At times it can be nearly impossible to squeeze your reactions to a film into the narrow rubric of A through F, or on-a-scale-of-one-to-ten grades. What if I love the first 110 minutes of a film but despise the next 15? Do I try to score it round by round like the unified rules used by the UFC and Bellator, or just try to get a sense of it as a whole, like the Japanese model from the Pride days? Who knows, maybe I shouldn’t even try to apply MMA rules. Maybe diving or figure skating judging would be more applicable. But if so, how do I calculate degree of difficulty? Do I use the old Ukranian model, or apply the Bellman-Krzewszewski toe-loop differential? So many questions, friends, so many questions.
But in the end, we all know that questioning the end-of-the-year ranking system is what sissies do. We live in a hard world that demands hard quantification and I’m just the hard man to hammer you with my hard on. I’m going to make some bold choices here, because that’s what men do. I just tore a Chipotle burrito in half and screamed at it like it was a dead wildebeast. LET ME HEAR YOUR WAR CRY! KEEEIAAAIIIAAA! Which is to say, I’m not here to justify the existence of rankings, I’m manning up and offering rankings because the universe demands rankings. Besides, what’s the point of writing about movies if it’s not to start heated, unresolvable arguments over subjective, unquantifiable perceptions of make-believe? KNIVES OUT, SH*THEADS! IT’S TIME TO END SOME FRIENDSHIPS! CHUG! CHUG! CHUG!
