Everyone's a critic... as anyone who's ever commented on a blog well knows. At the beginning of last month, Variety's Peter Bart offered a critique of the critics, complaining that movie reviewers and moviegoers are often not in agreement, saying that the nasty reviews of popular films like 300and Norbit "remind us that the literature of disdain is much more fun to turn out." Joe Morgenstern shot back in a strongly worded column (in which he offered to hire Variety's own tough critic, Todd McCarthy. SCHNAP.) His cool response to Bart? "I enjoy turning out enthusiastic appreciation... when there's something to enthuse about." (DOUBLE SCHNAP.)

Why am I bringing up such an old, much blogged about story, you might ask? A fair critique. Because I realized how much I love the "literature of disdain." All the book reviews I linked to yesterday were bad ones, and when I think of my favorite reviewers — be they book, film, dance, or theatre — I usually think of reviews in which they drew blood. For instance, Dorothy Parker on an early theatre performance by a very young Katharine Hepburn: "Miss Hepburn runs the gamut of emotions from A to B." Anthony Lane on Star Wars: Episode III: "The general opinion of Revenge of the Sith seems to be that it marks a distinct improvement on the last two episodes, The Phantom Menace and Attack of the Clones. True, but only in the same way that dying from natural causes is preferable to crucifixion." And the utterly inimitable Manuela Holterhoff on the Metropolitan's world premiere of Tan Dun's opera The First Emperor: "In my favorite scene, the balky composer reached into his mouth and removed his tongue. It meant no more singing and a curtain coming." Why are rotten reviews so much fun? I would argue that the the ability to deflate sincerely and totally without devolving into insults is harder than enthusing well. And that's certainly true for blog comments, too.