On Writing the Perfect Review December 29, 2009Posted by Richard Bolisay in Literature, Short Cuts.
Before writing the perfect review the writer undresses himself. He undresses his clothes and skin until nothing else is left. Reduced to the barest, the writer can now write the perfect review. But writing is not when the writer holds his pen and moves it; or when he taps the keyboard to write his ideas for him. All the perfect writing comes before and after the act itself, when the writer is unaware of what he is about to write, and when he is unaware of the effect of his words when they are read by his unaware reader. The writer believes that the perfect review should never base solely on intentions—he shies away from acknowledging them—for if film writing relies so much on intentions the perfect review cannot exist. The writer also believes that the perfect review is not only perfectly written; it is also perfectly rewritten. After writing the perfect review, which he is unaware he just did, the writer goes back to his life: unwriting. The perfect review is published. Only the reader can recognize the perfect review, for as much as the writer writes the perfect review every time he picks up the pen or faces the monitor, two things are clear: he can never recognize the perfect review, and he can never be the perfect writer. The perfect review and the perfect writer can never coexist.