Most mainstream reviews are plot summaries dressed up with adjectives. A review of an independent film, however, requires a different muscle. It requires the critic to act as a medium between the viewer and the void.
Consider the films of Kelly Reichardt ( First Cow , Certain Women ). Nothing "happens" in the way we are trained to expect. The violence is implied off-screen. The love stories are suggested by a glance at a hardware store counter. The economic desperation is seen not in a monologue, but in the way a character pauses before buying a cup of coffee. Most mainstream reviews are plot summaries dressed up
We have been trained to look at the center of the frame. Mainstream cinema gives us a subject, locks focus, and says, "Here. Look here." Consider the films of Kelly Reichardt ( First
We live in an age of radical visibility. Between 4K restorations, BTS featurettes, and frame-by-frame breakdowns on YouTube, there is almost nothing left to discover about a blockbuster film before we’ve even bought a ticket. The mainstream machine shows us everything. It explains the lore, telegraphs the jump scare, and color-codes the hero’s journey so obviously that our eyes have gone soft. The love stories are suggested by a glance
Think of the static shots of Chantal Akerman’s Jeanne Dielman . We stare at a woman peeling potatoes. The "unseen" is the ticking clock of her sanity. Or consider the vérité chaos of the Dardenne brothers; the camera clings to the back of a character’s head, forcing us to see the world not as a god, but as a desperate animal. The "plot" happens in the periphery—a dropped wallet, a closing door, a hand hesitating on a railing.
The "unseen" in Reichardt’s work is the roaring engine of American capitalism crushing its inhabitants. We never see the bank foreclosure meeting; we see the dirt under a fingernail. The critic’s job here is not to describe what is on screen, but to articulate the weight of what isn't .