Judging art sometimes involves judging people. But there are times when I and other reviewers have gotten unnecessarily personal
It’s a tricky time to be a man writing about women. The Mistress America star Lola Kirke objected last week to the “glib” terms in which she was described by Anthony Lane, film critic of the New Yorker, in his review of her movie Gemini. “To deem unflattering the ‘big jeans’ and ‘baggy grey top’ I wear throughout the film is to suggest a preference for heroines in more tight-fitting clothes,” she wrote. “We need to see female characters be powerful and beautiful in ways that don’t rely on outdated representations of women.”
Her complaint is likely to prompt male writers to mentally scour their archives for those instances when they made similar judgements in ink. Evocative description is what writers do. Where it errs is in introducing notes of arbitration or admonishment, as Lane did. To say Kirke’s costumes are “hardly flattering” seems implicitly to ask: “Why hide that fetching, shapely figure where I can’t see it?”
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