schweblog

The field of cultural theory started at an indefinite point in the not-so-distant past, somewhere during the period of the great debates over linguistic structuralism. Some might peg it on Barthes and his work on cultural mythologies. Others might cite Baudrillard’s study on the sociology of consumption. No matter where you put that point (and who says it’s a point, anyway?), the tradition has undeniably become part of the academic body at large, the torch being passed on to people like Slavoj Zizek and a multitude of others (I only mention Zizek because I like him).

The general gist of cultural theory is that scholars (or critics, as they are sometimes called) can somehow peel away the layers of superficiality that we commonly refer to as “culture” and find the core of what we’re all about using things that are “part” of us. Things like fashion, film, or other cultural manifestations. The things that motivate and inspire us are revealed by critics and the inner workings of our cultural mechanisms are opened up for all to see, putting on display the devices that really make all of us tick. Suddenly, things like the self-perpetuating apparatus of patriarchy and its long history of manipulations are evident to the common observer. The capitalist system and its far-reaching tendrils are exposed by Marxist critics. And the beauty of this field is that anything can be subject to this analysis (see, for example, Zizek’s “Laugh Yourself to Death”, an article that discovers the truth about perversity from–what else?–comedic portrayals of the Holocaust).

The thing about this tendency (I avoid the word “field” because cultural criticism really isn’t a field, but a tendency or a methodology or an approach) is that just about anyone can do it. Granted, some of the work of cultural critics is really quite insightful and the product of a truly remarkable intellect and talent. As a general rule, though, the work of cultural criticism at large is more like those of romance novelists: the overwhelming majority of what they write is utterly vapid, with a very few diamonds in the rough. Also like the genre of the romance novel, cultural criticism is fairly accessible–anyone with an undergraduate education in the liberal arts can do it and it has become the raison d’etre for members of the hipster generation. Armed with a couple of Foucault’s works under your belt, your average college-educated 20-something can pull a totally specious connection out of an orifice and the public at large will eat it up like it’s the latest sandwich from Carl’s Jr..

In my own personal experience, no single body of writing is more guilty of misusing cultural criticism than critiques of film. By and large, film critics are no longer satisfied with evaluating a film on the merits of sheer quality. Apparently, other things factor into your enjoyment of a film. Like, I don’t know…its willingness to address issues of bondage, as necessitated by the Abu Ghraib scandal. Or the obligation to avoid quirkiness as a plot device. While there are a lot of other things going on at a deeper level in some films, this can be taken too far. This is illustrated well in the controversy surrounding 300, the latest film interpretation of a graphic novel by Frank Miller. Apparently, the gory, action-packed (and quite entertaining, I might add) bloodbath is bad because it is oblivious to our current involvement in Iraq and the connections therein. This, in spite of the fact that: (a) it’s based upon a graphic novel written before George W. Bush was even in office and (b) the director has flatly said that it was “a movie that is a ride”.

This is cultural criticism at its worst. It is following the grand tradition of the approach in peeling away those superficial layers to find something deeper, but it’s going beyond that. It’s peeling and peeling and peeling and eventually leaving nothing but the critic and their opinion, free of the fetters of reality, facts, and even explicit authorial intent. Blessed with the insight that only years and years of being in the trenches of criticism can give you, this approach essentially highlights the claim implicit within the large majority of works in the field of cultural criticism. This claim is, quite plainly, that the platform of the critic grants you a privileged position, giving you insight into the deepest, darkest recesses of the unknown. This hallowed vision, accessible to only a few, can even provide glimpses into the consciousness of artists. And if they don’t agree with you–if your argument runs counter to the people responsible for the very work you’re criticizing (how dare they!)–the same platform offers you an ever-present, easily-accessible rabbit hole: simply accuse those that claim otherwise of “disingenuousness or complete obliviousness” (see the previously cited article from Slate) and continue to insist that your opinion is valid. Boom! You’re criticism-proof.