Now, with the recent passing of Manny Farber at age 91, this is definitely no country for old film critics. Farber was the Moses leading his film flock to the promised land of critical evaluation — a land that has now vanished into the pop haze like Brigadoon. Writing for a wide collection of magazines in the 40s and 50s — The New Republic, The Nation, Artforum — Farber was the ultimate stylist, funny, concise, with sentence construction that whipped the reader around like the Coney Island Cyclone. Well before Andrew Sarris hoisted the politique des Auteurs banner across the Atlantic, Farber praised the ignored and scorned low-rent B films and action confections of Hawks, Fuller, Lewton, and hailed the subversion of Chuck Jones. Farber was an artist of the convergent phrase (”flash point vitality” “caterpillar intimacy” “second gear celluloid” come to mind) that hit your brain like an adrenaline shot. But don’t take my word for it. Check out essays like “Underground Films” or “White Elephant Art vs. Termite Art” or, what the hell, dig up Farber’s collection Negative Space and see why there is more to life than the User Comments on IMDB.

Manny Farber mulling the state of the art