The Tyranny of the Tomatometer
We live in an age of instant consensus, where a film’s worth is often boiled down to a single number. Before the opening credits roll, we’re conditioned to check the score on sites like Rotten Tomatoes. A high rating gives us permission to enjoy something,
while a low or “rotten” score encourages us to dismiss it, or even hate-watch it. This system, while convenient, has a flattening effect on film discussion. It turns a deeply personal, subjective experience into a binary choice: fresh or rotten, good or bad, masterpiece or failure. Nuance is the first casualty. A film might have a clunky script but a performance that moves you to tears. It might be a technical mess but contain a sequence of pure, unadulterated fun that makes the ticket price worth it. The score doesn't tell you that. It tells you what the majority of a select group of people thought, reducing hundreds of reviews into a simple pass/fail grade that was never meant to be the final word on art.
Critics and Audiences Watch Differently
The divide between critics and audiences is a feature, not a bug, of the film world. This summer, several big movies have seen a wide gap between their critical reception and audience scores. Critics are paid to analyze. They watch movies as a job, comparing them to the vast history of cinema, dissecting their structure, and evaluating their craft. They might penalize a film for using familiar tropes or for having a plot that feels more like a TV episode than a cinematic event. An audience, on the other hand, is there for the experience. We come to movies for escape, for thrills, for comfort, or to see characters we love on the biggest screen possible. A movie that a critic dismisses as “formulaic” might be exactly the kind of satisfying, predictable comfort food a viewer is looking for after a long week. A critic might see a logical flaw, while an audience member sees a moment of heroic sacrifice that makes them cheer. Neither perspective is inherently wrong; they just have different priorities.
In Defense of 'Dumb Fun'
Let’s be honest: some of the most enjoyable movies are the ones that don’t ask for much more than your attention for two hours. They are the cinematic equivalent of a great burger—not fine dining, but deeply satisfying. Yet in today's discourse, we're almost made to feel guilty for enjoying something that isn't a 95% Certified Fresh masterpiece. Maybe you loved a sci-fi action flick this summer because the visual effects were spectacular and it was a blast to watch with a crowd, even if critics called it a “messy endeavor.” Perhaps a superhero film got a middling critical score, but you connected with the lead's charismatic performance and found the story genuinely moving. This personal connection is the magic of movies. It’s a chemical reaction between the art and the individual. It’s a film finding you at the right time in your life, reflecting a feeling you couldn’t articulate, or simply providing a joyful escape from reality. That experience is valid, regardless of whether the film will be nominated for an Oscar.
Stop Apologizing for What You Love
The term “guilty pleasure” needs to be retired. Why should there be any guilt in pleasure, especially when it comes to something as harmless as a movie? You don't need to preface your enjoyment with an apology like, “I know it’s bad, but I loved it.” Owning your taste is an act of quiet rebellion against the consensus machine. It’s a recognition that your emotional response to a piece of art is more important than what a website, a critic, or a snarky tweet tells you to think. Film is not a competition. There is no prize for having the most critically-approved Letterboxd diary. The only thing that matters is what a movie does for you. So if you found beauty in that blockbuster everyone else called a mess, or if a movie with a 45% score made you laugh until you cried, don’t let anyone make you feel like you saw it wrong. You didn't. You saw it exactly right.
