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" "To. come down to film criticism, which is the first reason of this article, you are faced with a difficulty which distinguishes this from almost every other form of critical writing. The film is not really a lovable art, and to criticise well you must first love deeply. Don't misunderstand me. You may enjoy the cinema. You may admire its ingenuities, and find relief and comfort in its evasions; you may even prefer it, as many of us do, to any other form of public entertainment. But I defy anyone who has had rich experience of life, who has thought deeply, or felt honestly about life and its manifestations, to draw from the cinema, in its present stage of development, anything more than a fleeting participation in pleasure. Good music, great poetry, fine architecture, pure painting, can somehow take possession of the soul and succour it. For centuries men have felt these things deeply, and written about them greatly. But until there is something of this elemental quality in the cinema—and I often doubt whether there can be any such elemental quality while it is still the cinema—we shall have no greatly written criticism of the film.
The film critic, then, even if he cherishes no delusions of greatness, and aspires simply to be a good critic, doing a smaller job well; must look for his inspiration in something other than the material of the cinema. Occasionally, very occasionally, he will see a picture or an individual performance that sets his typewriter tapping out the word genius, but on the whole he must be prepared to deal creditably, and, if the gods bless him, creatively, with undistinction.
Caroline Alice Lejeune (27 March 1897 – 31 March 1973) was a British writer remembered as The Observers film critic from 1928 to 1960. She was among the earliest newspaper film critics in Britain, and one of the first British women in the profession. She formed a friendship early in her career with Alfred Hitchcock, "when he was writing and ornamenting sub-titles for silent pictures," as she later wrote.
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I have never made any secret of my distaste for films concerned with the glorification of the spiv, and I must declare al once that Brighton Rock, the new British film at Warners, is not my notion of entertainment. Graham Greene's savage storv about a couple of race-course gangs and their fancy ways with a razor is one of the most brutal things I have seen on the screen since They Made Me a Fugitive...
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