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Dan Carlson
Los Angeles, California

I'm a twentysomething white male with ambitions to be a professional film critic and generally spend my days getting paid to watch movies and write about it. A compulsive reader and stubborn cineaste, I take an often contrary stance to my more fundamentalist peers and upbringing by celebrating the pursuit of the good, and the Good, in life, love, art and film. If you watched enough episodes of certain TV shows — for starters, "The Hungry and the Hunted," "The Cut Man Cometh," "The Body," "The Zeppo," "Waiting in the Wings," "Out of Gas," "April Is the Cruelest Month," "20 Hours in America," "Colonial Day," "An Echolls Family Christmas," "Look Who's Stalking," "The Garage Door," "Charlie Gets Crippled," "Wind Sprints," and "Corner Boys" — you would understand me completely, and you'd also realize that much of my worldview and philosophical insights are heavily influenced by fictional works/programs, and many of the good things I've said in my life are just a regurgitation of someone else's imaginings, or at any rate a heartfelt attempt to interpret them. I guess I was made to be a film critic.

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March 31, 2007

Review: The Lookout

By Dan Carlson

I have to say, I've already gotten some great comments on this one. Pretty much everyone seems to disagree with my take on the film, but my favorite commenter (so far, anyway) has to be Daisy, who said:

"Yet, this review is completely skewed by what seems to be a little too much knowledge regarding the writer and directors' previous work."

The end of her comment is difficult to parse, but I love — love — the idea that someone thought my review was skewed by being too knowledgeable about film in general and specifically the writer-director's previous efforts. Apparently I did too much homework; I thought too much; I analyzed too much; I examined the film in the context of the artist's collective works too much. How awesome is that? I had no idea I could try too hard. Sometimes you people are just fantastic. Seriously, don't ever change. If it weren't for the absolute wingnuts out there, this wouldn't be half as fun.

Anyway: Clickety-click.

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Remembering speechlessly we seek the great forgotten language, the lost lane-end into heaven, a stone, a leaf, an unfound door. Where? When?

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