Brilliance in a humble arena

In preparation for writing an article about the 1997 Jerry Bruckheimer classic, "Con Air," I visited imdb.com in order to get some basic facts about the film. I happened to read a review of the film that had been posted on the website by someone named Jack "Rainman" Oates. The review was entitled "Take the ride."

Oates could easily have applied this title to his own body of work, because once you start reading the film criticism of "registered user Michael Oates," (then why Jack "Rainman"? . . . ) you will never be able to watch, or write about, films in the same way.

Since June of 2004, and continuing right up to today, Oates has apparently rented movies — most of them fairly recent but some going back decades — and posted reviews of them on imdb.com. He has written about 180 reviews.While this impressive, prolific body of work must be seen to be believed, I am tonight moved to write about why Oates is the greatest film critic of our time.

In his review of Woody Allen's "Small Time Crooks," Oates writes of Allen, "I hope he stops portraying himself as someone who needs to stop in the middle of a line and act as though he doesn't know what the heck is going on. I hope if and when I see his next film, he won't be doing that." What can one even say after a comment as incisive, almost mindblowing, as that? How could we not have figured it out earlier? That's exactly what Woody Allen is all about.

As in the account by neurologist Oliver Sacks of a hippie whose nirvanic bearing, baby-buddhified body and sensory absenteeism were regarded by his ashram as the signs of enlightenment — but were in fact the symptoms of a massive brain tumor — Oates is both a poster child for the short bus and the ultimate postmodern outlook.

Woody Allen seems alone among Hollywood talent in attracting Oates' ire. Rule Number One of the Oates school of film criticism is that no matter how lousy the film, every performance is great.

Oates is apparently a huge Robert Deniro fan, writing: "Only one outcome can come when DeNiro stars in a film; only one outcome supercedes all others when a DeNiro film hits theaters. Excitement and success are the outcomes that make my heart skip a beat with anticipation. When I hear Robert DeNiro's name being mentioned as part of a cast, I will be the first person in line to buy tickets because I know exactly what the outcome will be."

If Oates' love for screen actors and actresses is compelling in and of itself, the innovative prose style with which he expresses that love is even more so. On Virginia Ledoyen's perfomance in "The Beach:" " . . . her name is Virginie Leyoden [sic]. She is a fresh face to Hollywood who contains enough talent to fill a gymnasium." We all know how large gymnasiums can get. Not gyms. Gymnasium. Which can be huge.

Oates is unparalleled in the field of film criticism for his ability to fashion bracingly resonant writing where others can only provide distant cliches. Virginie Ledoyen is among a whole host of actors championed by Oates although they are all but dismissed by critics as well as the viewing public.

In his praise for The Flintstones in "Viva Rock Vegas," Oates asserts that, "This was much better than the prequel because it had much better actors including Mark Addy, Stephen Baldwin, Kristen Johnson and the ever funny Jane Krakowski with the trademark Betty Rubble laugh." Who knew that this movie had a "prequel"? Who knew that "Jane Krakowski" had a trademark "Betty Rubble laugh"? Michael Oates, son.

Oates is not only a pioneer in his assessment of on-screen performances, he also boldly reinterprets what separates a well-constructed film from a film that ought never to have been made. On the latter category: this is actually what is at stake in an Oates review.

Oates is not concerned merely with a film's quality, but also with its basic right to exist, which for Oates is not a natural right but, instead, must be earned by greatness. Almost every negative review questions why the film was ever made in the first place.

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Returning to Oates' concept of good film construction, it is immediately clear that building on his unconditional positive regard for every actor and all acting, save that ofWoody Allen, Oates demands that "chemistry" exist between his silver screen idols.

Oates finds this chemistry in abundance. Pretty much every review of his alternately applauds the chemistry between the stars or laments the lack of it. As Oates writes in his review of "Jack Frost," a movie starring Michael Keaton about a snowman who comes to life, "Chemistry is one of the elements I look for in a great movie. "Jack Frost" has this element and more. While an unusual but a brilliant pairing, Keaton and Preston bring chemistry to "Jack Frost," a movie that seems to be better than others I've seen before."

Note here the almost Socratic humility before the very prospect of the writing of "knowledge": "seems to be better than others I've seen before."

Gone are the days when film critics could invoke some objective standard of value in film. Oates confidently declares: "Taste: It's What You've Been Watching."

In the end, however, like other great, recent Western thinkers who have come before him, Michael Oates "goes East" in that his rejection of accepted modes of knowing and defining is prosecuted not in order to obscure the world, but in order to find purity in place of illusion.

In the same review of "Jack Frost," Oates writes: "Scenes like the one that had "Jack Frost" throwing snowballs at the school bully and his friends as well as the chase that followed made it all worthwhile to see because this is what makes movies so good."

Reading this, we are compelled to drop all pretense and, with wetted eyes, truly enjoy "what makes movies so good."

Also, Michael Oates summarizes the plot of "Black Dog," starring Patrick Swayze, as: ". . . it surrounded one man trying to hijack his own load before it gets to its final destination." We've all been there.