FROM THE JOURNAL OF DR. ABEL MERRIWETHER
16 AUGUST, 2008

It was in the spring of the year that I was first approached by the carrier of the following document. Having spent much of my retirement studying certain obscure and fabled tracts, such as the black tome known as The Necronomicon of Dr. Abdul Alhazred, it was with no small measure of excitement that I gained possession of the final copy of The Netflix Ratings Rubric. The messenger turned the papers over to me with a brief word of caution that I proceed with great care in any attempts I might make at understanding the original author’s haphazard and fumbling summation of his personal application of the Netflix ratings scheme.

At first I was skeptical. I had for some time read various reports in Internet newsgroups that a document such as the one now being offered me existed. I took the papers into my hand and offered the messenger something in the way of a reward for his diligence in having procured the papers I had for so long sought proof of. He refused and made a hasty retreat to his white Dodge Intrepid that was parked at the end of my driveway.

Over the next several months I made an attempt at translating the Rubric into the common vernacular, as well as penning my own reflections on the rather meandering logic exhibited by the author. I include my translation in this journal entry and hope to follow with my own testament to the authenticity of the documents.

The contents of the papers given to me by the mysterious messenger were as follows…

[FRAGMENT BEGINS]

Dearest Warren,

I hope that you are keeping well. Please find attached to this e-mail a copy of the most up-to-date version of my Netflix Ratings Rubric, as well as a brief forward regarding its origins. I hope that your university chums will find it edifying. It is in .docx format. I trust you will not have a problem opening it. If need be, I will gladly convert it to a .pdf file for you. Merely say the word!

Regards!

Jim!

Towards an attempt at an understanding of the cinematic world seen through the lens of the Netflix five-star rating system.

Author’s Forward:

It is with great reluctance that I have allowed the following manifesto of sorts to see the light of day. It was originally penned whilst I vacationed in the Alps with several of my friends. Once there we found ourselves snowed-in, our cabin removed by some 300 leagues of chest-deep snow. We certainly had the provisions necessary for survival — there was a cellar full of wine, the pantry was loaded with canned meat and vegetables, and our faithful servant and guide Guy (pronounced as the French Canadians do, with a hard accent on the first letter so as to sound as though one has just been stung by the tail of a scorpion: Gee! Gee!) maintained a roaring fire and kept us entertained with his ribald and daring tales of Continental life… oh, how the Europeans live! What wild animals they are!

Needless to say Guy’s stories kept us entertained for nearly an hour. What without television or any contrivances of modern life, we were a bit put out to be locked away as it were. It was just then the beautiful and talented Countess Dawn L. happened upon a way that we could keep ourselves entertained. We would each steal away to our own room, where we were to then, as completely and to the best of our individual ability, pen a rubric describing our method of awarding stars on a scale of five, as they expect us to do on Netflix. Then, once we had finished, we would return to the great hall and decide who had written the best one. What a lark, thought I! I quickly put my pants back on and made for my sleeping quarters in order that I might begin straightaway.

I spent the better part of the afternoon working on my own rubric. Guy came ’round occasionally to ply each of us with chardonnay and graham crackers. Once, after much pleading on my part, he even performed his world famous “Socks Only” dance in front of the fire for me. Sufficeth to say that I was indeed charmed, so much so that I allowed him to hold my father’s antique hunting rifle and pose with it before the fire. After a jaunty tumble on the bearskin rug, which saw him defeat me, three falls to two, in a Greco-Roman style wrestling contest, I returned to my afternoon’s work and completed my rubric just in time for supper.

Amidst the fine aroma of the roasted canned ham in barbecue sauce and lime gelatin with mini-marshmallows dessert Guy had prepared for us, our little band set about sharing each of our rubrics in turn.

Miriam’s was the least impressive, frankly. She approached the subject with a girlish enthusiasm but, in my opinion, sustained nothing in the way of a reasoned argument for any of her rankings. Imagine! A three-star rating for The Empire Strikes Back! Surely I need not add another word to convince you of her folly.

Countess Dawn L. fared a bit better. She made no original observations on the rankings scheme, but managed to apply hers in a more logical fashion than Miriam had. One noteworthy ranking was awarding Greystoke: The Legend of Tarzan five stars. Though a bit unsettling, she made a spirited effort at defended the logic behind her decision, and we are all the better for having argued it through.

Julian was next to go. His was a work of thus far unrivaled genius. I really cannot begin to attempt an expository discourse where his work is concerned. It was quite impressive, surely of a quality that you at the university would admire. Sadly, his logic resulted in a kind of positive feedback loop, where he was simultaneously incapable of awarded higher than three stars to Superman II, and able to award five stars to Short Circuit. This obvious lacuna his argument was the source of some embarrassment for Julian, and I feel left the door open for me to best him by putting forth my own work.

Below you will see the scope and nature of my rubric. Obviously it is superior in every way to anything that has been attempted thus far. I will allow you at the university to decide for yourselves, but I am sure that you will agree that it was with a measure of foolishness that Miriam decided our little contest was to be declared a tie between Julian and I. This was simply unacceptable to every other party involved. Guy was reduced to tears! It was decided that Julian and I would have a contest, the winner to be declared overall winner and champion of the evening. We would each perform a pantomime of person from our circle of friends back home, leaving it to Countess Dawn L. to guess which person we were pantomiming. Whoever succeeded in having their subject guessed the fastest was the winner.

Julian and I both agreed to the terms, Julian graciously agreeing to go first so that I might have a moment longer to decide my subject. With a few words of encouragement from Guy, the four of us gathered at the foot of the dining table to begin the contest.

Julian mounted a dining chair and began waving his arms back and forth and stabbing his finger into the air. All of this was punctuated with an occasional violent thrusting forward of his pelvis. It took Countess Dawn L. a full seven minutes to discover that Julian was pantomiming his father’s tailor Christopher. He was quite chuffed that she hadn’t discovered it sooner, as it is a well-known fact that Christopher is a retired junior high school band instructor and child rapist. He was so angered with being saddled with a final score of seven minutes that he stormed to the front room, gathered up his luggage, and repeatedly dashed it to the floor with cries of “Mother fucker! Mother fucker!” Really, I can’t imagine how this man hopes to dedicate his life’s work to the benefit of mentally handicapped adults.

It was my turn next. I am afraid I must admit having been given a slight advantage by choosing to go second in our game of pantomime. I was able to spend the time Julian spent performing his pantomime of Christopher on deciding who it was I would attempt. So it was without hesitation that I stood atop the dining table, tore my shirt off, covered my nipples with the palms of my hands, and began goose-stepping back and forth along the table from end to end. It was only a brief minute-or-so before Countess Dawn L. leapt to her feet and shrieked “Of course! Of course! Your father!”

I was overcome. Indeed, I felt that the best man, if I may be so immodest, had won. Miriam and I embraced, and Guy declared that it had been a fine contest, perhaps the best he had ever seen. He surprised us all by telling us that he was returning to the kitchen to fetch macaroons and grape kool-aid.

Unfortunately, Julian was incensed. He ran to the table, let fall his trousers, and tea-bagged Miriam’s dessert spoon! There was much hew and cry over this and somewhere in all the hub-bub the dining table was overturned. I was knocked silly and moments later I awoke, pants-less, my mustache covered in Guy’s lime gelatin dessert. It took a few minutes for all of us to regain our composure. Miriam had been reduced to tears by Julian’s insult, and Julian, to his credit, was on his knees begging her forgiveness. Countess Dawn L. had collapsed in a heap upon one of the lodge’s larger wing-backed chairs and was dabbing sweat from her cleavage with a paper napkin.

As I had been fairly declared the winner, Julian and I made amends before the group as a whole. He toasted my success and I graciously accepted his apology. It was decided that I alone would commit my rubric to paper for the edification of our fellows at the university. And it is, with a brief word of caution that I present it to you. Please do not allow yourself to be overcome with the contents of the rubric. It is my wish that it be treated as a work of art, the fruit of a somewhat inebriated and creative genius, rather than an attempt at anything so lofty as a philosophical treatise.

And now, with no further words, the rubric:

* “Hated it”

To hate something is to have the strongest disliking for it. Hating something is dislike to its furthest degree. In order for a film to be said to be hated, its demerits must far outweigh its merits. For example, a film that has earned a single star rating might have appreciable qualities, but the greater mass of the film was either offensive, difficult to watch (when this can’t fairly be interpreted to have been the aim of auteur) or so ill-conceived as to make the experience of watching the film not simply unenjoyable, but difficult to endure.
For example, the film Natural Born Killers by Oliver Stone serves as an exemplar of the single star film. I indeed, as the five star scheme requires, hated watching this film. It was smug. It was overdone. The violent media it intended to parody paled in comparison to the glut of needless violence presented in the film. Satire is certainly appreciable in art; however, this film fails miserably at satire. The performances are half-baked. Robert Downey Jr., arguably the most talented member of the cast is squandered by being forced to ape an Australian accent any eight year-old at the playground could manage.
This is not to say that film does not have appreciable qualities. The experiments with lighting, soundtrack, and animation are interesting. Perhaps they can even be called original; however, the rest of the film so detracts from any enjoyment derived by these elements that it is reduced to a single star rating.
One final word on the single star rating.
Where the reader of this rubric might have the most difficulty in understanding its logic is in the following two instances: the single star and the five star rating. I will limit myself to a discussion of the unique difficulties presented by the single star rating at this time, saving any discussion of the difficulties presented by the five star rating for out later in-depth analysis of it. The one star rating, along with being a mere statement of preference (notice how all of the phrases attached to the five star ratings require that the first-person singular subject pronoun be inserted in order that it make any kind of syntactic sense — I hate it, I didn’t like it, etc.) requires subjectivity. However, the author of this work both demands and intends to exercise the right to express an aesthetic judgment by means of the five star system. In order for this to be accomplished, a statement beyond that of mere personal preference must be accommodated. Thusly, the single star rating can be said to be both a statement of preference as well as a statement of aesthetic judgment. A film given only one star is unenjoyable to the point of distraction and can be considered a poor work as a result of all of the accompanying demerits one might imagine when one is forced to endure a film that one hates.

** ‘Didn’t like it’

A film is said to be disliked when its merits are outweighed by its demerits. If one is playing a game of ‘Stack ‘em Jack’ or ‘Jenga’ one knows that the piling on of things is enslaved my certain edicts of the natural universe — if a man rolls over Niagara Fall in a barrel, he falls; if a film’s likable qualities are outweighed (simply outweighed! even by an ounce!) by its unlikable qualities, it is disliked.
In contrast to the single star rating, the two-star rating is not something that need be accompanied by an aesthetic judgment. It may just be that the film wasn’t enjoyed by the author, not that he deems it unlikable in itself. This is where we enter into the vast and mysterious territory of personal preference. Simply and succinctly put, the author withholds aesthetic judgment of a film that is merely disliked; only if a film is hated (in fact, found extremely disagreeable) is there an aesthetic judgment endeavored. So, as you see, it is not merely the ratio of merits to demerits that will earn a film the two-star rating alone. It is the spirit of the experience itself that will inform the rating, both similar and dissimilar to the single star rating.
An example will be helpful at this point.
Shaun of the Dead is a two-star film. It is unoriginal, considering Return of the Living Dead had been around for over two decades by the year of its release, its spinning of genre conventions is uninspired, and its attempts at humor more often than not fall flat. However, there are points at which it was enjoyed by the author… but not enough to say that it was ‘liked.’ Instead it was ‘disliked.’ Not so disliked as to earn a single star, thus pitching the critic headlong into the territory of aesthetic judgment, but disliked nonetheless. It is awarded the two-star rating.

*** “Liked it”

In as much as the single star rating presents us with difficulties, and the two-star rating presents us with difficulties, so the three-star rating presents us with difficulties of its own. The three-star rating encompasses the vastest cross-section of films in the entire five-star scheme. As the author enjoys seeing films, in fact, finds the experience of film-going enjoyable in itself, it is not remarkable that he will be found to have ‘liked’ most every film he sees. A film needs to be so unpleasant as to drag it down below the point of enjoyment in order to earn a two-star or single star rating. However, since it is so easy to say that a film was ‘liked,’ the three-star rating is chock-full of films of varying qualities that neither stoop below or transcend the three-star rating.
An example: The Godfather is a three-star film. Its merits are not so numerous as the raise it above the three-star rating, and its demerits are not so numerous as the drag it down below the three-star rating. The author liked this film. He found the experience of watching it an enjoyable one. He did not, however, find it to be of the transcendent nature of a four- or five-star film. There was much in this film that he appreciated; he prefers it over any film he might award a two-star rating to; however, it did not please him enough to warrant anything other than the three stars it was given.
A quick word of caution. Because the three-star rating encompasses so many films, it might be considered fruitful to divide it up like a pie. This would be a goddamned fool’s errand. One can engage in speculation over half-stars or quarter-stars as a means of passing time or engaging in banter with other film lovers. However, only a goddamned fool would sully the dignity of this rubric by actually assigning a half- or quarter-star rating to a film. This is folly. This is fool’s folly. It is dangerous.
You see, it is accepted that the three-star rating encompasses such a vast selection of films that some can be thought more enjoyable than others. We are not supermen. We cannot avoid this. This is a limitation of the system, and it is unacceptable to accuse the author or anybody willing to adopt this ratings scheme as their ultimate means of conveying the satisfaction of a film of flummery. We accept that there are many films to be crammed into narrow corridors. We accept this fact, and in our acceptance of this fact we are able to grow.
Lastly, it is important that it be made clear that the three-star rating cannot fairly be considered to be a lukewarm review. One does not like something that one has a lukewarm reaction to. One is indifferent. Indifference has no place in this rating scheme.

**** “Liked it”

Now we are hitting our stride. As the two-star rating represents those films that are just unenjoyable enough to be dragged below a likable experience, the four-star rating represents those films whose entirety is deemed mostly meritorious. Like a two-star film, the four-star film can be considered to have some unenjoyable as well as enjoyable moments. These films have enduring appeal for the author and are considered to be of the kind of film that the author would enjoy.
Example: The Big Lebowski is a four-star film. It is thoroughly enjoyable, has an enduring appeal for the author, and has so many likable qualities that anything that might be thought disagreeable is obscured by its merits. It can be watched multiple times, or once. That is to say that watchability does not have influence over the rating assigned to a film beyond any influence that is accepted as being part of the interface between preference and judgment described later in this rubric.

***** “Loved it”

A film that is loved holds enduring appeal and transcends the boundaries of mere preference, snugly residing in the realm of aesthetic judgment. A five star film can be called lovable. Its merits so outweigh and obscure anything that might be deemed demeritorious that it can be thought to be a perfect film… as perfect a film as man or woman is capable of.
The love of a film is both a statement of preference for, as well as a judgment of, the film as a whole. It is loved. Its love will endure. It is the highest ranking awarded a film by this rating scheme.
Last Tango in Paris is a film what has earned five stars. It is a daring and original work. It is lovingly and expertly performed and executed. It can be considered a complete and total success.

A final word on the difference between preference and judgment. It is beyond the scope of this rubric to endeavor to understand the fine distinctions to be drawn between enjoyment and appreciation. It is accepted that this is, at best, a confusing area that will confound even the most determined critic. The author does not propose to blaze new territory here. He is willing to accept that honest aesthetic criticism can be motivated, in part, by personal preference.

[FRAGMENT ENDS]

It is here that I must stop. It has become unseasonably cold in my office, and the chill has caused a shuddering of my hands rendering them unable to record anything in the way of my own reflections on the above text. I will only say here, that the above quoted text came to me by way of a mysterious man, possibly of Oriental stock, who claimed to be an acquaintance of the rubric’s author. I do not question the document’s authenticity, only because I have been cursed with a bleak sense of foreboding, and the sad knowledge that my time on this earth is nearing its end. Shortly after procuring the rubric document, I became victim to a nagging and incessant cough. The last several days have been spent in my office, translating the above unabridged copy for the edification of future scholars before I enter a permanent repose amongst the fabled halcyon fields of eternity. The man who delivered the ratings rubric to me claimed to have no knowledge of the whereabouts of its author, only that he had retired to a life of obscurity since attempting an exhaustive understanding of the Netflix ratings rubric. He guessed that he had moved in with his parents and was possibly employed as a floor staffer at a movie theater.

The light grows dim. The time of my demise approaches. There is a change in the direction of the wind outside my office window. I know that whatever cursed spawn of the underworld guided the hand of the rubric’s author has returned from The Beyond to reclaim the only remaining copy now in my possession. There is a knock at the door! He comes for me! The blood pounds in my veins as I arrive at the realization that he has returned! The nameless one from beyond the veil of space and time comes for me! Beware! Let these writings bear sole witness to the evil that was the Netflix Ratings Rubric! THE NAMELESS ONE HAS RETURNED!

*EDITORIAL NOTE: The above journal entry, the last of Dr. Abel Merriwether’s, was found among his papers by his sole surviving relative, Ms. Madeline Orton of rural Kansas. Dr. Merriwether had for several years since his retirement been fostering a nascent interest in the supernatural and unexplained. Among the most bizarre of the works examined by Dr. Merriwether in his final days, the version of the so-called Netflix Ratings Rubric quoted here in its entirety, was drawn from the only remaining copy of a letter believed to be sent to the original author’s acquaintances at nearby private university. Its contents are preserved here, for future scholarship. The editorial staff of Where the Long Tail Ends hopes that future scholars will approach these obscure writings with a measure of caution, and will accept the above journal entry of Dr. Merriwether as adequate proof of the importance of moderation when endeavoring to study such apocryphal and heinous tracts as the ratings rubric.

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