Movie Reviews
‘The Last Critic’ Review: A Captivating Portrait of Robert Christgau, the Brilliant Mad Professor of Rock Critics, and How He Made the Grade
As a critic, I should probably take offense at the title of “The Last Critic.” The movie is a captivating portrait of Robert Christgau, the legendary music writer who was one of the founding fathers of what was once known as “rock criticism.” (These were the days before poptimism, not to mention the Taylor Swift fan base.) To be fair, the film never asserts the claim of its title — that Christgau was or is “the last critic.” He was, in fact, one of the first writers to establish rock criticism as a vibrant and essential form, the others being Greil Marcus and the late Ellen Willis (both of whom he was close to; Marcus is featured in the documentary) as well as Lester Bangs, the brilliant bad boy who died in 1982.
The singular thing about Christgau is that he invented, and owned, his very own form of criticism. Born in 1942, he started out as a gifted writer and reporter, with the makings of a star journalist (in 1966, he published an award-winning piece about a girl who died from being on a macrobiotic diet). Attracting the attention of Esquire magazine, which was then at the epicenter of a hip new media world, he began to write a youth-culture column there, and in 1969 he came up with Christgau’s Consumer Guide, a monthly series of capsule reviews that would evaluate — and grade! — the latest slate of rock albums.
That doesn’t sound too remarkable, but Christgau’s prose had a quirky electricity, and in a world where rock writers were nerdish monks (Marcus was a rich-kid academic who smoked a pipe), he had a sixth sense for how to brand himself. An acerbic wise guy, brimming with egomaniacal snark, he once jokingly introduced himself as “the dean of American rock critics,” and the label stuck. From that point on, that’s how he was referred to and thought of.
In the Village Voice, where the Consumer Guide became one of the fabled alt-weekly’s go-to features from the ’70s through the ’90s, Christgau wrote like a possessed fan who breathed insight, making every capsule sound like a psychedelic sonnet. And the notion of affixing each densely compact review with a letter grade (from A+ to E-) was so counterintuitive — at least in the post-counterculture world — that it became Christgau’s signature.
He was playful in his judgments (on Prince’s “Dirty Mind”: “He takes care of the songwriting, transmutes the persona, revs up the guitar, muscles into the vocals, leans down hard on a rock-steady, funk-tinged four-four, and conceptualizes — about sex, mostly.” On Bryan Adams’ “Reckless”: “Maybe I’ll let Bruce Springsteen teach me how to hear John Cougar Mellencamp, but damned if I’m going to let John Cougar Mellencamp teach me how to hear Bryan Adams”). He was famous enough to inspire disgruntled album-track shoutouts from Lou Reed and Sonic Youth, and I guess that you could also call Christgau the unintentional godfather of Entertainment Weekly. At one point in the documentary, Christgau talks about a certain grade category he thinks of as “a high B+,” adding that “no one knows what that means” except him. As a critic who handed out grades at EW for decades, I may be just about the only other person on the planet who knows exactly what that means.
In “The Last Critic,” we meet Christgau as an elder stateman of rock-crit (he’s now 83), a downtown stalwart knocking around the streets of the East Village. He’s a bit more bent than he was, with white hair and a touch of arthritis, but he’s still a wry specimen, lean and mean, with a machine-gun mind, ageless in his vigor (and in his hunger for new music). And God bless him, he still pumps out the Consumer Guide each month (it’s now on Substack). The way he goes about it is the real subject of the documentary, because writing the Consumer Guide is the very spine of Robert Christgau’s life; every aspect of it reflects his obsessiveness. The film opens with him tapping out the following quote on an old word processor: “To the eternal ‘Opinions are like assholes — everyone’s got one,’ I just say, but not everybody’s got ten thousand of them.” Christgau has 14,000 reviews and counting, and that’s his glory and his compulsion.
He and his wife, the writer Caroline Dibbell, have lived in the same 2nd Ave. apartment for 50 years. And though it has seven rooms, Christgau has it organized like the encyclopedic pack rat he is. The place is lined with hundreds of feet of books, and he built special industrial shelves to house his 36,000 vinyl albums and CDs (and even cassette tapes), which cover every square inch of wall space in his cramped office. It’s his cave of knowledge, and he sits each day at the center of it, fumbling with CD players that kind of work, listening to music all day long, tapping out his thoughts on an old computer, feeling at every moment that this is his bliss. It’s criticism as a calling, a mission, a drive to find all the new music that’s good, and to capture each album’s worth in one heightened poetic paragraph. That’s what makes Christgau get up in the morning, and what keeps his spirit young. (Recovering from surgery, he won’t take three days off and not write.)
He has mellowed with age (actually, not much), but he’s still a wit and a scholar and a bit of a pedant. He’s bluntly contentious — in his heyday, he was not only a critic but a Village Voice editor who became fabled for his literary-dictator ways. He would make writers sweat (but only in the quest to make them the best version of themselves), and he would sometimes bike over to their apartments to stalk them for copy that was late. But what cemented the Christgau legend was the weirdly rational mania that informed the Consumer Guide. When it came to music, Christgau genuinely believed in the existence of a hidden grand order. He wanted to turn the act of consuming records into a system — a celestial hierarchy of judgment, of which he was the all-seeing lord.
That’s a way of thinking that some critics have (exhibit A: myself). Yet Christgau, through the Consumer Guide, was the only music critic to wear his system-making brains on the outside. The title of the column was a provocation, because here was this writer on the cutting edge of a rock world that still imagined itself as a “revolution,” yet he had the audacity to say that the revolution was a form of consumerism. He meant it as a joke (“I was thumbing my nose at my colleagues,” he says), the joke being that he was actually serious about it. He was going to grade the counterculture like the ultimate professor of cool.
And that’s what Christgau became. The documentary features plenty of footage of him back in the day, when a bohemian New York critic could still be a celebrity, and when he was just about the only person you could name who turned having long hair and oversize glasses and an ironic smirk into a punk look. He was like a sexy underground version of Poindexter. By the late ’70s, it felt like he was the last guy left with stringy hair that reached his shoulders, but the attitude was as far from hippie as you could get. Christgau was from Queens, the son of a fireman, and he had that working-class outer-borough lack of respect for the elites, even as he himself became one.
“The Last Critic,” directed with lively reverence by Matty Wishnow, is full of pithy testimonials to Christgau’s special qualities as a critic. We hear from writers like Kit Rachlis and Ann Powers and Amanda Petrusich and Chuck Eddy and Rob Sheffield. Nelson George and Greg Tate make the vital point that Christgau, in orchestrating a music review section in the ’70s that showcased diverse voices, walked the walk of what the Village Voice was supposed to be about. As someone who grew up in the early rock-crit days, I especially enjoyed the film’s portrait of Christgau’s friendship with Greil Marcus, an equally legendary critic based on the West Coast (we see the two of them seated today in Christgau’s living room, looking like the Statler and Waldorf of rock criticism). They wrote letters to each that were like intellectual mash notes, and they spoke several times a month on the phone but had serious disagreements. “I don’t think he feels hip-hop,” says Christgau of Marcus. “And I think that’s a function of whether you feel James Brown. And that’s a real gap.”
Christgau felt James Brown, all right (he was a major advocate of funk), but I would argue that his Achilles’ heel as a critic is that he didn’t feel pop. We see him in a TV interview from the ’80s where he catalogues his eclectic tastes, saying, “I love African music, I really love some country music, I like the best of what’s called world music, I love rap, I’ve got nothing against pop, I like funk and dance music quite a lot…” Consider that statement: I’ve got nothing against pop. It reflects something that nearly all the formative rock critics (with the exception of Stephen Holden) felt about pop music, which is that they actually did have something against it. They thought it was glossy, superficial, sentimental, fake, confectionary, corrupt, “commercial,” or some other descended-from-the-left-wing-ether bullshit. At one point in the documentary, we see a roster of albums in different Christgau grade categories, and forgive me, but I don’t live in a world where Sleater-Kinney’s “Dig Me Out” is an A and Madonna’s “Like a Virgin” is a B. (I live in a world where Supertramp’s “Breakfast in America” is an A+, and where Hall and Oates are greater than the Replacements.) The anti-pop animus of classic rock criticism reflected nothing so much as a neurotic puritanism, or maybe just a snobbish inability to hear the deep beauty of pop.
My grousing aside, the early rock critics actually forged their own brand of beauty. The reason they were able to plant this form of criticism on the map is that they were extraordinary writers. What you feel, in every Robert Christgau capsule, is that he’s channeling whatever he’s writing about, and that’s what always made the Consumer Guide such a compulsive read — the drama of listening to Christgau let each of those albums flow through him. “The Last Critic” is a portrait of a venerable voice, but mostly it’s a testament to everything a great critic is: a priest, a fan, an assassin, an aesthete, a merciless truth-teller, and a vessel of love.
Often when the word of mouth begins to spread and hype the newest “best movie ever”, the viewer has to take these opinions with a mound of salt. But as the week two financial gate for Obsession jumped over twice as high as its debut, people started paying attention. With a Youtuber at the helm and the critics lauding this romantic horror film as the second coming, it was time for this particular reviewer to see what the hype was all about.
Obsession is written and directed by Curry Barker (Milk & Serial 2024). It stars Inde Navarrette (Superman & Lois TV Series 2021) as Nikki and Michael Johnston (9-1-1 TV Series 2026) as Bear. Bear is in love with Nikki, but he lacks the gumption to ask her out. On a whim, the bashful Bear buys a “One Wish Willow”, a magical totem that, when broken, allows the bearer one granted wish. Bear wishes for Nikki to love him, but this love comes at the ultimate cost.
The acting is the first thing that the audience will become obsessed with in Obsession. Navarrette is poised for a breakout year and would fit very well as a new-age “final girl” in the horror genre. Johnston is no slouch either, as he brings a lot of layers to Bear, but Navarrette is the one that’ll haunt your dreams for weeks. The actors told the stories on their faces, and Navarrette’s sudden screams make for the most natural jump-scares in ages.
Obsession also thrives in its technical prowess. The quiet sound design and still characters make the movie a genuinely unsettling experience. The usage of rewinding shots gives Nikki a chilling economy of movement, while speeding up shots creates sudden peril and makes scenes instantly uncomfortable. The viewer never gets a chance to truly catch their breath, but the stakes continue to grow with every scene.
It’s very easy to see why Obsession has audiences buzzing. It’s the kind of movie that’s going to hold a spot at the top of lists at year’s end, but if the chance arises to see it in a large theater, the experience will be even more rewarding.
Starring: Marshall Williams, Richard Harmon and Alex Essoe
Directed by: James Kondelik
Rated: NR
Running Time: 108 minutes
Our Score: 1.5 out of 5 Stars
Survival horror is the ultimate guilty pleasure because you can amplify any life-or-death situation into the paranormal, horrific, thrilling, or cruelly dramatic extremes it finds itself in. So why doesn’t “Pitfall” come close to tickling “The Ritual,” “The Blair Witch Project,” or “Wolf Creek” vibes?
Woods and grief feel like a ritualistic trope at this point as “Pitfall” opens on Scott (Marshall Williams) and Ashley (Alex Essoe) mourning the death of their parents. For reasons that may or may not be revealed later, they join three friends on an ominous trip that quickly introduces the titular pitfall, a massive trap designed to kill prey.
The movie constantly battles convention with unpredictability. The problem is that at more than 100 minutes long, there’s plenty of time to sit around and wonder where the story is heading. If “Pitfall” moved with the frantic pace of a Tuesday afternoon soap opera on meth, maybe I’d be swept up in the chaos. Instead, I found myself waiting for reveals that felt more eye-rolling than shocking.
I really wanted to like “Pitfall” because of how invested it is in physical violence, emotional trauma, and psychological brutality. Unfortunately, the movie never convinced me it knew what to do with those ideas. By the time it arrives at its revelations and ultimate purpose, “Pitfall” feels less like a title and more like a review.
As a lowkey, throwback family drama, The Breadwinner is an amusing extension of comedian Nate Bargatze’s humor and vibe, providing some breezy entertainment and wholesome messages.
About the Film
The “dads are big dummies around the house” gag is far from a novel idea, but as a skilled comedian knows, it’s not always the subject that matters, but how you talk about it that makes or breaks the joke. Comic Nate Bargatze is as good as anyone at doing that, blending a dry and self-deprecating delivery with a refreshingly clean brand of comedy. His cinematic debut in The Breadwinner is exactly what might be expected. As a lowkey, throwback family drama, The Breadwinner is an amusing cinematic extension of comedian Nate Bargatze’s humor and vibe, providing some breezy entertainment and wholesome messages.
As one of the biggest and most influential comics in the world right now, the main draw in The Breadwinner is Nate Bargatze himself. Many Christians have latched onto him due to his trademark “clean comedy” that swims refreshingly upstream of the regular vulgarity and shock jock tendencies in the comedy world. For “clean comedy” to work, both the “clean” and the “comedy” need to be present. The Breadwinner mostly passes the test but does better at the first than the second. It is more a clean and wholesome drama than a hilarious comedy.
During an opening voiceover, Bargatze remarks, “This might sound a bit old fashioned….” He’s speaking about the traditional family dynamic of a husband “breadwinner” and the stay-at-home mom (a family structure the film eventually challenges for a more modern understanding). “Old fashioned” is also a good description of the film itself. The Breadwinner feels a bit like a Christian film made in the 1990s, or as if a sitcom like Full House had ever made a theatrical feature film. Whether this is a harsh criticism or a ringing endorsement may depend on the desires and expectations of the audience.
I suspect that “old fashioned” is exactly what many Christian audiences want. Not “old fashioned” as in “outdated”, but as a nostalgic throwback to a simpler time and to conservative values. Much of the film is exactly that, both a wholesome affirmation of family and a movie that is easily accessible for families. At the same time, some of the film’s messages may be a bit muddy or progressive for some viewers (see themes below).
To be “clean” is only part of the equation, and the absence of vulgarity doesn’t inevitably result in effective “comedy”. My biggest problem with The Breadwinner is that, despite featuring an often-hilarious comic, the movie just isn’t all that funny. This may partially be a matter of taste, and how much (or little) you jive with the comedic sensibilities of Bargatze himself. During the film’s closing credits, recordings of his various standup sets are shown, revealing how his jokes have been directly incorporated into the movie. It’s a fascinating glimpse into the adaption process of jokes from the stage into a film and highlights the synergy between the film and Bargatze’s comedy.
As an observational comic, Bargatze’s strength is in his ability to find hidden humor in the middle of relatable, everyday life (even more relatable to me, as the movie was filmed 10 minutes from my house). While some of the events in the film’s third act do elevate the spectacle and stakes (such as letting a horse loose to inside the house), many of the gags are built on relatable family experiences (keeping up with laundry, cooking, helping emotional children navigate the challenges of growing up ). Hearing Nate Bargatze do a comedy set and find humor in these mundane life experiences can be hilarious, but actually seeing those mundane experiences play out on screen is a bit more, well, mundane.
The Breadwinner is not necessarily boring, but it’s also not always all that exciting. There was no laughing out loud in my theater, and I can’t recall any standout moments that I’d be excited to revisit or to watch with someone else. Basically, all the funniest moments are featured in the movie’s marketing trailers, so how you feel about those is a gauge for how much you will enjoy the film.
Overall, The Breadwinner is fine as a film that will land well with its target audience. Still, I think it would be great as a sitcom show like a real-world Bluey. I genuinely cared about the family and would enjoy spending more time with them. The film’s lowkey stakes and everyday family life vibe would translate perfectly to the small screen while giving Bargatze an opportunity to showcase more comedic range than just a struggling “Mr. Mom”. Even so, fans of Bargatze and his brand of humor, or audiences just looking for some squeaky-clean family entertainment, may find exactly what they’re looking for here. It may not be a great film, but it’s a hard movie to dislike. The Breadwinner has plenty of heart and charm to be endearing and provides enough moderate chuckles to send audiences out of the theater with a smile.
On the Surface
For Consideration
On the Surface—(Profanity, Sexual content, violence, etc.).
Language: There are a few uses of “God.”
Violence: None.
Sexuality: There are a couple mild innuendos (for example, a roofer remarks that his ex-wife left him a review that “his tools don’t get the job done”).
Other: Frequent drug and alcohol abuse is shown.
Beneath The Surface
Engage The Film
Family Dynamics
The central theme in The Breadwinner is identity and where it’s found. Nate Wilcox (Nate Bargatze) finds his identity as the best car salesman at his dealership. He must determine where his purpose and self-worth come from when he’s required to stay at home with the kids while his wife, Katie (played by Mandy Moore), navigates a similarity drastic transition from stay-at-home mom to thriving businesswoman. Their children face similar challenges, struggling to not allow external factors (such as school spelling bee competitions and cute boys) to determine who they are. It’s a wholesome message, and one that works for any age demographic. The film ultimately suggests that identity must come from the love and unity of a family.
Where the message gets a bit muddy is in the nuances of how the film answers those questions. The film’s tagline is “Let the dad era begin.” The so-called “dad era” begins when Nate finally decides that instead of trying to follow mom’s hardline established family organizational system he instead needs to develop a new system that works for him. As a dad myself, the “dad era” is actually pretty great, requiring the children to take on more responsibly while emphasizing trust and partnership rather than a rigid top-down scheduling structure. Nate’s motivations are ultimately selfish (he lies and returns to work) but seeing him as a stay-at-home dad rather than a “poor substitute mom” is commendable. Unfortunately, the film seems to disagree, suggesting that the success of a stay-at-home dad is only in how closely they can mimic mom.
His wife slips effortlessly from stay-at-home mom to big-time business owner, while he is a bumbling disaster as a homemaker. It is seemingly easy to be a working dad and hard to be a domestic mom, falling into the trap of many Hollywood films that struggle to be pro-woman (good!) without also being anti-man (bad!). The Breadwinner doesn’t go quite that far. It’s not anti-man, but it fails to celebrate or show the strengths of dads and men. Even a few moments of Nate helping his wife with her own role reversal would have gone a long way to showcasing the complementary difference and strengths within the family.
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