Poll position: too much perspective

In Rob Reiner’s ageless, absurdly influential mockumentary This Is Spinal Tap (1984), the eponymous band pays a visit to Elvis Presley’s gravesite. Following an unsuccessful attempt to perform a rendition of ‘Heartbreak Hotel’ (“It sounds raga. You don’t want to go raga on this stuff ”), guitarist Nigel Tufnel (Christopher Guest) waxes philosophical at Presley’s resting place: “It really puts perspective on things, though, doesn’t it?” Without missing a beat, singer David St. Hubbins (Michael McKean) shoots back: “Too much! There’s too much fucking perspective now!”

That phrase – “too much fucking perspective” – came to mind repeatedly as I tried to settle on one compelling angle for this column about the forthcoming Sight and Sound Greatest Films of All Time poll. Where to begin on such a slippery, subjective topic? I thought of writing about the inherent absurdity of best-of lists, beginning with my first encounter with one. I was 12 and was led to believe by the ‘100 Greatest Albums in the Universe’ edition of the music mag Q (February 1998) that K, the 1996 debut by neo-raga Britpop mountebanks Kula Shaker, was the 44th greatest album in the universe, some 44 places above Stevie Wonder’s Songs in the Key of Life (1976), which languished in 88th spot.

But hang on. That seemed too easy. Many of these polls – S&S’s Greatest Films included – are significant. They set agendas, privilege some voices over others and influence what gets programmed, taught, written about, respected. Can something be just a bit of fun if it ultimately reinforces the status quo? If a young person stumbles on an authoritative-looking best-of list from an august publication at a formative time in their life and the list asserts that, with a few exceptions, only works by white men are significant, can we laugh it off? (Probably, if it’s by Kula Shaker, but you see where I’m coming from.)

None of these questions are new, of course, and in my career as a critic and programmer to date, I’ve done my best to consciously engage with issues of canonisation and (e)quality. In 2017, while working as director of film programming at the Brooklyn Academy of Music, I launched a monthly double-bill series entitled Beyond the Canon; its aim was to investigate, challenge and spark conversation around how traditional histories of cinema – awards, academic recognition, films deemed worthy of ‘serious’ discussion, best-of lists – have tended to skew toward lionising the contribution of the white male auteur while overshadowing other groups.

In each edition of Beyond the Canon, the second film to screen was an established, well-known classic, more than likely directed by a white man. It was preceded by a stylistically or thematically simpatico film by a filmmaker from an oft-marginalised demographic: women, people of colour, queer people and intersections thereof.

Some of my favourite double bills included Charlie Chaplin’s The Kid (1921) alongside Charles Lane’s gorgeous Sidewalk Stories (1989); John Ford’s The Searchers (1956) paired with Zacharias Kunuk and Natar Ungalaaq’s ingenious Inuit reimagining of Ford’s film, Maliglutit (2016); Charles Laughton’s The Night of the Hunter (1955) with Body and Soul (1925), the staggering silent film from Black indie trailblazer Oscar Micheaux, starring the great Paul Robeson; and Martin Scorsese’s Raging Bull (1980), preceded by Karyn Kusama’s thumping debut Girlfight (2000).

When I introduced these programmes to our audience, I stressed that there was no slight intended on the canonical titles. They were great films crafted by skilled filmmakers and have unquestionably been formative in our – in my – film education: that’s why we were screening them and also why the series was not called ‘Destroy the Canon’ (even though that impulse can be mightily tempting at times, particularly when whiteness presents itself as the benign, neutral default).

My hope for the 2022 poll is that the results reflect some of this ‘both/and’ sensibility, and that the old standards are joined by plentiful new voices. In fairness to S&S, it has made strides to broaden the poll’s horizons, albeit with mixed results. The 2002 critics’ poll was based on just 145 lists, whereas the 2012 list was based on 846. As then-editor Nick James observed, “We had hopes that some 21st-century films might break into top-flight contention, but not so. Instead, what we have achieved is a consensus on what represents ‘great cinema’ that now has a greater force of numbers behind it.” Will an even broader roster of contributors lead to an influx of new filmmakers and styles? Or will the weight of history dictate the curious maintenance of consensus on not just the films, but which are the best films by particular filmmakers?

I’m fascinated to see how the poll reflects some of the past decade’s developments. Does an accelerated rate of media consumption and online discourse mean that films assume classic status more speedily? Will we see Get Out? Moonlight? The Act of Killing? Toni Erdmann? Parasite? Anything from Netflix? How will Gen Z Letterboxd listomania-cinephilia map on to this print tradition – if at all? How will the ever-evolving debates around what a film even is be represented? Will we see votes for TikToks? Conner O’Malley’s manic-satirical videos? Surely Twin Peaks: The Return (2017) will resurface to ruffle feathers. Have we discussed this before? What year is this? Whatever happens, I’ll look forward to my favourite parts of the whole affair: passionate advocacy, and scouring lists for recommendations and hidden gems. After all, it’s these contributions that offer the most valuable perspective on things – just the right amount of fucking perspective.