There is ingenuity, an intellectual uniqueness embedded in Gilbert Adair’s ‘Flickers’ that is both provocative and frustrating. The construct of this 1995 publication is a series of essays written by the British film critic Adair to celebrate 100 years of movies, wherein the author uses one specific still image from a film to act as the stimulus for his writing. It is, as stated at the beginning of this review, a statement of commendable paradoxical inventiveness. Accompanying this formative approach is Adair’s own extremely idiosyncratic choices and opinions. ‘Flickers’ is not a bog standard summary of who made what, where and when, and was it any good. No, this is a complex and highly personal text.
The problem is Adair’s focus on theory, on form, on thought can become irritating to the point of downright smug and/or opaque over-intellectualism. It’s understandable that a man of his stature as film writer would express himself in language and ideas beyond the ken of your amateur film reviewer who posts their thoughts on Rotten Tomatoes. However, there are occasions in this book where it’s hard not to yell at the pages “What a load of bullshit!”.
Take as an example this quote from Adair’s essay on the Mexican film;
“Beyond everything else that has been said about Bunuel, beyond his surrealistco-marxistico-freudian abomination of social inequalities…”
I’m sorry, but this is execrable prose. Adair finds it necessary to swamp far too many of his essays in this book with an almost masturbatory celebration of obtuse language. The reader ‘gets’ that the author knows a lot and thinks a lot about film. So why the need to produce such turgid prose?
What makes the previously cited example, and other sections of this book so much of a literary wank by Adair is that one can also find some amazingly clear and incisive thoughts on film, expressed with real imagination and control of language. IN his essay on Woody Allen’s ‘Zelig’ Adair concludes with this comment:
“The only way, after all, to find out what a chameleon (Woody Allen) looks like it to set it down on top of another chameleon (Leonard Zelig).”
This kind of statement is so spot on and it demonstrates not just Adair's understanding of the film and its creator, but also his command of language, of imagery, of rhetoric.
Perhaps one of the problems with 'Flickers' is that the essays are often written from the perspective of a critic bound up in the elitist construct of the auteur. There is a lot of merit in considering how the film director develops the artist vision in their work, and Adair sheets home so much of the responsibility for the creativity of each movie he discusses to that one man (and yes, it almost always a man) who invariably is a name the reader recognises. Griffth, Murnau, Laemmle, Sternberg, Kurosawa, Bunuel, Hitchcock, Lean, Godard, Renoir, Bergman, Minelli, Scorsese, Ray, Almodovar, Fassbinder etc; Adair's work is almost entirely about how these men created their cinematic vision, what their attributes are as artists, and how one can respond to them.
The problem is, through approaching the subject via the centrality of the auteur film maker, almost everything else has been excluded or minimised. The worst implication for this approach is that popular and populist film making is almost sneered at. The art of the single cinematic artist trumps the contributions of all the other people crucial to the movies' production. Entertainment and commercial success, two key elements of the nature of cinema, are almost entirely ignored or relegated to a minor annoyance. Adair writes about film as if they are to be deconstructed like a scientific conundrum, and in the process he kills a lot of the pleasure one would hope to find.
There are some meritorious aspects of 'Flickers' that deserve mention. Adair knows his stuff; he is not just a ranting ill-informed 'expert'. He also endeavours to explore film as a global artistic and cultural phenomenon and this offers a wider perspective on what cinema can be (though sadly there are no mentions of Australian movies). The first 30 or so essays are an interesting reflection on the silent era and Adair makes it obvious that the movies made before the advent of the talkies deserve more respect both as films but also as a separate art form.
Yet at its core 'Flickers: An Illustrated Celebration of 100 Years of Cinema" is a bit of a misnomer. The reference to celebration in the title indicates that Adair has tried to present what stirs his soul and heart when it comes to movies, what makes him come alive and laugh, cry or experience whatever emotions the movies might provoke. Instead he slams the reader over the head with obtuse and insistent intellectual dissertations that can, and all too frequently do, injure the reader's potential for celebrating film with him.