Being a critic of art is a difficult balancing act. For one, art is subjective which makes determining whether art is “good” or “bad” a pointless task. On the other hand, there is so much art to take in we tend to rely on critics to help steer us towards art that is meaningful and “worth” our time.
Of course, consuming “bad” art can still be a worthy endeavor, whether as a comparison group that helps “good” art shine or as a teacher in what not to do.
Oftentimes when I read reviews or ask people what they thought of movies the person will respond with what they wish the movie would have done and end up condemning the movie for not living up to the version made within their head.
My writing has stalled in recent years for a lot of reasons, mostly personal life events, but this idea of critiquing someone’s art when art can serve many purposes has confounded me to the point of writing paralysis.
Obviously, I am back writing now so one would think I have solved this dilemma. Well one would be wrong. I still fight with this every time I form an opinion; I continue to doubt that my point of view is worth any value, and my imposter syndrome flares up and reminds me I am far from a movie expert.
So how did I make my way back here? I recently saw a showing of Backrooms and much like the labyrinth that is the setting of the movie I don’t quite have a clear path that got me here. All I know is this film made me think and it lives in a corner of my brain where it is fighting another version of the film, the version that I wished this movie would have been.
Backrooms is the directorial debut for Kane Parsons and is already, without a doubt, the most successful film based on a creepypasta of all time. It follows a furniture store owner named Clark who discovers an endless maze of yellow tinted rooms that continually get weirder and creepier as he slowly maps out the parallel dimension.
The film throws the audience into the backrooms from the jump. A POV found footage scene of…someone slowly working his way through each room. You can hear him breathe, you can hear him mumble to himself, and you can see his fear as he creeps around corners unsure of what will happen next.
This part was feeding my movie soul; I was spooked and full of curiosity. My brain was fighting contradicting desires, “run away dummy!” with “go to the next room and see what it’s like!”.
I was filled with memories of childhood curiosity. Those times I was stuck in my elementary school after hours for parent-teacher conferences. I knew it was the same building I had been to a thousand times but now it is…darker, colder, and different. I’m nervous to wander too far, I creep around the hallways with every step being intentional and calculated. I don’t dream of looking inside the gym or the cafeteria, too much space for monsters to hide.
Just as the dread and nostalgia are washing over me the movie shifts gears. We are outside of the backrooms now, following Clark as he runs his furniture store and goes to therapy. The pacing slows down and I’m dying to get back to the backrooms; I need to see more.
As the film continues, it is clear this movie is more psychological than horror. The setting is the metaphor for a middle-aged man’s life. Or maybe for the childhood trauma that his therapist survived. Or perhaps a study of humanity’s obsession with mapping out the unknowable parts of our universe.
Whatever you get from it is meaningful in its own way. The film feels like a Rorschach test, bending and twisting its form to match what an audience member sees.
That is the beauty and frustration of the movie. Like the endless rooms that Clark has to choose from as he wanders, it opens your mind with multiple possibilities, endings, and meanings.
As you leave the Backrooms you think you have it figured out. Perhaps it’s a metaphor for something that you have decided upon, or it could be just a sick Reddit joke that has gone too far, or maybe it’s just a flawed film with a brilliant premise. You are satisfied with the experience and ready to move on to the next.
But in the back of your mind, the Backrooms linger and you want just one more room, just one more walk down a hall with upside furniture, just one more hidden door in the ceiling…
Flimsy Film Critics 