I remember walking out of a movie theater a few years ago after watching a certain much-discussed film. A couple was walking nearby – the young man was heatedly proving to his companion that what they had just seen was a work of genius, while she grimaced and kept repeating that it was boring, pretentious nonsense. Their argument continued on the street, in the subway, and probably at home. And I thought: they are both right. And both wrong. Because they are talking about different things, even though they are using the same words.
The question of how to distinguish a good film from a bad one seems simple only at first glance. If we dive just a little deeper into it, we find ourselves in a labyrinth that humanity has been building for two and a half thousand years. Since the time of Aristotle, to be precise. His «Poetics» is the first known attempt to systematize the principles of artistic quality. And you know what is surprising? Many of his observations still work today.
Ancient Debates on Artistic Beauty in Films
Ancient Disputes About the Beautiful
The Greeks gave us not only democracy and the Olympic Games but also the eternal discussion about the nature of art. Plato was convinced that art is an imitation of an imitation, a shadow of a shadow, and therefore its value is dubious. Aristotle objected: art does not merely copy reality, it interprets it, structures it, gives form to the chaos of life. Tragedy, according to Aristotle, must evoke catharsis – purification through empathy. It has its own internal logic, its own laws of composition.
Let us fast forward to the twenty-first century. Are we not looking for the same thing in a good film? Emotional impact, internal integrity of the narrative, a meaning that transcends a simple sequence of events? Of course, we call it by other names – we speak of dramaturgy, character arcs, visual metaphors. But the essence remains the same: we are seeking a form capable of holding content in such a way that one amplifies the other.
Medieval scholastics added their own criteria for the beautiful: integritas (wholeness), consonantia (harmony), claritas (clarity). Does this sound archaic? But this is precisely what we are talking about when we discuss why one film seems like a complete work, and another like a collection of scenes. Why in one, every detail is in its place, while in the other, something constantly falls out of line.
Subjectivity vs Objectivity in Film Quality
Subjective and Objective: A False Dilemma
Here we approach the main fork in our conversation. On one side are those who assert: everything is subjective, there is no accounting for taste, to each their own. On the other are those who insist on the existence of objective quality criteria. And both sides, it seems to me, are only half right.
Yes, perception is individual. Each of us comes to the cinema hall with our own baggage of experience, memories, and cultural codes. A film about the disintegration of a family will be perceived completely differently by a person who survived their parents' divorce and by someone who grew up in a happy, complete family. A war drama will touch a veteran differently than someone who knows about war only from books. This is inevitable; it is part of human nature.
But does this mean that we cannot speak of quality at all? That «The Godfather» and a random B-movie exist on the same plane, simply because someone likes one and someone likes the other? Of course not. Even the most convinced relativist feels the difference. The question is how to articulate it.
Understanding Film Perception Levels
Levels of Perception
Let's imagine that a film can be perceived on several levels – like a multi-story building where each floor offers its own view.
The first level is sensory. We like or dislike the picture, the sound, the rhythm. This is pure pleasure or discomfort, almost physiological reactions. Here subjectivity reigns supreme. Someone loves the slow cinema of Tarkovsky, someone falls asleep to it after twenty minutes. Someone admires Almodóvar's bright color palette, someone considers it vulgar.
The second level is emotional. We empathize with the characters, experience tension, rejoice or grieve with them. There is a lot of the personal here too: our life experience determines which emotions we are capable of sharing. But something common already appears – the skill of the director and actors in creating these emotions. One may not like the specific feeling a film evokes, yet admit that it is evoked skillfully.
The third level is narrative. Here we evaluate the story: its structure, logic, character development. And here subjectivity begins to retreat. Of course, linear storytelling is closer to some, non-linear to others. But a poorly constructed plot with a sagging middle and a forced resolution is an objectively poorly constructed plot, regardless of our preferences.
The fourth level is semantic. What does the film say about the world, about the human being, about life? What ideas are embedded in it? Here again, there is much room for interpretation, but there are also criteria: depth of thought, complexity, non-obviousness. Banality is not a matter of taste, it is an objective characteristic. A film that retells commonplace truths does not become profound just because those truths are close to someone.
The fifth level is formal, artisan. Camera work, editing, sound design, acting. Here professionalism is measurable quite precisely. One can dislike the style but acknowledge the mastery. One can adore the idea of a film but see that it was shot crudely.
Time as the Ultimate Judge of Film Quality
Time as a Judge
The history of cinema gives us an interesting perspective. Films that were considered masterpieces at the moment of release sometimes fail to withstand the test of time. And some pictures, having failed at the box office or been torn apart by critics, become cult classics decades later.
Let us recall Hitchcock's «Vertigo». In 1958, the film received lukewarm reviews, and box office receipts were disappointing. Today, many critics call it the greatest film in history. What changed? Not the film itself – it remained the same. The context changed, our optics, the ability to see what was embedded initially but was not read by contemporaries.
This leads to a thought: the quality of a film is not simply the sum of audience opinions at the moment of viewing. It is something more stable that manifests over time. A good film withstands repeated viewings, reveals new facets, remains relevant even when fashion and technology change. A bad one ages quickly, becomes ridiculous, loses its power of impact.
Film Quality and Professional Consensus
The Consensus of Professionals
Is there an expert community whose opinion can be considered weightier? Critics, filmmakers, film historians – people who have dedicated their lives to studying this art. On one hand, yes. Their gaze is trained, they see more, notice subtleties inaccessible to the casual viewer. They know the history of the development of film language, understand references, catch quotes and the polemics with tradition.
But on the other hand, the professional community is not immune to group delusions, to fashion, to what the French call pensée unique – single-mindedness. There are periods when certain styles or approaches become the mainstream of critical thought, and everything that does not fit into them is ignored or rejected.
Perhaps the most reliable criterion is not the opinion of contemporaries, even experts, but a consensus tested by time. When different generations of critics, directors, and viewers, belonging to different cultures and eras, converge in their assessment – that is when one can speak of quality with confidence.
Technical Skill vs Artistic Truth in Films
Technical Mastery and Artistic Truth
An interesting paradox: a technically flawless film can be absolutely empty, while a film with obvious artisanal flaws can be stunningly powerful. How is this possible?
One recalls the early Lars von Trier and his «Dogme 95» – a manifesto that intentionally rejected technical perfection for the sake of immediacy and emotional truth. Camera on the shoulder, natural lighting, rejection of music and sets. The result is films that look «incorrect» from the point of view of classical cinema but possess incredible energy and honesty.
Does this mean that technical mastery does not matter? No, it does not mean that. But it is not valuable in itself. It is a tool for achieving a goal, not the goal itself. If the goal is to create an atmosphere of reality, presence, documentary authenticity, then an ideally polished picture might hinder this. If the goal is to immerse the viewer in a dream world, to create visual poetry, then sloppiness would be unacceptable.
A good film is when form corresponds to content, when technical solutions serve the concept rather than demonstrate themselves. A bad one is when form and content diverge, when behind a beautiful shell there is emptiness or, conversely, an interesting idea is suffocated by helpless execution.
Genre Rules and Innovation in Cinema
Genre Conventions and Overcoming Them
Every genre sets its own rules of the game. A good action movie is not the same thing as a good psychological drama. The criteria are different. In an action movie, we expect dynamics, spectacle, tension. In a drama, we expect depth of character, subtlety of feelings, semantic richness.
But there is a nuance: truly outstanding films often go beyond the bounds of genre conventions, not canceling them, but reimagining them. Ridley Scott's «Blade Runner» is a sci-fi action movie that asks philosophical questions about the nature of humanity. «The Silence of the Lambs» is a thriller achieving the depth of a psychological drama. Bong Joon-ho's «Parasite» begins as a comedy, becomes a thriller, and ends as a tragedy, all while remaining a cohesive work.
Genre mastery is the ability to give the viewer what they expect, but in a way they did not expect. A bad genre film either mechanically repeats known tropes or ignores expectations to such an extent that the viewer feels deceived.
Originality and Traditional Film Approaches
Originality and Tradition
Another false dilemma is the opposition of originality and tradition. As if a good film must be either radically innovative or faithful to classical canons.
In reality, the best films are in a dialogue with tradition. They know the history of cinema, lean on it, but at the same time say something of their own. Tarantino is a vivid example. His films are quotational through and through; this is an endless game with cinematic memory. But at the same time, they are absolutely original; you cannot confuse them with anything else.
Originality is not the absence of influences but the ability to smelt them into something new. A bad film either slavishly copies models or tries to be original for the sake of originality itself, creating something pretentious and unviable.
The Importance of Honesty in Film Expression
Honesty of Expression
There is one more criterion that is difficult to formalize, but which is felt very keenly. This is honesty. The feeling that the director really wanted to say precisely this, precisely in this way. That the film is not a calculated attempt to please the public or critics, not a commercial product made by a formula, but the result of an internal necessity.
Of course, the boundary here is shaky. Even the most commercial film can be made with soul, and the most arthouse one can be a cynical game of intellectualism. But when honesty is present, it is visible. The film begins to live its own life; a dimension appears in it that goes beyond the limits of technique and plot.
I am reminded of Bresson, the French director whose films seem to be shot from some other dimension: minimalistic, ascetic, devoid of external flashiness. But there is absolute authenticity in them. Every frame is verified not by the laws of commercial dramaturgy but by the internal logic of the author's vision.
Emotional Intelligence in Filmmaking
The Emotional Intelligence of a Film
A good film possesses what can be called emotional intelligence. It understands how human feelings work without simplifying them to primitive schemes. It does not manipulate the viewer crudely, does not push buttons: «Cry here, laugh here, fear here».
A bad film treats emotions like levers that can be pulled at will: tragic music for a tragic scene, syrupy music for a romantic one. Everything is spoon-fed, sorted on shelves; no space remains for one's own experience.
A good film trusts the viewer. It creates a situation, shows the characters, but does not dictate exactly what one needs to feel. Moreover, it can evoke complex, contradictory emotions. We can simultaneously sympathize with and condemn a character, laugh and be sad, sense beauty and horror in a single frame.
Cultural Context and Universal Appeals of Films
Cultural Context and Universality
Some films are deeply rooted in a specific culture, and for a full understanding, one needs to know the context. Others speak the language of universal human experiences. Which is better?
Neither one nor the other. These are simply different approaches. Ozu's films are impossible to fully understand without immersing oneself in Japanese culture, the system of family relations, and aesthetic principles. But at the same time, his stories about quiet sadness, the flow of time, and the gap between generations touch viewers all over the world.
A bad film is not one that is culturally specific or universal. A bad film is one that stays on the surface, does not penetrate into the essence of things, and contents itself with the clichés of its culture without trying to comprehend them.
Key Questions to Evaluate Film Quality
So How to Distinguish?
After all these reflections, we return to the initial question. And, I confess, I do not have a simple answer. Perhaps it does not exist. But there is a set of landmarks one can rely on.
Ask yourself: does the film stay with you after watching? do you want to rewatch it, to discover new details? Or does it vanish from memory as soon as the screen goes dark?
Does it evoke complex feelings or only simple, primitive reactions?
Is an authorial vision felt in it, or is it a faceless product of the film industry?
Does the form correspond to the content, or do they live separate lives?
Is there a discovery in it – however small, but real? Something that forces you to look at the world a little differently?
Perhaps the main criterion of a good film is its ability to expand our experience. Not to confirm what we already knew, but to show something new: about the human being, about the world, about cinema itself as a language. A bad film leaves us the same as we were before watching. A good one changes us imperceptibly.
And ultimately, perhaps the dispute about whether a film is good or bad is valuable in itself. Not because we will find a final answer, but because in the process of the dispute we learn to better understand art, other people, and ourselves. We learn to formulate our impressions, to search for words for the inexpressible, to penetrate the logic of another's creativity.
When that couple walked out of the movie theater arguing about what they had just seen, they were, without knowing it themselves, continuing an ancient tradition. A tradition that began in the Athenian theater, continued in Parisian salons and Roman academies, and lives today in every conversation about cinema. The tradition of seeking beauty, meaning, truth – knowing that we will never find them finally, but the path itself is beautiful.
Until our next reflection.
