Special Guest Post: McCabe, Mrs. Miller and Handling Criticism

The “Perfect” Movie
McCabe & Mrs. Miller is among my favorite movies of all time. I think it’s better than any of the other revisionist westerns of the early 70s. I love the way Robert Altman allows dialog to overlap. I think the Leonard Cohen soundtrack is perfect. I can’t think of anything else Warren Beatty has done to compare to McCabe and Doctor Zhivago is the only reason I can’t say the same thing about Julie Christie.

I’m not alone.

Roger Ebert considers McCabe & Mrs. Miller a perfect movie. It scores an impressive 89% freshness rating at Rotten Tomatoes. Charles Taylor’s review of the 1971 film at Salon is typical of the critical response. The experts absolutely love the tale of McCabe’s travails in Presbyterian Church:

For me, “McCabe & Mrs. Miller” is the standard for a sort of emotional purity, a movie whose feeling permeates you without ever once forcing a thing. Emerging from it, I always feel like the town drunk who attempts a jig on the ice in one scene: drugged, unsure of my footing, as if one step would send the whole enterprise crashing to the ground. I try to clutch the images to me even as they seem to evaporate like smoke. Like all things that are beautiful and unalterably sad, “McCabe & Mrs. Miller,” by its final scene — the hired guns tracking McCabe through a quiet, persistent blizzard — achieves a deep sense of peace. Your heart is breaking, but you can’t help being struck by the loveliness of the snow that, like Joyce’s, settles over all the living and the dead.

It’s an outright, no-doubt-about-it, inarguable classic.

Maybe.

Pretentious and Obvious?

Vincent Canby reviewed McCabe & Mrs. Miller for the New York Times in 1971. He wasn’t impressed. He saw a pretentious movie with an ill-fitting soundtrack that insulted the essential dignity of its lead characters with its ham-fisted efforts to load the western with contemporary allusions.

The review is too polite to be considered scathing, but it certainly didn’t encourage anyone to purchase a ticket. To Canby, the best part of McCabe was its depiction of weather, a nice change of pace for NYT reviewers who spend too much time in air-conditioned offices.

I don’t think anything happened between Canby’s assessment of the movie’s “tired symbolism” and Taylor’s willingness to put it on par with Joyce. It’s the same movie. We’re basically the same people.

Differences of Opinion and Taking Sides

Somewhere, there’s a person who went to see The Abominable Dr. Phibes instead of McCabe and Miller on the basis of Canby’s review. He trusted in Canby’s criticism and sought an alternative to a “perfect movie” to serve as an excuse for popcorn munching.

One of you might read this and click right on over to Netflix to add McCabe to your queue. You may find it annoying, bleak, obvious and a perfect example of what happens when someone takes himself or herself too seriously.

I think the Ebert/Taylor/Brackney perspective is wholly accurate but, as Canby reveals, there’s room for disagreement.

The lesson of the dueling reviews of McCabe and Mrs. Miller isn’t unique to that movie, obviously. It’s true of books that are beloved by some literary critics and reviled by others. It’s true of the work of well-known artists. Debates rage over architecture, music, food and poetry.

It’s easy to fall into one group or the other in these arguments. Bukowski was a genius. Bukowski was a lout. Gates BBQ has the world’s greatest ribs. They’re too salty. Tastes great. Less filling. We stake out our position and defend it. That’s human nature.

The desire to embrace and defend one perspective over the other intensifies when the criticism comes home.

When You Get a “Thumbs Down”

As a writer, you probably think you’re at least reasonably talented. You take pride in your work. You don’t vomit out garbage, you create quality pieces. When someone comes back at you with a critique–whether it’s a mean-spirited attack or a subtle suggestion for change, your reflex is to fend off the attack and to support your material. After all, you’re not just defending a forty year-old Altman movie. Those are your words. Your sweat. Your thoughts.

Unfortunately, a blind defense of our favorites stymies our own progress and development. An unwillingness to consider the merits of a critique leaves us stuck in the same place. As writers, we’d all like to improve and to grow. We can’t do that when we ignore (or blindly attack) criticism.

This is why all writers need to develop an ability to step away from their personal connection to their work. They need to accept criticism. Acceptance doesn’t imply agreement. Instead, it’s a matter of recognizing the room for differences in perspective and the willingness to sincerely assess and consider critiques without engaging in knee-jerk backlash.

You’ll never become an objective evaluator of your own work. It’s too close to you. It’s from you. Nor do you want to fall into the stereotype of being your “own worst critic”. Being too tough on yourself and your work can choke you.

Canby was Right (Somewhat)

You do need to realize that the client who doesn’t like your word choices may have a point. You need to understand that your essay may suffer from a moment of faulty logic.

I think this post is halfway decent. You might think it’s long on appreciation for McCabe & Mrs. Miller and short on substance. You may have a point. You might think it’s too long for a blog. If you raised those issues–or any others–I’d listen. I might not agree, but I’d listen. And I’d listen seriously. If you had a strong argument, I’d take it to heart. I’d learn from it.

They say you can’t take criticism personally. That’s silly. It’s always personal. Those are your words and your ideas. They’re an extension of you. Only a robot could completely divorce itself from the process of creation. But taking criticism personally doesn’t mean lashing out against it, ignoring it or attacking those who bring the negative message.

It’s merely a willingness to concede your humanity and fallibility. There’s no shame in being on the receiving end of criticism. It happens to the very best and to the very worst. It’s inevitable. Even the flick that has a freshness rating of 89% has 11% of the critic pool tossing tomatoes at the screen.

I like McCabe & Mrs. Miller. I don’t agree with Canby’s review. At the same time, I understand his arguments. I have no choice but to concede some of them. Ebert may consider McCabe a perfect movie, but, when push comes to shove, there’s room for improvement.

There’s always room for improvement. That’s true whether you’re making movies or writing articles. One way to move forward is by accepting the inevitability of imperfection and criticism–and using it to your advantage instead of using it as a provocation to backlash.

This is just a guess, but I think it’s a smart one. Robert Altman didn’t go from making industrial documentaries to making McCabe & Mrs. Miller because he ignored or attacked his critics. Somewhere between Kansas City and Hollywood, he paid attention to the criticism–even if he didn’t like it.

I had a once in a lifetime opportunity recently. Being a 2010 WordCount Blogathon member meant I could schmooze with the best of them. That includes writer friends that I truly admire. I’ve been a big fan of Carson Brackney’s since I caught his regular post on Freelance Writing Gigs awhile back. Can you imagine my excitement when he agreed to swap guest posts with me? Yep, I was pretty dumbfounded. I’m sure you’ve already heard of this writing whiz, but in case you didn’t. He’s a marketing master, creative copywriter, and web content whiz. Thanks so much Carson for visiting! Visit Carson at his super savvy website. He’s not only super talented, but super nice.