This past year I’ve been doing episode reviews for the currently in-production Star Trek series. And
that’s been fun, because writing a review of a TV episode, or a movie, is different
than writing a video essay exploring a particular question or presenting a specific thesis, which is
the kind of thing I do in my Trek Actually series and my other video essays. It’s another format, it
works other muscles, and it feels good to be doing that after not doing it regularly for a while.
And just recently, I got a comment from a viewer that was very nice, but that also got
me to thinking about some things that I’ve thought about a lot in the past, that I’ve talked about
from time to time in previous videos, and that I’m gonna talk about now for a little bit.
In the comment to which I’m referring, this viewer said that they enjoy watching my
Star Trek reviews because, unlike other reviewers they’ve watched in the past, I
am objective. It was intended as a compliment, and I take it as one, and I very much appreciate it.
But, here’s the thing:
I’m not objective. And, actually, neither is any other critic. And that’s okay.
Criticism, whether it’s of movies, TV shows, literature, stage productions,
fine art, food, whatever, is always necessarily subjective. It’s the opinion of the critic.
When you strip it down to its essence, a critic’s job is to experience the thing — watch the movie,
read the book, eat at the restaurant, whatever — and then articulate their
thoughts and feelings about that thing in a way that their audience can understand.
Depending on where that review is published and who the intended audience is,
a critic might use some specialized vocabulary, might refer to some complex concepts that a
general audience might not be familiar with. But regardless of the audience, regardless
of the approach, it always boils down to the critic’s opinion.
And again, I don’t say that to diminish the value of what critics do — or the potential value,
at least. I say it because that’s just the way it is. We all see the world through our own eyes. We
can learn about the experiences of others. We can empathize. But we can only ever actually have our
own experiences. True objectivity is unattainable, and criticism is no exception to that rule.
Consequently, there’s no such thing as an objectively good or an objectively bad piece
of art. Earlier this year I reviewed season two of Star Trek: Picard. I watched and reviewed every
episode, as it was released. I didn’t like it. I didn’t think it was very good. I found all sorts
of problems with it — serious, often baffling problems, problems that resulted from writing
that was sloppy, lazy, unfocused, and flawed at the level of basic storytelling mechanics.
And I can go into great detail about all of that, but I’m not going to do that here. The point is,
even though I can articulate why I think the season was bad in great detail, with specific
examples, it’s still ultimately my opinion. It’s subjective. The fact that I think season two of
Star Trek: Picard is very bad, and can explain why I think that beyond just saying it sucks, doesn’t
make it objectively bad. “Star Trek: Picard season two is bad” is my opinion, not a fact.
There are people who disagree with me. There are people — and
I do take them at their word, I don’t assume they’re bots or paid shills or whatever — who
genuinely believe that the second season of Star Trek: Picard was terrific.
I could not disagree more. That was not my experience watching that show at all,
not even remotely. But, my experience is no more valid than theirs. If they think the show was
great, that doesn’t mean they’re wrong and I’m right — it means we have differing opinions.
I’ve brought this up before here and there, and sometimes
I’ll get some pushback from folks who argue that, actually, there is such a thing as an
objectively good or an objectively bad piece of art, because when we judge the quality of,
say, an episode of a TV show, we appeal to certain widely agreed upon principles.
And I don’t disagree with that last bit — there are widely
agreed upon principles which guide critics — most critics, anyway — in
crafting reviews. But, that doesn’t make those reviews objective.
Generally speaking, qualities like internal consistency, a well paced plot that moves fast
enough to keep us interested but not so fast that important beats don’t have time to land
and have impact, and characters who are clearly drawn and behave in ways that make sense for them,
are regarded as hallmarks of a good, well told story. But even if there was universal agreement
that these qualities must be present for an episode of a TV show to be considered good — and
there isn’t actually universal agreement about that, but even if there was — that
still wouldn’t mean we could say that a given episode is objectively good or objectively bad.
Even if we all agreed that those things I just mentioned should be the standards for what is
a good episode, we would still be choosing, as individuals, to accept those standards.
We would be making the subjective judgment that, yes, internal consistency is necessary for a
good episode. It doesn’t have to be that way. There’s nothing compelling us to regard internal
consistency, or any other quality that an episode might have, as necessary for it to be good.
But, it goes beyond that — even after we accept those standards, they still have to be interpreted
— subjectively — by each of us. For example, while I agree that internal consistency is important,
I weigh it differently depending on the scale at which I’m applying the standard. I think it’s
very important within a single episode, or single storyline if that storyline is told across
multiple episodes. I think it’s slightly less important across an entire multi-season series,
although still pretty important. And I think it’s much less important on the scale
of a decades-long, multi-series, multi-film franchise like Star Trek.
That’s me — that’s how I feel about it. Nobody else has to feel that way about
it. Lots of people feel differently — some are absolute sticklers for internal consistency and
rebel at the slightest contradiction, others care even less about it than I do. Nobody’s right,
nobody’s wrong, it’s a matter of taste and personal opinion.
Notice that I didn’t say it’s a matter of personal choice.
It’s not a matter of choice. Deep Space Nine isn’t my favorite Star Trek show because I
consciously chose it to be. It’s my favorite because it resonates with me the strongest,
because I appreciate its writing and acting and other qualities the most, because I find myself
more deeply invested in its characters and their stories than in those of other projects within the
Star Trek franchise. None of those reactions are actually within my conscious control.
That doesn’t make them objective — taste is subjective. That’s why we mean something very
different when we say that something is “a matter of taste” than we do when we say it’s
“a matter of fact.” Our individual tastes are shaped by all sorts of things in our experience,
and while we don’t have the power to just instantaneously change them at will,
they are still the products of our experiences — they are still subjective.
Often, when someone says that someone else is objective, they aren’t being that
literal. What they mean to say is that the person they’re describing is unbiased. But even that goes
too far — I’m definitely not unbiased, not as a critic, and not as an overall human being.
Like every other human being, I carry around countless biases, biases that influence how
I perceive and interpret my experiences, biases that, for the most part, I’m not even aware of.
What I think most people mean when they compliment someone by calling
them objective — and what I think the person who left the comment that started me off on
this subject probably meant — is that the person they’re describing is not so hopelessly biased
that their opinions are rendered unthoughtful. Like I said, I have biases. Most of my biases
I’m probably not even aware of, but I do make some effort to correct for the ones I am aware of.
For example, if a TV show or a movie features an actor I generally don’t like, I try not to
let my bias against that performer have an undue influence on my opinion of the work as a whole.
Like I mentioned earlier, this isn’t entirely in my control,
but I’ve found that being aware of my biases helps me to keep an open mind. And sometimes, if I keep
an open mind long enough, I discover that my bias was unfounded, and I’m able to get past it.
I used to have a pretty strong bias against George Clooney — as an actor — as a person he’s
always seemed like a good guy, so far as I can tell. I didn’t like his acting style, I didn’t
like the shows and films he was in. I saw an ad for something with George Clooney in it and my
reflexive reaction was negative. But then, I saw the film Three Kings — a great movie, and Clooney
gives a good performance in it — and from that point on, gradually, my feelings about Clooney
as an actor began to change. Now, over twenty years after I saw Three Kings for the first time,
I’ve gone from thinking George Clooney was a bad actor to thinking he’s a pretty damn good actor.
Now, that’s not all because of me — as he matured, and became a bigger star with greater influence
over his own career, Clooney began to choose more interesting films to star in — he stopped making
shitty Batman movies and run-of-the-mill political thrillers, started working with
brilliant directors like Steven Soderbergh and the Coen brothers, and began directing his own films,
some of which, like Good Night and Good Luck, and The Midnight Sky,
have been really outstanding. But, if I had held onto my bias against Clooney,
I might not have even seen a lot of those movies, and my opinion of him would be unchanged.
Not that it would matter to anyone but me — but,
had that bias remained in place, and had I continued to allow it to influence my choices,
I would have missed out on some good movies over the years. And, I’m glad I didn’t.
All of this is a very long-winded way of saying that, while I am truly humbled by the compliment,
I can’t accept it, because I’m not objective, and neither is anyone else, and that’s okay. I don’t
think objectivity — or perceived objectivity — is the most important quality for a critic to
have anyway. The two most important things a critic can be are humble, and honest.
Being humble just means that you recognize and accept that your opinion is just that — your
opinion, not law. You can say shit like “The Last Jedi is objectively awful” all you want.
Doesn’t make it a fact, just makes you sound like a pompous, overbearing dipshit.
Being honest as a critic means that you mean what you say, that you offer your opinions,
your reactions without exaggeration, without apology, truthfully and thoughtfully.
As I’ve reviewed the new episodes of the various Star Trek shows this year, I’ve liked some and
I’ve not liked others. My overall assessment of season two of Star Trek: Picard was that
it’s not very good. My overall assessment of Star Trek: Strange New Worlds so far has been just the
opposite — I’ve found it outstanding. My feelings regarding season four of Star Trek: Discovery were
more mixed — some of it I liked very much, some of it didn’t really work for me. But, no matter what
thoughts and feelings I’m expressing in a review, people who watch it can be assured that they are
truly my thoughts and feelings. I’m not acting as a shill for the shows I’m reviewing, and I’m not
rooting for their destruction, either. I’m not objective, I’m not unbiased, but I am sincere.
So, if you’re a critic and you like something, tell your audience why you like it,
what you like about it, articulately and truthfully. Don’t be a cheerleader — it’s
not a critic’s job to sell the thing they’re reviewing, or to make excuses for it.
If you don’t like something, same deal: be truthful about what you don’t like,
and why. Don’t be a hater. Don’t trade in performative
outrage — it’s not a critic’s job to vilify the thing they’re reviewing,
either. Be direct, be passionate, but don’t be false, and don’t be toxic.
A good critic is someone who shares their opinion of a piece of art, so that those in their audience
can decide whether or not to experience it for themselves. We read, or watch, or listen
to critics because their tastes often line up with our own, or because they’re good writers
or compelling presenters who have interesting and insightful things to say. They help us to
consider and articulate our own opinions, and to better understand contrary opinions. Their
opinions aren’t any more valid than anyone else’s, but they can be useful voices in our ongoing
cultural conversation about the art that we make, and experience, and use to define ourselves.
None of that happens if we can’t trust our critics to be humble, to accept
that they are not authorities, but voices in a conversation; and honest, to mean what they say.
If you’re a critic, try to be a good one. If you read, or watch, or listen to critics,
pay attention to the good ones, and ignore the bad ones, the ones who want to sell you something,
the ones who only tell you what they think you want to hear, the ones who try to bullshit you.
The internet — and traditional media, too, honestly — is full of lousy critics,
and life is just too damn short to waste time paying attention to them.
That’s my opinion, anyway.