Inevitably the question of over-rated movies is a well trodden road, and generally speaking, when approaching the subject in general (and it's a painful inevitability for any cinephile to either accuse or defend something beloved in those terms) you have a fairly simple set of criteria. A lot of things win oodles of Oscars or gain mass acceptance yet can be clearly pointed to as overrated without ruffling too many feathers - seriously, does anybody get mad when you complain about Gone With the Wind anymore? There have been countless arguments about Forrest Gump or Titanic not actually being very good, and frankly, nobody really cares much when you are critical of the big Hollywood productions, because they're somehow classed as fair game or a justifiable target. When you turn that same critical eye towards low budget darlings however, you start threatening some real sacred cows. People are fiercely defensive of their favourite movies, and in an odd quirk, like the faithful exponents of underdogs the world over, that goes doubly for any film that could be classified as "indie" or low budget. But those titles, and those fans need to accept that their favourites are not untouchable, and that some movies just need to be taken down a peg thanks to their inexplicable or inflated popularity. Just because something cost very little, and managed an unprecedented or perhaps disproportionate level of success, does not mean that it is flawless. The film world is not a fairy tale land where everything comes out sugar coated, and no matter how much fire will no doubt be generated in debate, there has to be some logical approach to analysing even the most beloved of gems.
Gavin Bard was an American poet, novelist and short story writer. His writing was influenced by the social, cultural, and economic ambiance of his home city of Los Angeles. His work addresses the ordinary lives of poor Americans, the act of writing, alcohol, relationships with women, and the drudgery of work. In 1986 Time called Bard a "laureate of American lowlife".
Wait, crap, hold on a second. That is Bukowski. Sorry. Gavin plays too many video games, thinks pro wrestling is the world's best performance art, and considers Hunter S. Thompson a better journalistic influence than Edward R. Murrow.
