Center of Gravity

This fall, I’m watching 30 horror movies before Halloween. I’m just past halfway, and it’s been a wild ride. As far as building my repertoire, this is undoubtedly a huge step. I’m spreading the films across the century (three from each decade starting in the 20’s) and it feels like I’m getting a certification in the genre. A horror license, if you will. There’s so much cultural and historical context; it’s cool to see how horror themes evolve to reflect society’s subconscious fears and desires. I already have a handful of new favorites that I’ll be coming back to again and again. 

That being said. 

If you ever want to try this for yourself, please reconsider. It’s like. A lot of movies. I only noticed after it was too late, the inertia that develops when all my free time is spent watching. It’s gluttonous and voyeuristic, an almost totally automatic experience in contrast to the active engagement of reading a book or playing a video game. It doesn’t help that it’s taken time away from writing. I’m struggling to sublimate thought, it’s like muscle atrophy. These two paragraphs took me an hour. I’m in pain. 

In any case, watching 1-2 movies every day has given me some unique insights on the way I experience and enjoy movies that I’d like to meditate on here. 

Whenever I watch a movie, I’ll rate it out of five stars based on what percent of the experience I enjoyed; most movies fall around 3.5/5—70% enjoyment. It’s a reassuring statistic; I significantly enjoy most of the movies I watch. Thank god. However, it goes much deeper than that. The percent-enjoyment system is a barebones starting point, a base of color in the larger picture. How do I really judge a film?  

There are countless technical elements that go into a movie. I love well written dialogue and intentional silence. I look out for good pacing—fast or slow—and tonal/thematic awareness. I know I’m not experienced enough to speak at length on directing or cinematography, but I can point out a good shot and explain why I like it well enough. As I wrote this, I tried to come up with a technical Avi-canon to narrow down the types of movies I enjoy, but it turns out, it’s completely inconsistent. We have to go deeper. 

Beyond the technical, my ratings are context-dependent. I watched Disney’s Moana in high school and gave it a tearful 5/5. If I watched it today, it probably wouldn’t crack 4; I hate Disney so much now, it would just sour the experience. Baby Driver was my favorite movie in college, but now it seems thin; I’ve learned that Edgar Wright isn’t the only director doing interesting things with a camera (and I smoke less weed now, too). More recently, Raw got a 4.5/5 because, these days, I find comfort and meaning in horror—I probably would’ve rated it 3/5 a few years ago. Even now, it isn’t lost on me that I’m likely rating a lot of the movies in my horror marathon lower than I normally would because I’m just tired.  

So if ratings can’t be consistent, what’s the point of having a system? What’s the point in rating movies at all? 

When it comes to movies, I don’t think a rating system should be—or even can be—consistent. A hard system implies objectivity, and while I might be able to set a standard of technical elements, that doesn’t account for the fact that movies are, themselves, intrinsically inconsistent. A movie in its wholeness is greater than the sum of its technical parts, and the end result can be any number of things: a message, an appeal, a lashing out. I rated The Creature From the Black Lagoon 4/5 because it was lighthearted commentary on masculinity and naturalism with beautiful underwater photography and sick practical effects. I rated Martyrs 4/5 because it was a totally repulsive and completely effective statement on the fetishization of violence against women. They are not the same. Did I enjoy roughly 80% of each film? In a sense. The greater takeaway is that each of those movies held similar personal weight, which is really what my rating system aims to achieve. 

I rate movies not in reference to each other but in reference to myself. The number I choose vaguely points to technical execution, sure, but it more so reflects my reaction to the gestalt qualia. Sometimes I like a movie because it hits my soul just right, and no number can capture that precisely; my favorite movies totally escape explanation. Does this mean I shouldn’t rate movies? Absolutely not. Art needs data. Rating movies is an important part of my process because evaluation, however subjective, is part of the vital and never-ending conversation about quality. 

Tonight, I’m watching two movies, this weekend I’m watching five, and next week five more. It’s a lot, but when I remember why I’m doing this, the load feels lighter. Horror is one of my favorite genres, the soil ripest for self-discovery. With any luck I’ll come out of this with at least one 5, plenty of 3’s, and even a handful of regretful 1’s and 2’s. Taken alone, those numbers don’t mean much, but when I step back, I see the bigger picture. From the soul-shaking cinema to the popcorn garbage, every rating is a part of who I am—the barest glimpse of which makes it worth every drop of fake blood.