My response to Nick Hornby's defense of Slumdog

I don't disagree with what Nick Hornby says in defense of Slumdog, but rather what he implies. Just as he ripped apart another reviewer's implications and supposed motives, so shall I.

Those speaking against the film are not trying to prevent the film from being loved, nor are they insulting the filmmakers nor the actors. They're simply arguing that this film does not represent the best filmmaking of this year. My arguments against both Slumdog and Juno are more targeted toward their marketing. Juno was the lovable little "indie" movie with an "indie" soundtrack, and all sorts of other "indie" things that weren't quite "indie" enough to insult anyone's precious Middle-American sensibilities. Juno the film was fine, but the way it was packaged coated it with such a thick "indie" lacquer that covered up what was, at its heart, a very conventional story.

Slumdog Millionaire was a well-filmed, well meaning film that greatly disappointed me with a lazy ending. But the marketing invites people to express their fleeting concern for people in other countries while enjoying a familiar feeling story. (Bambi+Oliver Twist+every gangster movie/romantic comedy cliche = Slumdog Millionaire) It's a nice film with easy sentiments. These easy sentiments are highly commercial and just because they aren't "a licence to print money!" doesn't mean they aren't CHEAP and HOLLOW.

We aren't saying Slumdog Millionaire is an exercise in utter studio cynicism like "Epic Movie", we are saying that the public's reason for loving the film has little to do with the actual quality of the film. I'm not a member of the exclusive "liberal intelligentsia" for thinking that, nor am I somehow a snob because I don't love everything the Academy members deign to award every year.

Just as "Slumdog Millionaire" pushed the film industry by showing that a film with an unknown foreign cast can be successful (you just have to hype it up as the best film of all time), discerning viewers can hold out until the truly independent films that were made for art's sake and not for profit's sake; films that ask difficult questions and don't supply easy answers. I'm glad that mildly unconventional films like Slumdog, Juno, Little Miss Sunshine, and Sideways have found their way to the Oscar podium, but I'm waiting for the day when we find room for Hunger, Ballast, Gomorrah, and Let the Right One In. How about a day when documentaries and animated films can be considered not part of some sub-class with no chance at the big prize regardless of their quality. Or a day in which coming from seemingly childish source material makes you somehow not serious or exigent enough.

It's the self-congratulations associated with honoring a mildly unconventional film like Slumdog that drives me crazy. Slumdog was this year's token film in a year of deeply conventional, boring picks. Rather than patting yourselves on the back for honoring a film filled with poor brown people, you should watch a couple of more movies and stop fast-tracking this year's latest biopics, weepies, and holocaust dramas to the Oscar podium.

It's not Slumdog's fault, nor Danny Boyle's, and considering this year's unbearably weak slate of nominees I didn't care that Slumdog took the Oscar home. I hate the process, and the fact that so many deserving artists are left out in the cold. And perhaps there is a tendency to direct one's anger toward the one smaller film that does get recognition. The real hatred is toward the reason such a film was accepted by the general population. Slumdog wasn't loved because of its expert handling of multiple flashbacks (see Sorry, Wrong Number to see what a mess that can become) or its lovely cinematography. It was awarded because it made the viewers feel better about themselves. And as A. R. Rahman accepted his awards for his frankly pedestrian score and song, I imagined the voters giving themselves a mental award for being so open minded. And that self-congratulatory groupthink is what made my stomach turn.