In last Sunday's The New York Times Book Review, editors note that author Richard Russo, who reviews a novel in paper, hasn't written for the Book Review in 18 years. Quoted is an email of Mr. Russo, in which he states:
"I don't review books very often, which is odd because I love them. The problem is that I don't have much interest in discussing books I don't like. It takes me four or five years to write a novel, and no matter how much I hate a book, I can't get out of my head the fact that some poor schlemiel worked lovingly on it for a very long time. A movie producer friend of mine once remarked that most people have no idea how hard it is to make even a bad movie, and I feel the same way about novels. I don't dispute that it's somebody's job to blow the whistle on bad books, bad movies, bad art. It's just not mine if I can help it."
Well, friends, it is our job to blow the whistle. And if there are many more posts like tonight's U-G-L-Y, it's going to sound like a hurricane blowing through a bottle factory round here.
Seriously, tonight's vlog precludes any serious critique because in it Peter admits he's simply phoning it in. (Though we ask ourselves: why bother posting then, Peter?) However, the post does allow us to set forth our editorial tone. Our vlog blog exists to admire, respond to and occasionally criticize a great artist. When he disappoints, we will strike. But before injecting all our venom, we'll try to remember Mr. Russo and his movie producer friend, as well as a nice set of boobies and where we hid our pot. For Peter puts his heart and soul into the Peter Johansen vlog, even when it stinks. And what do we do that's so great, besides teach wayward ducks how to migrate and tutor orphans with brain damage?
Not fucking much.
No comments:
Post a Comment