Search Engine Optimization: On Finding Your Favorite Films and Avoiding Drake

Programming Note: Hey, Pearls of Mystery readers (I guess I should call you Mystery-Divers, because of the connection to pearls and oysters, and because we celebrate divers-ity)! I'm going to be going to career fairs the rest of the week so expect a little bit of a tailing-off in posting volume as we approach the end of this 31-for-30 September (an attempt to one-up 30 for 30 in another chapter in Pearls of Mystery's longstanding rivalry with media conglomerate ESPN).

Intro
Finding your favorite films and books and music is, at its core, a search problem, and one that I think the current "everyone's a critic and anyone can talk to anyone" landscape of the Internet lends itself to well. And Metacritic and RottenTomatoes have done more than their fair share in really cluing into critical consensus.

But there's something different between "high quality" and "favorite" and I think the current landscape, taken at face value, doesn't necessarily work to the advantage of either the discerning connoisseur or the consumer looking for consistently above-average quality. I think a lot of the problem (as I'll outline it) starts with the rating systems we use.

Problem
Okay, so reviews of books and albums and TV shows always tend to focus on a general level of quality. "Five stars", "B+", "8 out of 10" and so on. You feel me? I know you feel me, son.

The point being is that most reviews - even the most abstract and interpretive - tend to answer in the negative or the affirmative whether a cultural product is worth your time or worth your money with respect to the marketplace. In other words, the essential appeal made a review is: "Assuming you're willing to spend 20 bucks on a book, this is a pretty damn good/mediocre/poor book to spend it on if you compare it to all the new releases I've read. I feel this way because it's <list of reasons for this opinion>, which should inform whether you the read will agree with me. "

Which is quite alright. It's nice to have a consumer guide that also doubles as personal interpretation, critique, and analysis. There's nothing wrong with this.

And yet, we live in the age where occasionally something will garner (and the Internet will document) "universal acclaim by critics". You see this with shows like Breaking Bad and The Wire. I was looking over reviews for "Nothing Was the Same" after writing my own yesterday, and while there were a few "this is a defining album" reviews, most of the reviews were "What a neat album! Drake is sure doing his job!" In other words, it was adequate, it was competent, it was state-of-the-art, it was soulful, it was such and such and if you like hip-hop or R&B, you will probably at least enjoy a listen.

And my problem with "universal acclaim" and average treatments of quality is that, well, personally, I will probably never listen to "Nothing Was the Same" ever again. It's apparently a major release, it's apparently quite good (and I can see where critics are coming from), but here's the thing: At no point in listening to that album did the thought ever cross my mind: "This might be my favorite album of all time." What I'm saying is... it was a low-risk, medium-reward album. We talk about Drake taking risks, going further and all that. But the bottom line is, an established artist released a typical album that drew and deserved passable acclaim, hit all the marks, and with the exceptions for a few diehards, no one's artistic worldview is changed, no one's hitting spiritual notes they might never have without the album. Ironically, nothing was not the same for me after listening to "Nothing Was the Same". It's a good album which hinges on your alignment with its aesthetic. And that's all that it is. And that's alright. But... for me? I get almost nothing out of having listened to that album, and while that's fine, it also means that I could have switched to most other albums I've considered listening to and ended up better off. Maybe that's arrogant, but what does an inoffensive movie really buy me (or anyone) in the grand scheme of things? Two hours passed well, but two hours forgotten in a few days. I don't know. A great, ambitious, sprawling film promises a lifetime of enjoyment and is precisely the candidate for being missed by a critic that's trying to see things analytically or in the shoes of a proverbial Pete from Peoria.

For situations where a bad movie isn't going to ruin my night, ambition is its own reward because it creates the possibility of transcendence. For situations where a bad movie is (like going out to a theater)? I'd much rather have less ambition in films because it creates the possibility of awfulness.

In a sentence: Ambition is punished in some cases and wildly rewarded in others, all pretty arbitrarily, even though some people and some situations get positive or negative utility in ambition itself.

Solution
And so that's the lead-in to my (speculative) idea: Reviewers ought to consider risk (and not just reward) as part of their ratings. And review aggregation sites such as RottenTomatoes and Metacritic might just want to include polarization and variance as part of the equation. If I spend 20 dollars in a theater or getting something to watch with other people? To my mind, personally, I feel that the spent money makes me more risk-averse. If I am renting, downloading, or streaming something? I actually want risk, and I might trade above-average and low-risk for average reward on a high-risk gamble. Even if it means watching "Magnolia" one night (as Homer Simpson might say, "that's bad" [Sorry Connor! It just didn't work for me!]). Because, see, this is how risk works, it means I'll watch "In Bruges" another night ("that's good"). When you take risks you get burnt more, but you also get the unforgettable cultural products that make our lives a little more bearable. And I'll take getting burnt once awhile as part of the fun of the search (besides, it's usually a lot funnier and easier to shut off if you haven't paid a 10-spot just for the seat, heh). And I'll pay for my preference for ambition, sure, by missing out on a really decent "Nothing Was the Same" here and there. But in return, I'm gambling that I'll get more of the unforgettable gems.

Note:
If you hear what I'm saying, then maybe you want to know what I've done myself to leverage risk in (for example) films.

• With some exception, I don't ever listen to someone that says a film was merely good or bad. I much prefer critics' year-end lists and your friend or acquaintance's absolute favorite film (doesn't matter how well you know them). See, because something has to be excellent to someone to get on those rarefied lists. It can't just be good-but-forgettable - it has to really move someone. A lot of times I feel I have to dig deeper than the year-end lists and read the review itself, because critics will leave off films perceived as being inferior in general quality even if the films they left off spoke to them more.
• I largely ignore claims about cultural relevance that aren't based on empirical success. Critics often times like to make broad, sweeping generalizations (cf. this sentence) about people and taste. And here's the thing, they don't really know what is going to stick... a lot of times they're coming from misleading analogies of experience - "this is a good Western and Americans love a good Western" type things that ignore little tiny matters like "hey, this film has no soul, and soul is a big reason people like films in the first place!". 
• I don't really care about a critic's expectations - the expectations a critic forms in the presence of immensely more domain knowledge than their readers is pretty much irrelevant. But it can shed light on "shallow" works that are anything but, with a little extra effort.

There you have it; part of my personal solution to the search problem. Take it or leave it. You made the decision. Live with your decision.

Breaking Bad and Legacy

The hearts of posterity are hard-won but sticky. As time passes, the selected-for characteristics of a work of art move from novelty to craftsmanship. If a song survives 20 years of having been played on the radio, then it certainly has something going for it. It will probably survive another 20 (ignoring my casual use of a sophisticated observation). Okay, maybe that song is still coasting on nostalgia for people coming of age then. So wait another 20 years and see if it's still around. And another 20. And another, and another and another. And at some point a work of art - no matter how deep the hype had ever gone - must find its own momentum if it is to survive. At some point there is naught but a melody. And whether that melody is good enough to be sung or historical enough to be remembered becomes that melody's primary sustaining justification.

So forgive my skepticism when someone talks about legacies in real time as an artist or a sports figure is just coming into their own. Forgive my skepticism when we get any speculation not rooted in posterity about the Greatest of All Time. Forgive my skepticism when critics figure to discern what is all-consumed flash of ephemeral and what is all-consuming pan of posterity.

And forgive my skepticism when critics talk about Breaking Bad as the greatest television show of all time.

Okay, here's where I say outright: I love Breaking Bad. I consume it like a snake, wrapping myself around its entirety and assuming its approximate shape. I watch the show, listen to the podcast, even watch that abominably loud Chris Hardwick-hosted Talking Bad. I read critical opinions of the show constantly, read speculation, comment threads, and even write blog posts about it on occasion. The show keeps outdoing itself and seems completely poised to "stick the landing," as they say. The episodes this season have seemed to get better and better, a general trend that stems from the creators' attention to detail and the writers' extensive breaking period that allows every episode to draw on all the momentum of prior episodes and seasons.

And here's where I say outright: Breaking Bad certainly has positioned itself quite well for GOAT status and consideration - garnering near-universal acclaim by critics, looking like a respectable voice-of-its-particular-era candidate, and having the benefit of competing with a medium that greenlights "Crank Yankers" and a medium that has tarnished nearly every show's legacy before it by awkwardly stretching out a show too long or cutting it too short. Breaking Bad going for GOAT status would be sort of like you or I going for the Great American Novel award when every other novel has had some Harrison Bergeron-like handicaps in its authorship. This is all before factoring in TV's historical stigma as a medium for art (if not totally, then at least partially). And, what's undeniable: Breaking Bad already has a great deal of posterity. The first season - while a shadow of what the show would become - already has 5.5 years under its belt and holds up pretty damn well. Finally, Breaking Bad hasn't just changed the conventions of its genre; it has outright achieved this remarkable feat with craftsmanship on par (at least) with the other, most-beloved shows of its era.

But I'll just caution that history has a way of magnifying flaws, catching up to works of exceptional quality on the backs of those works, and simply forgetting the most seminal shows. We'll all remember where we were when Breaking Bad finishes up. But there's a good possibility that the massively-serialized format combined with the massive length won't be sustainable for generations that follow. War And Peace is actually a fairly easy read if we're just talking basic ability to get through, if infinitely subtle and fun, but 1000 pages is 1000 pages. A month is still a month, even if you can read it a chapter at a time. I'd love to project what the future will look like, but it's possible a show that uses silence and comic timing and subtle maneuvering for weeks before getting to a payoff just won't hold up in the very long run. And, what's more, as much as we might want to preserve the show? Eventually we'll get older and have less time to promote it and the work will have to stand alone. And suddenly - without that social pressure - 60 hours becomes a lot less appealing to later generations that may have more immediately appealing options.

All in all, I have nothing against the masterpiece of Breaking Bad that has given us so many hours of tension, reflection, entertainment, and unforgettable characters and moments. I want Breaking Bad to be remembered and, if it indeed shows lasting quality in 20 years, I want its true greatness to be known.

But then, it's not my decision.

Curmudgeonly Review of "Nothing Was the Same" by Drake

Drake's "Nothing Was the Same" was released today, and was leaked a week ago, all of which I only know because of the hordes of Drake fans on Twitter.

Because a review is as much about my own critical perspective as the work under consideration, I guess I should talk a little about where I'm coming from w.r.t. Drake. I really have no preconceptions about Drake. I've barely read anything about him, barely know his circles or his upbringing, and so far that lack of knowledge has served me just fine. I'm pretty sure he's Canadian or something, and is sensitive. I don't listen to much hip-hop, but I cherish the few albums and tracks that really suit me. I'm old school all the way back to Bach (O.G. of the Western Canon) but I'm open to the new school. I like what Nat King Cole does, a lot. I like what Death Grips does, sometimes. I don't listen to the radio, and most of the newer music I come to is because the melody or the flow is so irresistible that I just have to get it and listen to it over and over - and thence branching to related songs and albums and artists. I've written a lot of music; I've been playing the piano for ten years, and I've been slowly and laboriously climbing into basic competence as a vocalist over the last five years.

Emotionally I connect with songs but for me emotion comes from musicality. See, when you listen to tracks as much as I do, there's a sort of U-shaped Nietzsche-derived preference graph that develops  with the best songs.

There's a trial period (the first 1-10 plays of a song, let's say) where the initial brilliance of the song's hook impresses itself upon you. This is the part where you might try to brainwash yourself into liking something and the song tries its best to help you out. And if it works, then, you know, you're hooked. If it doesn't, into the trash it goes. This is where 95% of songs I hear (at a minimum) go; if the song is mediocre, if it's irresolvably unpleasant, if it's got a vibe I can't respect, if it's a thought that doesn't stick, if it's got a big melodic idea that doesn't work? I have no use for that song. And I only listen to the song rarely thereafter, and only rarely does it bite back as something I'd overlooked. The novelty of this period makes the songs that survive (and even the songs that fail admirably) quite entertaining for this duration.

"Breaking Bad", "Bad Fans", and Liberated Fandom

I don't think I form attachments to cultural artifacts quite the way most other people do, generally speaking. I listen to songs hundreds of times, and sometimes I'll only listen to my own songs for days at a time. As for Ella Fitzgerald's "Songbooks," well, I've played them on my computer so much that they might as well be vinyl records stripped to the bone. I watch scenes of excellence from movies dozens of times. I'll read my favorite (and oddly, my least-favorite) articles and short stories several times, my subconscious mumbling always about parallax. "The Huntsman" and "Rothschild's Fiddle" and "Uncle Vanya" are inexhaustibly brilliant and I've read them dozens of times. And so on. As for sports, well, when Joe Posnanski talks about ostensibly-boring Greg Maddux as appointment viewing, how "I would never (if at all possible) miss a Maddux start," I know exactly what he's talking about, and I'll raise Poz a Tim Duncan in the same vein. Obession: It's how I watch shows, it's how I watch movies, it's how I listen to music, it's how I read, it's how I write, it's how I do math, and it's how I write code.

It's how I think.

And the underlying obsession here that ties these strands together is mostly for the various processes that take a cultural product from germ to fully-realized idea to production to receiver. In other words, when it comes to culture I'm interested in not just the proverbial sausages but in learning how they're made and how they're consumed (incidentally, both of which, in the case of actual sausages, are horrifying). And so the official Breaking Bad Podcast and the various reviewers have been invaluable to me, and I invest wild amounts of time soaking in everything I can about the creative process and critical reception of my favorite show.

(By the way, probably the most refreshing part of the Podcast is that Vince Gilligan is the first to admit his relative cluelessness about where the story is going in broad strokes. The writers seem to love letting characters dictate the causal action, leading to realistic plot and characterization. "Where's Walt's head at now?" is always the central impulse. They don't always know where that "chessboard approach" will lead them. So that's, uh, the one thing I have in common with Vince Gilligan as a writer!)

But anyway, precisely because of my obsessive way of looking at things, I tend to think and empathize more with creators and editors and critics (and the most dedicated fans) than I do with "the rabble" - that is, the casual fans - if you will. Most people don't take cultural objects that seriously; when the public-at-large does invest in culture, it's usually in more accessible, simple stuff. And it can be hard for me to relate.

That said, it saddens me that some reviewers are taking to task the casual and misguided viewers of Breaking Bad that are apparently missing the main thematic points of the series. Not just that but these reviewers have coined a sticky pejorative: "Bad Fans". These so-called Bad Fans root for Walter White unquestioningly, no matter what evil he perpetrates. Bad Fans go out of their way not just to root for Walt but to elaborately justify his evils every step of the way. Here's a typical quote:

If you seek to deny or minimize the parts of art that don't fit your reductive interpretation of Walt as a basically decent man, or a man who moves with a purpose and is somehow "badass," as opposed to the complex monster the show has actually presented over five seasons, you are in fact, as Nussbaum wrote in her piece on the scene, watching the show wrong. In fact, you're trying to turn a smart show into a stupid one. And you really should ask yourself why. 

--Matt Zoller Seitz, "Seitz on Breaking Bad, and Why Viewers Need to Whitewash Walter White"

Rejected "Dexter" Spec Script

Hey, Pearls of Mystery readers. This is John, your precocious mopboy investigative journalist with an eye on the streets. In this case, literally: While trawling Hollywood streets on vacation with my family several years ago, looking for something to blog about, I noticed this short spec script sitting discarded on the curb, for the recently-ended television series "Dexter", with a big ol' "REJECTED" stamp across the front. No name, and efforts to find the author have been in vain. Here it is in its entirety. Strangely, the spec script has been formatted as a short story. Italics indicate Dexter's voiceover.

In DEXTER MORGAN's apartment. Enter DEXTER and DEB MORGAN. It's Christmastime and they are both wearing KNITTED SWEATERS. A CHRISTMAS TREE stands motionless in the corner.

"So let me get this straight," Deb said, speaking slowly and deliberately, "You're a serial killer, Dex?"

"Yes." How did she find out? Oh, right, all the people I killed.

"Dexter, you know you can't keep being a cop. This is awful!"

"Look, Deb, there's something you need to understand."

"What?"

"I only kill serial killers. Everyone I've killed has killed at least two people."

Cyril the Cynic Crashes the Optimist Convention

"We welcome you all to the Optimist Convention. We hope everything goes well... I mean... Of course we do!" Sam, an older woman with shoulder-length blonde hair and large, gold-rimmed bifocals, addressed the crowd with her trademark smile, which (like all optimists' smiles) was more world-weary and wounded than it let on.

The crowd applauded and everyone looked around in the large gym for others they could talk to. Surely the people would all be fun to meet and pleasant - perhaps they would even offer unheard-of opportunities, both social and professional! You might even meet that special someone you'd been dreaming of! Maybe someone would have an extra blender you could buy at a heavy discount! It was a networking event, after all, and it seemed full of promise to all in attendance.

Well, not all in attendance. Cyril the Cynic complained about the loudness of the gym, the required tags and lanyards bearing names, and the lacking refreshments. Cyril wandered about the Optimist Convention and saw self-interested people of every shape and size, of every grift and grind.

"Hey," Cyril said as he tapped his first 'mark' on the shoulder, "Hey, what's your scam? What's your angle?"

Jim, Chapter 5: Jim Finishes The Job (Conclusion)

Chapter 1: Jim Still Has That New Cop Smell

Chapter 2: Jim Follows Up On A Hunch

Chapter 3: Jim Makes Strudel at the Denzels' Place

Chapter 4: The Denzels Get Wet... With Laughter, That Is!

Chapter 5: Jim Finishes The Job

Programming Note: I would strongly advise you to read previous chapters before continuing.