see Jeffery Epstein

So the book struggles here - there is a chapter on Jim Toback which seems to have nothing to do with the general theme of the book - and in the end Thomson seems to suggest that movies have run their course. Which seems extreme - people will always need somewhere dark to go on date night. In that way perhaps movies have shaped desire

PS - minus half a star for the pages in this edition not having been cut properly. Frustrating! show less