Roger Ebert,

First of all: Thanks for everything. I mean that. You’ve been reviewing movies longer than I’ve been alive, but even when my inner film nerd started to show himself in the mid-to-late nineties, your writing was there as a major touchstone for the development of my taste. I can say that I would not be here, writing about film (and music, and comics, and games…) for FFWD if it weren’t for you. So let me say it again, Roger: Thanks.

I love this job. I love this job that you encouraged me, without even knowing it, to pursue. I love it because I’m good at it, and because I think it’s important. In some cases, critics are gatekeepers to certain media that our readers might not have the time for or inclination towards. But more importantly, we represent the visible discourse for media. We contextualize and compare, we dissect and reduce. If an excellent film plays to a full theatre but no one talks about it afterward, does its quality matter at all? I’d argue it doesn’t. In a very real way, critics give meaning and significance to the things we love outside of themselves.

But here’s the thing, Roger. Here’s the reason why I’m taking the time to respond to your “Videogames Can Never Be Art” piece rather than letting its own contradictions and the many excellent rebuttals made in your own comments thread stand on their own. It isn’t your thesis I take issue with. It’s your premise. You argue that videogames can’t be art, as though “art” is the objective standard to which all media should aspire. I’m writing this letter because what is or is not “art” simply does not matter anymore. I’m writing this letter because you, Roger Ebert, have become a bad critic.

In your review for Shaolin Soccer, you said:

“…the star rating system is relative, not absolute. When you ask a friend if "Hellboy" is any good, you're not asking if it's any good compared to "Mystic River," you're asking if it's any good compared to "The Punisher." And my answer would be, on a scale of one to four, if "Superman" (1978) is four, then "Hellboy" is three and "The Punisher" is two. In the same way, if "American Beauty" gets four stars, then "[The United States of] Leland" clocks in at about two.”

This, in a nutshell, is the critical standard I try to employ. You have to evaluate any given piece of media by the criteria it suggests for itself, or you are—as you imply elsewhere in the review—just posturing. With your wholesale dismissal of gaming as a form on the premise that it is inherently un-artistic, you are telling us Hellboy isn’t any good because Sean Penn doesn’t stab Tim Robbins at the end. You are flippantly dismissing context based entirely on some kind of outmoded connoisseurism. You give yourself away very early into your denunciation of games:

“But when I say [Cormac] McCarthy is "better" than [Nicholas] Sparks and that his novels are artworks, that is a subjective judgment, made on the basis of my taste (which I would argue is better than the taste of anyone who prefers Sparks).”

Though I tend to agree with your sentiment, I would never call McCarthy’s books “artworks.” Because, frankly, I don’t really care. Is Cormac McCarthy a better writer than Nicholas Sparks? Yeah, I think so. But both writers have such vastly different creative intentions that comparing them is, at best, useless. At worst, it’s malicious.  And since both are world famous writers with millions of fans, I think it’s fair to say that both are successful in what they do. The only standard that allows us to elevate one over the other is our opinion and—in your case, Roger—your ethos.

While I think my enjoyment of McCarthy is probably a more sophisticated pleasure than my enjoyment of Sparks would be, do we gain anything by forcing the hierarchy? If we say that McCarthy’s books are “artworks” and Sparks’ are not, what can we do with that information that we couldn’t do without it? Having a definition for what constitutes “art”—any definition—only provides small-minded writers a shorthand for expressing small ideas. Criticism is about discussion, and readers will seek out writers whose opinions more-or-less coincide with their own—something made easier than ever by the Internet. Refusing to participate in the discussion based on your fame or ego doesn’t elevate you above it. It makes you irrelevant to the entire process.

I don’t want to argue that videogames are art, because—like McCarthy and Sparks’ books—I couldn’t care less. But some of them, like some movies and some songs and some books, can be moving and beautiful and thought-provoking. We can call that “art” if we feel like it, but the designation can never be anything but arbitrary. Calling media “art” will never contribute to someone’s experience with it (unless they’re incredibly pretentious). Pointing out the connections it has with other moving, beautiful or thought provoking media, discussing the possible meanings of the subtext, and analyzing the way it communicates, on the other hand, almost always will.

Even if you do read any of this, Roger (open letters are never really for the people they’re addressed to), I doubt it’ll change your perspective very much. You cling to the connoisseurist model for criticism because it made you wealthy and famous. You were a trusted voice for film reviewing because you promoted moving, beautiful, thought provoking films that weren’t being exposed elsewhere. Despite what you might think, your audience didn’t respond to you because you were so adept at separating the “art” from the “not-art.” You just liked good movies, and what you had to say about them resonated with people and contributed to their enjoyment.

Once again: Thanks for everything, Roger. I really, really mean that. But we’ve got it from here.

With every ounce of sincerity available to me,

Kyle Francis