“It stinks!”
These words, ringing out in Jon Lovitz’s nasal voice, won’t mean much to most millennials. Many were too young to have seen it or too distracted by all the other fabulous cartoon offerings of the ’90s (including The Critic’s network buddy The Simpsons). But those of us who recognize the catchphrase of Jay Sherman, everyone’s favorite lovably squat and balding film critic, feel a twinge of nostalgia at its utterance.
The Jay Sherman brand of film critic hardly exists anymore in the age of YouTube commentary and online traffic goals. He even had his own TV show, Siskel and Ebert–style (with no shortage of jokes about those two), which today seems crazy. But if you watch The Critic, there is something downright charming about Jay’s unabashed honesty. Its 23 episodes inspire enough nostalgia for its creator (and current Simpsons scribe) Al Jean to tease at bringing it back. The show’s hero is a misfit in his own family, nebbish, awkward, and constantly aware of how little he has in common with his blue-blooded, wacky parents and cute, thinner sister. As a single dad to an equally geeky son, Jay tries his best and, sure, he holds some bitterness, but he directs it all at those in power already.
The great thing about Jay’s form of critique is that he has an objective standard of quality, a sense of conviction that he honors for the integrity of his beliefs, even at the expense of his personal happiness and possible sexual pleasure.
In the pilot, when a smoldering actress seduces him and later delivers a sub-par performance in her film, he offers his real opinion, knowing she will leave him. Jay always looks out for the viewer, even when it may seem like just an excuse for him to snark. He almost always punches up — his targets famous and beautiful actors, directors revered by masses, and production companies with bloated budgets and a thirst for more money from more sequels.
To be a creator or even an actor now is to wonder whether consumers will lambast your project, crucify you digitally, and scare you off social media.
Some of his snobbish assessments may come from the fact that his own television studio is the only place he has control. Unable to successfully manage his relationship with his ex-wife, his son or his family, he can judge forcefully and assertively on his show, Coming Attractions, the only place his opinion is taken seriously. It’s a core conceit of the show. If The Critic were revived: Would Jay be thrown to the streets of Film Twitter?
When we discuss pop culture today, the voices we listen to aren’t so much the critics, but the fans. For better or worse, anyone can create a YouTube channel, review their favorite media on their Vine account, or chime in on any fan forum and express their displeasure or approval at the touch of a button. (Anyone can create a cartoon site just like this one using Medium.)
Some point out that fans often flock together to save a show when they sense flagging interest or low ratings, and many fans rush to support the creators and participants in their most beloved projects. Other recent, so-called “fan” reactions to the all-female remake of Ghostbusters, including next-level cruel harassment of its only black cast member Leslie Jones, revealed how much entitlement, misogyny, and a rather misplaced sense of rage can infect certain factions of the fandoms. To be a creator or even an actor now is to wonder whether consumers will lambast your project, crucify you digitally, and scare you off social media.
Oddly enough, one episode of The Critic addresses how mob mentality plays a huge role in that entitlement, and reveal its ugly side. The episode “A Pig Boy and His Dog” revolves around Jay’s mother writing a series of picture books inspired by his life, calling his character the “Fat Little Pig.” She steals his story and it becomes a huge hit, curing her of her ennui and making her famous in the process. Fans can’t get enough of the Fat Little Pig. At one of his mother’s book events, Jay protests, insisting that these are his stories and they are laughing at him. One man in the crowd shouts out, “Get him for showing us the truth about ourselves!” The crowd roars with approval at this command…
All of which feels uncomfortably similar to the entitlement, anger and denial inherent in the digital piling on we have seen in recent months. When Eleanor Wigglesworth Sherman realizes how much she has hurt her only son, she kills off the character, ends the series to the fans’ disappointment, and puts the whole thing to bed. When asked why she did it, she says, “Because it was hurting someone I love.”
Even if it did feature Jay Sherman, it’d be hard to imagine a show about the digital mobs of 2016 filled with such empathy. A little more of it wouldn’t stink at all.
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