2.2.5: Everyone’s a Critic (and a Writer)

The best films use genre to push boundaries, to subvert expectations, to surprise us.

Cinema plays many roles in our lives. It entertains us. It provokes us. It inspires us. And whether we realize it or not, it shapes how we think about the world.

Watching a movie isn’t passive. It’s a conversation—a back-and-forth between the filmmaker and the audience. Every scene, every shot, every moment asks us a question: “What does this mean to you?”

This chapter is about answering those questions. It’s about understanding film not just as entertainment, but as a craft. We’ll explore genre, narrative tools, and the role of personal taste. Because here’s the truth:

You don’t have to like a movie to learn from it.

Taste vs. Quality

Let’s get something straight: a “good” movie and a “movie you like” aren’t the same thing.

Maybe you’ve watched Citizen Kane. You know it’s a masterpiece. You’ve read the essays. You’ve seen the praise. And yet… it doesn’t do much for you. That’s fine. It’s better than fine.

Or maybe you’ve watched Twilight. It’s cheesy. It’s clunky. Critics tore it apart. And yet… you love it. The characters pull you in. The story sticks with you. You’ve rewatched it more times than you can count.

Guess what? That’s fine too.

Cinema is subjective. What matters isn’t whether everyone agrees something is “good.” What matters is what you take away from it. Sometimes, guilty pleasures are the best teachers. You don’t have to defend them. You just have to ask yourself: why does this work for me?

Here’s another truth: you don’t have to like a movie to learn from it either. A film can leave you cold and still teach you volumes about theme, structure, or craft. It might fail in ways that help you understand how to succeed. That’s the power of criticism—it’s about discovery, not dismissal.

Why Genre Matters

So, where does genre come in?

Think of genre as a roadmap. It tells you what to expect. It tells you what’s possible. Horror, comedy, science fiction, drama—each genre sets rules and opens doors. For filmmakers, genre is a tool. For audiences, it’s a way to find what resonates.

But genre isn’t a cage. It’s a framework. The best films use genre to push boundaries, to subvert expectations, to surprise us.

To better understand how genre informs a movie’s identity, let’s examine how Tokyo is represented across a selection of films and their genres:

Jidaigeki (Period Drama)
13 Assassins (Takashi Miike)
The Seven Samurai (Akira Kurosawa)
Kubi (Takeshi Kitano)
Samurai-centered narratives set in feudal Japan, driven by political betrayal, loyalty, and moral compromise. Violence is ritualized, loyalty is fluid, and death is currency in a collapsing social order.

Science Fiction
Akira (Katsuhiro Ôtomo)
Godzilla Minus One (Takashi Yamazaki)
Akira is dystopian cyberpunk, a vision of post-industrial collapse and unchecked psychic power. Godzilla Minus One, while set in 1940s Japan, functions as historical sci-fi—the kaiju is a metaphor for nuclear trauma and the national psyche under reconstruction.

Slice of Life
Adrift in Tokyo (Satoshi Miki)
Aggretsuko (Rareko)
Both works focus on mundane, character-driven experiences. Adrift in Tokyo is a deadpan walkabout of emotional aimlessness; Aggretsuko satirizes modern work culture through relatable micro-dramas and suppressed rage.

Magic Realism / Supernatural Drama
Your Name (Makoto Shinkai)
Suzume (Makoto Shinkai)
These films merge emotional realism with supernatural events—time slips, body swaps, and haunted ruins—while remaining grounded in everyday life. The fantastical doesn’t overwhelm reality; it reframes it.

Fantasy (Mythological / Animistic)
Spirited Away (Hayao Miyazaki)
Unlike Shinkai’s realism-inflected stories, Spirited Away enters a full mythological realm. Gods, spirits, and transformations drive a coming-of-age arc that unfolds entirely within a symbolic, animistic world.

Action / Street Racing
Fast and Furious: Tokyo Drift (Justin Lin)
Initial D (Andrew Lau, Alan Mak, Ralph Rieckermann)
Urban racing as identity performance. These films use Tokyo’s asphalt, mountain passes, and nighttime neon as arenas for skill, rebellion, and belonging.

Horror / Dark Fantasy
Tokyo Ghoul (Shûhei Morita)
Blending horror and tragedy, Tokyo Ghoul explores dual identity, hunger, and alienation in a city where predators live among humans. It’s as much about existential dread as physical transformation.

Drama
Shoplifters (Hirokazu Koreeda)
A deeply naturalistic story about a family of petty criminals surviving on the margins. Koreeda uses understatement and intimate framing to interrogate legality, kinship, and the quiet violence of social systems.

Elements of Genre

Four key elements define a genre:

1. Character: Who drives the story? Are they heroes, anti-heroes, Everyman?
2. Story: What conflict or journey is at the heart of the film?
3. Plot: How is the story structured? What’s revealed, and when?
4. Setting: Where and when does the action unfold?

Take 13 Assassins. It’s a jidaigeki (period drama). The characters are samurai. The story is a classic revenge mission. The plot builds toward an epic, bloody showdown. The setting—feudal Japan—grounds it all in history and tradition.

These elements work together to create not just a movie, but an experience.

And while genre can guide us, it’s not the whole story. Consider films like Akira. It’s science fiction, yes, but it’s also a psychological drama, a political thriller, and a dystopian parable. Genre gives it structure, but its impact comes from the way it transcends those boundaries.

How to Watch a Film Critically

Here’s the secret to film criticism: it’s not about tearing movies apart. It’s about looking deeper.

When you watch a movie, ask yourself:

• What’s the central theme? How does the movie explore it?
• What choices did the filmmaker make? How do they shape your experience?
• What works? What doesn’t? Why?

You don’t have to answer these questions right away. Sometimes, the best insights come days after the credits roll.

Example \(\PageIndex{1}\)

Dan Harmon's Story Circle is a tool for mapping a character’s journey through change. It breaks the story into eight stages that trace movement from stability to conflict, transformation, and return. Whether in the violent chaos of Kubi or the quiet coming-of-age in Initial D, this structure reveals how characters evolve through what they face—and what they choose.

You – Establishing the Ordinary World
Kubi: The film opens in a volatile yet eerily ordered court. Nobunaga sits atop a delicate power structure held together by fear, ritual, and unspoken tension. It’s a world of masks, where loyalty is performed, not felt.
Initial D: Takumi lives in quiet monotony, delivering tofu before dawn and going through the motions at school. His world is constrained, familiar, and disconnected—Tokyo is a rumor, the mountain is routine.

Need – Highlighting the Desire or Problem
Kubi: Nobunaga’s unchecked ambition has created enemies on all sides. His need—though unacknowledged—is for control that cannot be sustained. Beneath his dominance lies an invisible crisis: loyalty is rotting, and he doesn’t see it.
Initial D: Takumi’s need is buried under passivity. His skill behind the wheel is real, but directionless. The challenge of racing awakens something dormant: the need to define himself on his own terms.

Go – Crossing into the Unfamiliar
Kubi: As the plot to assassinate Nobunaga unfolds, the world of political theater gives way to real, irreversible conflict. The court becomes a battlefield—what was hidden now erupts.
Initial D: Takumi agrees to his first official race. This moment thrusts him into a subculture he never sought. Suddenly, his quiet mountain roads become a stage—and he must perform.

Search – Facing Challenges and Adapting
Kubi: Generals begin maneuvering with urgency—bribery, betrayal, shifting allegiances. No one is safe, and survival requires strategic adaptation. Kitano lets violence interrupt stillness, echoing how quickly things unravel.
Initial D: Each new opponent tests Takumi’s instincts and self-perception. He learns the value of technique, pacing, and control—not just of the car, but of himself. Pride, ego, and restraint all come into play.

Find – A Moment of Success with Complications
Kubi: Nobunaga silences dissent through executions, appearing to stabilize his power. But every head taken sows deeper paranoia. Victory is a crack in the dam.
Initial D: After a key win, Takumi gains recognition and respect. But the attention creates new pressure. He’s no longer invisible—and that visibility begins to weigh on him.

Take – Paying the Price
Kubi: Nobunaga is ambushed and destroyed. His absolute power collapses into blood and ruin. His death isn’t just personal—it destabilizes the entire order. The price is everything.
Initial D: Takumi’s emotional detachment isolates him. His relationship deteriorates. The more he wins, the less he understands what fulfillment means. He’s stripped of comfort, even as he gains acclaim.

Return – Coming Back Transformed
Kubi: The same courtly halls now echo with absence. Nobunaga’s fall forces every survivor to reframe their place in a world without him. The ritual continues, but belief is gone.
Initial D: Takumi returns to Mount Akina. The same roads are now his domain. He drives not out of obligation, but ownership. He sees where he came from—and how far he’s moved beyond it.

Change – A New Beginning
Kubi: The power vacuum is filled, but not resolved. Heads roll, and cycles continue. Kitano leaves us not with closure, but a final image of absurdity and inevitability.
Initial D: Takumi embraces racing as his future. It’s no longer about escaping a life—it’s about claiming one. His transformation is quiet but complete: from passenger to driver of his own story.

Inspiration from Criticism

Critiquing a film doesn’t mean deciding if it’s good or bad. It means finding what resonates. Even the most flawed movies have something to teach us—about storytelling, about craft, about ourselves.

Love a film that’s panned? Great. Study it. Why does it work for you? What can you learn from it?

Hate a so-called masterpiece? That’s fine, too.

What doesn’t click?

What would you do differently?

Criticism isn’t about tearing down. It’s about building up.

Every critique is an opportunity to discover something new about the film or about yourself.

Conclusion: Everyone’s a Critic and Writer

At the end of the day, watching movies isn’t about judgment. It’s about discovery. Every film, from the critically acclaimed to the guilty pleasure, offers a chance to learn. Genre gives us the tools to understand. Criticism gives us the lens to see deeper. Storytelling gives us the courage to create.

So watch. Think. Learn. And above all:

Start writing.