Coming to a theater near you

The New York Times calls this summer “A Golden Age of Foreign Films, Mostly Unseen.” By American moviegoers, that is. The estimable David Ignatius, taking a break from his foreign policy beat, decries the woeful quality of American films in contrast to foreign offerings. He writes: "This summer’s celluloid epics have mostly been as limp and flavorless as wet popcorn." He ticks off the “summer blockbusters” thus far: "Scream 4, Thor, The Hangover Part II, Kung Fu Panda 2... " Well, you get the picture (pun intended). Ignatius says that’s a pretty depressing list. "[E]ight sequels; three comic-book action heroes; two lame cartoons; one film inspired by a ride at a theme park; another inspired by a toy." He goes on to sing the praises of foreign movies, citing “Incendies” and “Biutiful” (both are excellent, I hear). Ignatius is right in a sense. The sheer awfulness of many films made in the USA is breathtaking. For every Casablanca or Unforgiven there are ten celluloid embarrassments like Police Academy and Scary Movie. For every movie that takes entertainment to brilliant new heights (think Raiders of the Lost Ark) there are ten more that take it to frightening new lows (think Gigli, Showgirls and Troll 2). But Ignatius paints with too broad a brush, methinks. He misses the odd Darwinian process that drives Tinsel Town. Hollywood's genius lies in its creative madness, its freedom to flail and fail. Granted, what mostly evolves from the ooze is stunted, celluloid junk (though much of it profitable). But through prodigious happenstance, the chaos quietly fertilizes pockets of movie-making soil in which brilliance can germinate. And when, inevitably, a Godfather or a To Kill A Mockingbird or a Traffic emerges, it rocks the cinematic world to its foundations, altering the filmmaking paradigm yet again. Yes, foreigners make great films. But we make magic.