1. The range of possible criteria, a “bridge” between objective and subjective

After discussing individual “tastes” and what can be understood by the rather ambiguous and multifaceted label of “taste,” let us now reflect on a series of criteria that can be used to evaluate a film and thus justify the claim that it is a “good” film. Once again, as we have made clear in the introduction to this paper, these cannot be criteria that objectively define the value of a film once and for all, but rather elements that can be used to understand why a film can be judged in a certain way, without giving it an absolute and definitive evaluation. In other words, the criteria we will discuss below are an attempt to justify our evaluative choices by using elements that act as a “bridge” between impossible objectivity (“It's a beautiful film”) and the most idiosyncratic subjectivity (“I really liked it”).

2. The judgment of “critics” and ‘rankings’ or “hall of fame”

One of the most easily usable criteria for evaluating a film is to consider (and accept) the opinions provided by film critics. This criterion immediately proves to be somewhat problematic, first of all because of the difficulty of defining who, today, can be considered a “critic” and on the basis of which factors. If once upon a time film criticism used to be the almost exclusive preserve of professional “experts,” such as journalists who regularly published reviews in newspapers and magazines, today, with the explosion of forms of communication in the digital and Internet age, the category of “critics” has expanded dramatically to include a wide and diverse range of people who are involved in cinema at various levels. For example,

- “professional” critics, who are often still journalists specializing in the field and who publish their reviews in newspapers and magazines (in print and/or digital format);

- “academics,” university professors in various fields (not only “cinema” in the strict sense, but also communication, media, visual arts, etc.);

- specific institutions such as national or local film libraries;

- members of specialized websites, such as the International Movie Database (IMDb), who have the opportunity to express opinions and ratings;

- and the myriad of websites, blogs, chats, clubs, and so on, which, perhaps born as relatively “private” places, often turn into virtual spaces for sharing more or less reasoned opinions or even simply personal “likes” and “tastes,” sometimes dedicated specifically to a film genre, a television series, a saga such as Star Wars, or even a single film that has become a “cult classic” for a more or less restricted or extended circle of enthusiasts and fans.

It is clear that, in the sea of information on the net, these different types of “critics” play very different roles and, above all, base their assessments on a huge and undefined range of “criteria,” which are most often not explicitly stated or are taken for granted. It is therefore even more important, as we are doing, to state as precisely and clearly as possible what the possible criteria underlying the judgments on a film consist of - thus restoring not only the reliability of “critics” but also the role they can play and the value of the many evaluations circulating in the expanding universe of the web.

Perhaps the most obvious and intriguing product of the presence of so many diverse “critical instances” are the ‘rankings’ that are constantly being compiled, or the “hall of fame” or, in more technical terms, the palmarès: many of the categories of critics we have mentioned engage in the production, for example, of the ‘10 best films of the year’, the ‘100 most loved films of all time’, and so on. We thus find ‘professional’ rankings compiled by magazine critics (often competing with each other), university professors, or institutions, but also “amateur” rankings compiled by people who do not necessarily have an economic or other interest, such as magazine readers, website users, members of a virtual community, or even simply “Internet users” who enjoy sharing their tastes online (not to mention the impact that influencers can have in this sector as well). In addition to all these “hall of fame” lists, there are also more “quantitative” rankings, based, for example, on the number of awards received (the Oscars, the Palmes d'Or at the Cannes Film Festival, the Lions at the Venice Film Festival, the Bears at the Berlin Film Festival, or the Pardi at the Locarno Film Festival...), or on film market figures (box office takings, streaming platform earnings, DVD or Blu-Ray sales, etc.), and finally on online presence data (number of films downloaded, trailer views, web pages dedicated to a film, quotes and mentions, etc.).

Needless to say, the opinions and assessments of what constitutes a “good” film from such numerous and diverse sources are highly uncertain, even divergent, and often influenced by biased considerations, if not affected by more or less obvious or hidden interests. In this regard, it is very significant to compare two of the best-known and most “quoted” rankings available online, but which are very different from each other: the aforementioned International Movie Database (IMDb) and Sight and Sound magazine published by the British Film Institute.

The IMDb ranking (here is the 2025 ranking) is based on the choices made by users registered on the site (tens of millions) in response to surveys: it is therefore a very heterogeneous audience of ‘critics’, not better identified, but overall “unprofessional.” Among the rankings compiled by Sight and Sound, however, the one published every ten years since 1952 (“The 100 Greatest Films of All Time”) stands out. It is based on the choices of professionals in the sector and divided into two sub-rankings: on the one hand, critics, programmers, archivists, and academics, and on the other, directors and filmmakers (in the latest survey in 2022, 1,639 and 480 people respectively). If we take 2022 as the reference year, the top ten in the IMDb ranking were:

In this case, six out of ten are films that appeared more or less in the first six decades of the 20th century - films that we could label as widely recognized “classics,” and even “pillars” of film history. It is clear that choosing these films requires a deep knowledge of the sector and of how to judge films that are very different from each other as “good” (which implies the presence of diverse criteria for judgment). But even other more recent films (such as In the Mood for Love or Mulholland Drive) have already established their value, especially in the eyes of viewers who are somewhat “competent.” On the other hand, the presence of two more “experimental” and certainly not “popular” films in the strict sense, such as Jeanne Dielman and Beau travail, is surprising, especially since they are also quite distant from the present day (1975 and 1998). In this case too, however, these are films that, albeit for different reasons, may have had a particular impact on those involved in cinema in a more professional capacity. As with the IMDb user ranking, the critics surveyed by Sight and Sound certainly did not choose “escapist” films, but rather films that, in one way or another, stand out for the “commitment” of their respective directors, especially in terms of style and aesthetics. To be fair, it should be noted that this ranking (and, in particular, the choice of Number 1) has been widely criticized, highlighting the subjectivity of the whole operation and questioning its very meaning:

“In the rush to classify cinema, lists of the greatest films of all time have been created, which perhaps say much more about the society that compiles them than about cinema itself.” (Note 6)

The divergence between the two rankings examined is also striking: IMDb users and Sight and Sound critics chose totally different top ten films. This implies the use of diverse and, in part, alternative criteria of “quality” (such as those we will discuss in the following sections). However, beyond these macroscopic differences, it is interesting to note that in both cases the films chosen are, to some extent, rich in elements that lend themselves to reflection and discussion, due to the themes they deal with and/or the stylistic and aesthetic choices that characterize them.

3. Commercial success

This criterion stands somewhat apart from the others, as it is represented by measurable elements: while the critical success of a film, as noted in the previous section, can refer to the criticism of journalists, academics, and so on, commercial success refers to box office takings, i.e. the number of tickets sold in cinemas (with their equivalents in television or streaming services, such as the number of viewers tuned in to a channel, the number of views or videos downloaded from the Internet). The fact that we are talking about measurable factors obviously does not make this criterion objective in itself: the number of viewers or users does not automatically correspond to a positive evaluation of a certain film. First of all, we do not know how many viewers consciously and deliberately chose a certain show: it could be a convenient choice, dictated by a thousand different reasons (the proximity of a cinema, the desire to spend an evening with friends anyway, a last-minute choice made before entering one of the multiplex theatres, the desire to do something different on a Saturday night...); or a choice influenced by others (the desire to please one's partner, children, friends, etc.); or even a somewhat ‘obligatory’ choice (seeing a certain film that everyone is talking about, for example, to respect the choices of one's peer group, to avoid feeling ‘excluded’, to appear ‘trendy" or "cool" in front of others or even in front of oneself...). In the case of purchased DVDs/Blu-Rays, we do not know how many are “pirated,” nor the extent of their circulation (copies can be made to give to friends, etc.); the same applies to streaming services with illegally “downloaded” copies. And how many users of television channels or streaming services may have stopped watching before the end or, conversely, watched the same film one or more times?

But the number of  “paying” viewers does not necessarily equate to positive reviews for another, perhaps even more crucial reason: we do not know how many viewers, after watching the film, consider it to be “a good film”, nor to what extent, and above all, based on what criteria (nor do we know how many of them regret having chosen that particular film!). This is why the only criterion based on measurable factors (commercial success in terms of profits generated, also in relation to the budget invested) does not guarantee a level of objectivity - even if, in the common perception, a “blockbuster” film seems to imply general approval by the audience (despite the heterogeneity of the latter). Furthermore, the commercial success (or failure) of a film may or may not be accompanied by positive evaluations expressed in a variety of different ways, for example, through word of mouth on the internet, the purchase of film-related products (merchandising), the impact that the film itself may have on opinions, tastes, and even the daily habits of people who may have seen the film only once, and hastily - and there are films that are ‘trendy’ at a certain moment in time, which quickly exhaust their appeal and, after perhaps a huge burst of interest, often fall into oblivion. All these factors lead us to consider that the ‘success’ of a film is only a partially “measurable” criterion, and that many films, for a variety of reasons, can continue to be seen and appreciated by a variety of audiences even if the latter remain in a sense “invisible” because they do not fully count toward box office figures.

In the Internet age, with almost all current films and a certain portion of past films available online, it is impossible to know how many viewers a particular film has had, and/or continues to have, especially months or years after its initial release. Even theatrical distribution, which obeys very specific market criteria, has a decisive influence on the number of potential viewers: while multiplexes in large cities can offer many different films simultaneously in their ten or fifteen "rooms" and keep them ‘on the bill’ for medium to long periods, in small towns only blockbusters or films with almost guaranteed success are often available, perhaps screened for just a weekend. And while in the past films that went on to become famous began by being screened in only a few theatres in a large city, then achieved a certain popularity thanks to “word of mouth,” today a film that is intended to be promoted immediately is distributed simultaneously in thousands of theatres; and the number of tickets sold in the first weekend of programming counts, to the point that the expensive initial budget can be recouped in just a few days.

Furthermore, behind the sterile box office figures lie profound differences in the composition of the target audience, which makes the criterion of commercial success even more relative. We know, for example, that cinema-goers are mostly young people, that people in large cities go to the cinema more often than those in small towns, and that, as with other cultural consumption, socio-economic and professional status can be a determining factor.

It may be interesting to compare the global box office results in 2022 with the rankings of the IMDb website survey and the Sight and Sound magazine survey for the same year, mentioned in the previous section. The top ten highest-grossing films in 2022 according to Box Office Mojo (a website belonging to the IMDb group) were:

1. Avatar - The way of water (James Cameron, USA 2022)

2. Top Gun: Maverick (Joseph Kosinski, USA 2022)

3. Jurassic World Dominion (Colin Trevorrow, USA 2022)

4. Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness (Sam Raimi, USA 2022)

5. Minions: The rise of Gru (Kyle Balda, Brad Ableson and Jonathan del Val, USA 2022)

6. Black Panther: Wakanda forever (Ryan Coogler, USA 2022)

7. The Batman (Matt Reeves, USA 2022)

8. Thor: Love and Thunder (Taika Waititi, USA 2022)

9. Water Gate Bridge (Tsui Hark and Chen Kaige, China 2022)

10. Puss in boots: The last wish (Joel Crawford, USA 2022)

As can be seen, none of the most successful box office hits in 2022 appear in both of the aforementioned rankings. How should we interpret this data? On the one hand, it should be remembered that the surveys cited asked respondents to mention the films they considered the “best” or ‘greatest’ in the entire history of cinema (or at least all the films the respondents were aware of, without any time restrictions), while the “hard” box office data refer to the most-watched films in cinemas during a single year. We have seen that films from long ago have remained in the memory of viewers and critics, which implies a broad perspective. On the other hand, the commercial success of a film, not to mention ‘success’ defined according to other criteria we have discussed, can be sensational but also limited in time: how many of the most watched films in 2022 continued to be successful in subsequent years, and, above all, how many will remain in the memory of viewers and critics years or decades later?

4. The brilliant use of technology

Many films have been appreciated, and continue to be so, for their effective, sometimes even “masterful” use of technology. Cinema, itself an innovative and relatively recent technology, has always been attentive and quick to use the technological developments that became available, from the integration between images and sounds at the end of the 1920s to the increasingly sophisticated use of colour, from large panoramic screens to the use of computers in all stages of film production, right up to the latest developments in Artificial Intelligence. Cinema is certainly also about technology, and its products can also be judged on the basis of how filmmakers use them. This applies both to the production of a film and to the way it is consumed by the public. In the first case, technologies are at work, to a greater or lesser extent, both in the pre-production phase (e.g., in casting, scriptwriting, preparing locations, sets, costumes, etc.), during the actual production phase (e.g., in the choice and use of cameras, lenses, lights, recording devices, etc.), and during the post-production phase (e.g., in editing, the use of sound, music, special effects, etc.). But technology has also played and continues to play a crucial role in terms of audience enjoyment: just think of the innovations in both the video sector (such as the adoption of large screens and digital projectors) and the audio sector (such as the use of high-fidelity sound diffusers). By promptly adopting emerging new technologies, cinema has been able to cope with times of crisis, such as fierce competition from television since the 1950s or new viewing opportunities provided by the digital revolution and the Internet in more recent times.

Of course, viewers also differ greatly in terms of how sensitive or interested they are in the more technological aspects of watching a film, aspects that can become more or less important in their evaluation of the film itself. Once again, the audience is made up of people who bring with them a very diverse range of knowledge, skills, and experiences, which makes them more or less ready to use the criterion of “technological excellence” in their overall assessment of a film. There are viewers who are very attentive, for example, to the use of camera angles, editing, and soundtrack in a film, and others whose attention is rather limited to the story, the actors, and the narrative development, for whom the technical, formal, or stylistic aspects take a back seat or are even ignored.

Certainly, viewers' reactions to the use of technology, or rather the “cinematic language” assisted by technology, can change over time. In recent decades, in particular, the rapid development of digital technology and the widespread availability of devices that allow virtually anyone to “make movies” (such as video cameras, smartphones, computers, etc.) have reduced the distance that traditionally separated cinema as a “wonder machine” from its users: today's viewers are on average more “savvy,” able to immediately judge, for example, the quality of special effects or the use of the soundtrack. In a sense, accustomed to the constant new “wonders” made available by the digital world, today's viewers demand more and more from cinema, particularly from screenings in movie theatres, and producers, directors, and professionals in the sector are therefore encouraged to respond to these new expectations with continuous improvements and adjustments - to the point of wondering if and to what extent “theatre” cinema will be able to withstand competition from the new multimedia landscape. Let's consider a few examples in particular.

4.1. Special effects

When today's young people watch a film by Georges Méliès, a pioneer of French cinema, they immediately judge the special effects produced by this director as clumsy or naive - they could probably do better themselves, even just using a home computer or smartphone. But in doing so, they forget to place Méliès' work in the context of his era: these films were made just a few years after the birth of cinema, in an artisanal way and with very few tools available. And the special effects chosen by Steven Spielberg for Jaws, with the sea monster also created in ways that we would now describe as “artisanal” (and which, incidentally, is only seen briefly towards the end of the film) are certainly not comparable to those available today thanks to computers. Yet, decades later, Jaws remains a highly compelling film that is not at all “dated” from a spectacular point of view, proving that sophisticated technology is not necessarily a prerequisite for making a “good” film, and that everything ultimately depends on filmmakers' mastery of the medium of cinema (which is also, but not only, technology).

4.2. Editing

A similar argument could be made for editing: while we are now accustomed to the dizzying and phantasmagorical alternation of sequences in today's films, we forget that, although this is now made possible, and relatively easy, by new technologies, in the not-so-distant past, the astonishing results achieved by directors such as Eisenstein (himself a theorist of editing) in Battleship Potemkin, or by Orson Welles in Citizen Kane, were the result of meticulous manual “cut and paste” work that was not delegated to a computer.

4.3. Long takes

The long take, i.e., a long uninterrupted shot without editing cuts, has been the subject of much discussion in recent years due to a number of examples considered by many to be masterful. Here too, it is useful to contextualize the use of this shooting technique from a historical perspective. It is certainly not a novelty: the example of Alfred Hitchcock's Rope is often cited, in which the action takes place in ‘real time’, in the sense that the duration of the film coincides with the time of the action being staged (in other words, creating a unity of time and place). In reality, at the time of this movie, there were no "films" long enough to allow such a long shot, so Hitchcock edited together a series of shots, connected in an almost imperceptible way. It is clear that such a result can only be appreciated by those who have prior knowledge of the film and/or of Hitchcock's cinematographic techniques. Other more recent films, such as Alejandro Gonzales Inarritu's Birdman or Sam Mendes' 1917, have also managed to suggest the idea of a long take, even though in reality they are the result of sophisticated editing (which can still be appreciated by some viewers). Real long takes, in which the filming is truly uninterrupted, without cuts, are quite rare: one example is Aleksandr Sokurov's Russian Ark, which, also for the effect produced by this very long but fluid shot, was appreciated by many; or Philip Barantini's recent Boiling Point, which manages to hold the audience's attention and even create real dramatic tension with its virtuoso and masterful use of the long take. The fact remains, however, that for many viewers it may not be easy to notice that they are watching a slong take: after all, the charm and power of this way of filming are linked precisely to the fact that it aims to be imperceptible ...

4.4. Audience expertise and realism in staging

“The audience is so knowledgeable about the subject that if you make the slightest mistake, you can be sure it will spread far and wide on IMDb.” James Gray (Note 7)

It has already been said that today's viewers are not only more “savvy,” but also more knowledgeable: thanks to their familiarity with audiovisual production methods, they are often able to judge what they see on the big screen and identify even the smallest “mistakes” made by the director (or cinematographer, editor, screenwriter, and so on) - to an extent that was unthinkable just a few years ago. Thus, the final judgment on a film can be affected by even the smallest details, which in the eyes of the most attentive viewers constitute real “mortal sins.” Not only that, but these critical comments are often shared online by film communities, or by simple fans of a film genre, series, or saga, thus becoming “viral,” as James Gray states in this quote. Even in this case, however, viewers' prior knowledge and experience can make a difference: while some editing ‘mistakes’ may be stigmatized in a superhero movie, if seen, for example, in a film by Jean-Luc Godard, a well-known experimenter, they could be considered stylistic choices consciously adopted by the director to achieve a certain effect.

As an example of this sometimes obsessive attention that some viewers pay to a film, and their ability to be very demanding critics, one need only consult the comments that users of specialized sites (such as the oft-mentioned IMDb) post online: 'technical' errors (goofs) are listed meticulously - although this does not always imply a negative judgement of the films. Regarding Fury, one viewer writes:

Similarly, thanks to these attentive and meticulous viewers, we discover that Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, during the same scene, eats a croissant in one shot, but a pancake in the next shot...; that Cillian Murphy in Oppenheimer is cheered by people waving American flags with 50 stars... but that in 1945, when the scene takes place, there were only 48 stars on the flag...; that in The Holdovers, set in the 1970s, modern cars are clearly visible parked in one scene...; and that in the famous chariot race scene in Ben Hur, one of the actors is wearing a watch... and so on...

5. Watching a film ... between mind, heart, and body

A film's ability to stimulate reflection (i.e., its “edifying” value) and its ability to provoke emotions (i.e., its “exciting” value) are actually two closely related and, in a sense, indivisible factors. Processing information and experiencing emotions (i.e., working “with the mind” and working “with the heart”) are not two distinct processes, even though many traditions of thought, especially Western ones, have always separated cognition and emotion. Emotions are not simply the body's response to a stimulus, but are one with the mind that processes that stimulus, and emotion is an integral part of the process of understanding and interpretation. The same sensory abilities through which we perceive stimuli from external inputs accompany the mind's activity from the outset, aimed at decoding and giving meaning to the content of those stimuli. Even when watching a film, understanding, interpreting, and evaluating what we see and hear (cognitive activities) go hand in hand with the emotions that the images and sounds perceived by our senses (affective activities) provoke in us. According to this perspective, therefore, it makes very little sense to separate reflection and emotion, and the value of a film can be judged by considering the ‘edifying’ and ‘exciting’ aspects together, as inseparable.

But there is more than that. The traditional separation between “body” and ‘mind’ is increasingly being questioned by theories of “embodied cognition” (Note 9): our thinking is so rooted in somatic and sensory mechanisms that information processing and the triggering of affectivity occur through stimulation of our entire body and are accompanied by physical sensations, which are one with thoughts and emotions. When our mind processes information, our entire organism is active, for example with the perception of a position or movement in the space of our body. On closer inspection, this perspective is not so far removed from “popular psychology,” according to which the viewing of certain images and/or the perception of certain sounds simultaneously stimulates, in addition to the understanding of these stimuli, emotions “embodied” in somatic reactions: those images and/or sounds make our heart beat faster, stimulate sweating, give us a “lump in our throat,” send shivers down our spine, make us cry or laugh, give us a feeling of “relief” (as if our body were lifted upwards) or “prostration” (as if our body were pushed downwards) ...

It therefore makes only relative sense to divide “mind,” “heart,” and “body,” considering the ‘uplifting’ value of a film as separate from its “exciting” value. If, in the next two sections, we make this separation, it is only for the purpose of addressing these complex issues with an analysis that facilitates our exploration, without ever forgetting the close interrelationship that characterizes these different but at the same time so integrated aspects of our experience of watching films.

6. The edifying value of a film

It is not uncommon for a film to be appreciated (and therefore considered “a good film”) if, at the end of the viewing, the viewers feel that they have learned something, that they have become somewhat more informed or sensitized, and this with regard to a wide range of topics or aspects: for example, historical events or figures; geographical, social, and political situations and contexts; ideas or ideologies; and even themselves, as viewers and as people, to the point of gaining a better understanding of profound meanings concerning space, time, human life... As always, not all viewers share this approach to a film, nor the desire or need to draw meanings from the film that go beyond the simple “enjoyment” of a story, a character, or a performer (whatever one may mean by “enjoyment”). As already mentioned, the expectations on the basis of which a film is chosen for viewing can be as many and varied as the viewers themselves; therefore, even the positive evaluation of a film on the basis of its potential for “personal enrichment” depends primarily on the attitude and motivation underlying the “use” that one intends to make of a film.

The appreciation of a film from the point of view of its instructive, educational, or otherwise “edifying” value also depends greatly on the prior knowledge and experience of each viewer. If, for example, I am familiar with the story being told and/or its characters, or the situations and contexts depicted, it will be easier for me to compare what I already know with the ‘new’ that the film offers me, and thus come away from the viewing with the feeling that I have learned something rather than having witnessed a parade of things that are ‘old’ and obvious to me. The gap between ‘old’ and ‘new’, or between the ‘already known’ and ‘discoveries’, therefore depends on familiarity with the content and ideas conveyed by the film, or, in other words, on the distance between my knowledge/experience and what the film depicts. A film belonging to a culture different from my own can be more difficult to understand and judge: beyond the language used, and regardless of any subtitles, which do not always help to follow the dialogues smoothly, even the gestures, interpersonal relationships, situations, and contexts of a film can be difficult to interpret, and the risk of “intercultural misunderstanding” is always lurking. Even the ways in which cinematic language is used, closely linked to the artistic and aesthetic choices of the director and his collaborators, can create some problems of interpretation and, consequently, of evaluation. A film such as Rashomon, which focuses on the different versions of a samurai's murder provided by several characters, can certainly lends itself to more in-depth interpretations by those who are familiar with Japanese history and know how to evaluate the different social and cultural contexts that form the backdrop to the individual characters.

The same type of difficulty can arise with regard to the historical period in which the film is set. A film such as Stanley Kubrick's Barry Lyndon can be appreciated in a general way by an undifferentiated audience, but those who have knowledge of the 18th century, the wars that plagued that century, and the social and cultural rules of the time will find deeper reasons for appreciation. The same can be said of a film such as Luchino Visconti's The Leopard, with its description of the decline of the noble classes at the time of the formation of the Kingdom of Italy in the mid-19th century. (Incidentally, the more ‘expert’ viewer may also find reasons to appreciate the meticulousness with which directors such as Kubrick and Visconti took care of the precision, accuracy, and authenticity of the staging, down to the smallest details). On the contrary, we have just seen that viewers who are well informed about the events and contexts of World War II can easily identify the “technical” errors made in a film.

Especially in the past, a film set in a period and context that viewers might not be familiar with would often begin with some explanations and contextualization: for example, Michael Curtiz's Casablanca opens with a fairly detailed summary of the political situation in Morocco during World War II, providing direct information (accompanied by maps) that will prove crucial to understanding the events and characters described in the film. Today, this type of ‘preliminary information’ has become rarer, limited, for example, to the opening words ‘Based on a true story’; on the other hand, it is very common at the end of a film to see images showing the real people whose story is told in the film, and/or further information about, for example, the final fate of these people or the subsequent development of the issue dealt with in the film itself. This is the case with American Graffiti, in which at the end of the film we are told what happened to the characters, captured at a crucial moment in their lives (the end of high school, the beginning of college) and at a very particular historical moment (the Vietnam War).

“The less experience you have of a subject, the more you will believe what you see.” (Note 10)

Certainly, based on a general belief that a film reflects reality, there may be a tendency to accept without reservation characters, events, situations, and details that one has no direct knowledge or experience of: obviously, not everyone has been to a party of the super-rich or shot their attacker (let alone faced aliens or navigated the Metaverse). On the contrary, if the film offers us an examination of the relationships between teachers and students in a classroom, we are more likely to identify with these characters and therefore evaluate the authenticity and plausibility with which they are described (we have all been students, and some of the viewers are or have been teachers). More complex is the question of psychological familiarity (or distance) between us and characters with whom we initially share little or nothing: but even in this case, the principle of ‘suspension of disbelief’ applies, whereby, from this point of view, a ‘good’ film could be one that manages, even if only for the limited duration of the film itself, to make us identify, or at least sympathize or empathize, with the heroine of Million Dollar Baby (even if we are men) and with the gay characters in Brokeback Mountain (even if we are heterosexual).

Even more complex is the question of the “edifying” value of a film that we might appreciate for the insight it offers into mental states, moral dilemmas, existential meanings such as the meaning of life or death ... and here we enter slippery and highly subjective territory, where many (or some) may think that a film, as a work of art, can go far beyond the mere representation of stories and characters and instead aspire to convey the deeper meaning of human experience; and that the camera does not merely record what has been placed in front of it, but can at least give us a glimpse of the invisible and inaccessible that lies behind and beneath things. When faced with films that, more or less consciously, offer suggestions and insights and not just facts and circumstances, viewers' opinions can obviously vary greatly. An IMDb user provided this review (summarized here) of Terrence Malick's The Tree of Life (Note 11):

The user rightly points out that the film lends itself to “polarized” opinions. What may give rise to these disagreements is above all the elusive nature of the experiences described, with the inevitable consequence that the words used to describe what is perceived by viewers are so abstract as to border on extreme subjectivity. What, in fact, can be meant by “lyrical and visual poem”? And above all, how can abstract conceptualizations such as “discussions about the birth of morality, the universe, and universal truths” be shared with other viewers? Here, the differences within the audience become almost insurmountable, and we can only accept that The Tree of Life may be “a beautiful film” for some and an “unbearable mess” for others...

Certainly, the issue is made very complex by the fact that the meanings conveyed by a film are, as has been said, actually reworked and reconstructed by viewers, who can thus transcend the original intentions of the director and/or screenwriter (assuming it is possible to know the filmmakers' opinions in detail). The theme dealt with in a film, for example, can be generalised far beyond the characters and events narrated in the film itself, acquiring a more universal value, which we often do not know how much was explicitly intended in the original project. The parable of the protagonist of Million Dollar Baby, who pursues her dream of becoming a professional female boxing champion but, following an illegal blow during a match, is left paralysed and therefore asks her coach (also and above all a father figure) to end her suffering, lends itself to profound and universal meanings, from the parent/child relationship to the ambiguous values that a certain vision of sporting success can convey, to the moral question raised by euthanasia. And Brokeback Mountain prompts, even beyond the empathy with which one can view the characters, deeper reflections on diversity, intolerance and the weight of social contexts and conditioning in determining the personal destinies of individuals.

Ultimately, the meanings, values, ideas (or ideologies) that can be found in a film are situated at different levels of depth of understanding and interpretation: films can say or want to say several things at once to a variety of viewers – and sometimes these “messages” can be (intentionally or not) laden with ambiguity. For example, in many films centred on gangsters or other types of “criminals”, these figures are portrayed in such a way as to take on an almost “heroic” stature, sometimes making them more attractive than their victims - with a clear moral ambivalence. Given that, practically from the outset, cinema has been accused of promoting negative role models, especially in terms of violence and sex, it is not surprising that, particularly in times of transition and crisis, films themselves have taken on the burden of “warning” viewers about the meanings conveyed, as if to “cover their backs” against possible accusations of immorality (messages that, paradoxically, may sometimes have helped films achieve greater success than expected and which, in any case, do not prevent viewers from reacting in sometimes unexpected ways, thus making a film “speak” in a different way than expected).

Scarface, for example, which tells the tumultuous story of a mafia boss betrayed by his morbid love for his sister, was potentially a “risky” film (and its release was postponed for a year by the censors), so some intertitles were placed at the beginning that not only invited the audience to ‘distance themselves’ from what they were about to see, but also urged the public authorities to take more effective action against these criminal gangs. We read that "The purpose of this film is to ask the government, 'What are you going to do about it? The government is your government. What do you intend to do?“ And the original title itself reads 'Scarface, the shame of a nation”.

Fifty years later, Making love, one of the first films to openly address homosexuality, was equally cautious in addressing the audience, starting with the trailer, which literally carried this message: "We believe that Making love breaks new ground in its sensitive portrayal of a young executive who discovers that her husband is experiencing a crisis of sexual identity. Making love deals openly and honestly with this sensitive subject. It is not sexually explicit. But it may be too strong for some people. Making love is courageous but sensitive. We are proud of its honesty. We applaud its courage.‘ Of course, this “caution”, which seeks not to offend anyone's sensibilities, is reflected in the superficiality with which the characters and situations are ultimately described. But even this type of explicit message, which ’reveals" the ideology behind certain choices, does not prevent viewers from reacting in very different ways.

In this complex web of relationships between a film, its “author” and its viewers, it is not always easy to determine clearly how much a film reflects the idea (or ideology) of its author and to what extent the viewer is responsible for attributing certain meanings and messages to a film. Certainly, a film tends to reflect the society in which it is made, but it has always been the case, and particularly with the explosion of media communication in recent decades, that society itself is also shaped by the forms of communication produced within it. As a viewer, I can therefore judge that a film does not reflect the reality around me, but there is no doubt that it conveys a “collective imagination”, in which I may or may not recognise myself.

In this sense, a film can truly be a mirror in which viewers can reflect themselves, coming into contact with stories and situations that they may have experienced in real life, that are part of their present experience, or even that open up perspectives on possible and alternative lives and worlds. This significantly increases the value of viewing, leading viewers to discover something about themselves, the community in which they live or, more generally, the society of which they are a part. In other words, a film can broaden the horizons of the mind and, as we have already said, take on more universal meanings: a film about childhood can, on the one hand, make me relive my childhood and, on the other, lead me to relive my childhood, and on the other hand, lead me to reflect on childhood in general. And a film like The father, which explicitly deals with senile dementia, can strike a chord and make viewers reflect on the psychological and social dimensions of this experience, even in those viewers who are not directly experiencing this type of problem.

The cinematic experience can sometimes be likened to an intercultural experience: the contact with a culture different from our own, which in its most acute forms can take on the characteristics of a real ‘culture shock’, allows us, on the one hand, to experience differences first-hand, while on the other, it also makes us realise the relativity of our customs, traditions and values. In other words, contact with the “different” (which cinema can offer) can make the “new” more familiar and at the same time make what is familiar to us “new”, in the sense that we no longer take our personal experience for granted, inevitable and absolute. This is the case, for example, with films from cultures that are very distant from the Western one (which we consider “standard”, i.e. taken for granted), which may initially seem difficult and “alienating”, but which then, as we continue watching and at the end of the film, may “open our eyes” to very different realities (which, however, can in some ways perhaps also appear similar to our own, if we are willing to go beyond the surface of what we see and hear).

As we have repeatedly pointed out, this tendency to consider a “good” film to be one that has some degree of “educational” or “formative” value certainly does not belong to viewers who see cinema as an experience of pure “escapism”. But between the opposite extremes of pure escapism on the one hand and profound reflection on the other, there are obviously many intermediate positions. The same can be said of the fact of considering a "good" film one that moves us.

7. The emotional value of a film

As mentioned above, viewers almost literally “incorporate” the emotions aroused by watching a film, including the emotions of its characters, with whom viewers tend to identify. The importance of this “somatisation”, whereby the whole body, together with the mind and heart, processes thoughts and perceives emotions, leads us to consider the evaluation of a film as an inseparable combination of aesthetic appreciation and emotional value - in other words, emotions are embodied in that whole that is the living organism.

Having once again made this premise, we immediately recognise that the value of a film as a conveyor of emotions (i.e. the assessment that a “good” film is one that moves us) is closely dependent on the oft-mentioned individual differences: it is indisputable that, when watching a romantic melodrama, there are those who cry and those who are not moved at all, just as when watching a horror film, there are those who close their eyes so as not to see and those who even smile at the brutality of certain scenes. But emotional reactions also change over time within the same person: how often are we surprised when a film that may have disturbed us when we first saw it leaves us indifferent years later? The film is clearly the same, but we have changed, and along with us, the sensibilities of audiences who have viewed the film over time have certainly changed. We are immersed in a culture that is constantly changing, sometimes even abruptly, in terms of beliefs, attitudes, values and motivations, and this social dimension of the reactions provoked by a film cannot be underestimated.

In this sense, the situations and contexts in which the film-viewing experience takes place also have a considerable impact, even if it is not always immediately perceptible: watching a comedy film alone, rather than with a group of fun-loving friends, is clearly different, just as watching a romantic tearjerker alone is different from watching it with your partner, or watching a film in the intimacy of your own living room or in a theatre alongside dozens or hundreds of other people whose reactions you can somehow perceive. Let us add, still on the subject of individual differences, that emotions can also depend, for example, on the appearance on screen of an actor or actress we admire, or even simply on the “atmosphere” emanating from a film that clearly belongs to a genre we particularly enjoy. Finally, let us not forget that our previous experiences, i.e. the baggage of thoughts, memories and attitudes with which we approach the viewing experience, influence our understanding of the film itself and the emotions it may (or may not) evoke in us. The heartbreaking ending of The Bridges of Madison County, when the couple played by Meryl Streep and Clint Eastwood part ways forever after a few days of shared happiness, will have a different impact on different viewers, to the point that some would say that “if you haven't had a certain experience, you can't really understand this film” (where "understand" obviously means not only making sense of the story but also feeling the emotions it evokes).

Starting from this observation, it is interesting to note the emotions associated with the ending of films, and in particular with the “happy ending” that has characterised, and still characterises, a large part of past and recent film productions. A happy ending is generally appreciated by viewers, even if “happy” can mean very different things (Note 12): in Pretty Woman, we can rejoice that, after many vicissitudes that had jeopardised the relationship between Julia Roberts and Richard Gere, in the finale he literally climbs a building to reach her as she waits for him, like a Prince Charming freeing the beautiful princess imprisoned in a tower. But in the ending of Stella Dallas, when the mother, whom her daughter had abandoned years earlier, sees her daughter about to get married from outside a house, we witness Stella's pain, mixed with happiness, as she walks away in tears ... It is certainly not a “happy” ending in the strict sense (certainly not the same as Pretty Woman), but we share the emotions conveyed by this scene and perhaps identify with a mother who can only rejoice at her daughter's wedding, even though she regrets having lost her forever ... So, there may be “positive” endings for viewers (at least for many of them), even if the “pleasure” of the epilogue has very different meanings.

The typical Hollywood happy ending has often been criticised and even despised as manipulative towards the viewer, whose emotions are stirred according to a precise plan that dictates if, when and how to make them laugh, cry, and so on. Not only that, but it has been and is quite easy to “unmask” the ideology behind many of these “happy endings”, in the sense of uncovering the intent of certain films which, for example, do nothing more than confirm the status quo without questioning certain values or attitudes (e.g., the reconfirmation of the heterosexual couple as a prelude to an inevitable marriage in Pretty Woman or the maternal sacrifice required by the force of social conventions in Stella Dallas). However, if it is legitimate to accept a critical analysis of the values and ideologies conveyed (more or less explicitly and more or less consciously) by a film, it is equally legitimate to recognise the right of viewers to be moved and touched regardless of the critical discourse on the film itself.

As a matter of fact, these considerations lead us to highlight a broader factor, namely the distinction between ethics and aesthetics, or, in other words, the appreciation of a film for its moral value rather than for its value as a work of art. Here too, we can identify different if not conflicting positions between those who claim that aesthetic value cannot be separated from moral value and those who defend a work regardless of its ethical content. According to the first position, the emotions aroused by a film are therefore only acceptable if they are morally justified, or, in other words, ethically unacceptable content cannot lead to aesthetic appreciation - a film cannot be “good” if it conveys morally questionable content. The second position asserts the opposite, namely that a “good” film can also be one with morally ambiguous content: Oscar Wilde had already said that "There are no such things as moral or immoral books. Books are well written or badly written, that is all” (Note 13). Wilde obviously made a drastic distinction between the aesthetic value of a work, in the sense of its ability to give pleasure, and its ethical value, in the sense of its ability both to provoke reflection (what we have called the “edifying value” of a film) and to elicit morally significant emotional reactions (e.g., approval or rejection of the behaviour of the characters in the film).

On the basis of considerations of this kind, controversy can arise over the responsibility that films have in representing, for example, violence, which cinema could promote in society, especially among particularly sensitive or “at-risk” groups of people, such as young people. The issue is a thorny one, and becomes even more relevant when it is the director himself who makes delicate choices in this regard. Funny Games, for example, which depicts the massacre of a family by two young criminals, stops at nothing and reaches levels of violent tension that many viewers found unbearable; and it does not matter that director Michael Haneke adopted certain measures that, according to him, could “distance” viewers from the images (such as leaving the killings off-screen, but still showing plenty of blood, or, in a scene where one of the two criminals is apparently killed, allowing his partner to “rewind the tape”, going back in time and bringing him back to life ...). These uses (some would say “abuses”) of cinematic language, as in other films the representation of violence as if it were a “comic strip”, do not prevent viewers from relating to what they see and hear, often provoking very negative emotions. And it is certainly no consolation that a film like Funny Games, given its success, was remade almost literally by the same director for the American market a few years later.

The fact is that, once we sit down in front of a screen, we become, whether we like it or not, “voyeurs” – cinema has always been well aware of this fact and has exploited it in every possible way. Consider Hitchcock, one of the greatest theorists of the role of the viewer in cinema: even a film like Rear Window, which does not contain particularly violent scenes (despite telling the story of a man who kills his wife and cuts her up), is all about the position of the protagonist James Stewart who, immobilised with a leg in plaster, can find nothing better to do than observe (or rather, spy on) his neighbours, even using a telephoto lens: and we, the viewers, together with him, participate in this blatant intrusion into the lives of others.

Violence can, of course, be not only physical but also psychological, which only increases the criticality of the representation. Filmmakers' “manipulation” of the audience can, for example, play on a fascination, bordering on the morbid or sadomasochistic, for stories with high emotional potential (whether violent or erotic is irrelevant). This applies not only to “fiction” cinema, but also to the documentary genre, which is only apparently more “objective”. The eye of the camera (and of the people who handle it in various capacities, from the director to the director of photography) is never really “neutral”, as filming always involves conscious choices (from deciding what to leave out of the frame to the length of the shots, from the editing of the sequences to the pace of the narrative, and so on), so the final result always involves a judgement that, once again, has to do with ethical and aesthetic criteria. A “docufiction” film (a mixture of fiction and live footage) such as The Voice of Hind Rajab caused a great stir. It depicted the harrowing story of a Palestinian girl who, imprisoned in a car together with her murdered relatives, desperately tried to contact someone via a mobile phone. In addition to professional actors playing the rescuers who were unable to help, the film used real recordings of the girl's voice, with a shocking result for viewers. Was it acceptable to use a document such as that of the Palestinian girl in a film that was otherwise “fictional”? How far can we go in sensationalising pain? The film, which is nonetheless a valuable document for understanding the plight of the Palestinians, and which won the Silver Lion - Grand Jury Prize at the Venice Film Festival, raises very complex and thorny issues that call into question the very nature of cinema and the role played by filmmakers and audiences - perhaps now more than ever, given the proliferation of images in which we are constantly - and often unknowingly - immersed.

Certainly, the question of the alleged (a)morality of works cannot be separated from a historical perspective. As we have already noted, the sensibilities of cinema audiences vary over time, as do all the socio-cultural variables that permeate the beliefs, attitudes and values of a society. What until a few decades ago might have caused scandal (for example, in the representation of sexuality) is now widely accepted without batting an eyelid, and a scene of unprecedented violence such as the epilogue of Gangster Story, which caused a huge stir at the time, is perhaps now accepted, at least by some viewers, with less emotional involvement (although this does not detract from the question of the sometimes manipulative power of images). Just compare how censorship bans have changed over time: when it was released in 1976, Taxi Driver was banned in France for viewers under the age of 18, but today this ban has been lowered to under 12s. And a film that many would consider “suitable for families”, such as Avatar, was released in the United States in 2009 with a ban on children under 13 due to “intense epic battle sequences, sensuality, coarse language and smoking” ... (Note 14).

In conclusion, once again, in the ethics vs aesthetics debate, we are faced not only with ideologically different positions, but also with contrasting, if not opposing, attitudes towards the evaluation and appreciation of a film, and the conclusion can only be the same as we have repeatedly expressed in this paper - namely, that all positions and attitudes can be accepted, provided that we remain willing to discuss and compare them, with the aim, as stated in our Introduction, of trying to understand without pretending to explain (or, worse, defending one position by denying the other).

8. The question of novelty or originality

A further criterion by which a film can be considered a “good” film is whether it is perceived as original, i.e. with aspects that in some way qualify it as at least partly “new” compared to everything the viewer has seen before. The originality or novelty of a film calls into question, first and foremost, its belonging to a particular film genre. If we identify a certain film as a western, rather than a thriller or a science fiction film, we immediately refer to the entire production of that genre to which the “new” film seems to belong. By definition, a genre has aspects that characterise it more or less strongly (e.g. the type of stories, characters, sets, soundtracks, etc.), which every film that belongs to that genre must display. But the crucial characteristic of a “genre” film is that, while it must refer to a codified tradition, it must also, to some extent, introduce some element of novelty: from the audience's point of view, viewers must be gratified both by rediscovering familiar and beloved aspects, and, at the same time, by the presentation of something new, without which there is a risk of boredom. Therefore, a first factor that influences the originality of a work concerns how it fits into the “canon” of its genre while offering elements of novelty and “surprise”. This continues to be true even if we consider the fact that many films today seem to belong to many different genres (e.g. dramedies, or dramatic comedies), and that many films can be considered hybrids: adventure is mixed with science fiction, crime with comedy, thriller with musical, and so on.

Originality can relate in particular to the technological aspects of film production, but in this sense, the historical perspective is crucial: a film such as The Robe may have seemed very innovative in 1953 given its use of Cinemascope, a screen format now largely surpassed by other technological marvels (no wonder this film remains in history mainly as a pioneering example of that technology); Similarly, we should consider the revolutionary novelty, in 1927, of The Jazz Singer, the first example of a film wuth sound sequences.

Similarly, while we are now accustomed to impressive aerial shots taken with drones, the shot from above in a famous sequence from Hitchcock's The Birds (from minute 01:23 in the video below) must have seemed almost revolutionary in 1963; and, to provide a much more recent example, Taxi Tehran, filmed by director Panahi from inside a car using a smartphone (to avoid trouble with censorship), fits into a range of innovative ways of filming, almost making a virtue of necessity.

New technologies, as we know, quickly render obsolete innovations that once might have enjoyed more lasting fame. Thus, S1m0ne, which in 2002 introduced the character of a beautiful woman created on a computer by a director in crisis (with whom he falls in love), now pales in comparison to many films featuring robots, automatons, “replicants”, avatars and so on ...

If the two most famous Hollywood films of 1939 (Gone with the Wind and The Wizard of Oz, directed by the same director) owed at least part of their popularity to their highly innovative use of colour, today it is the use of black and white that is rather rare and therefore, in a certain sense, “original”.

And while a musical film produced by the Indian film industry (Bollywood) does not cause much of a stir, given that a large number of Bollywood films belong to the musical genre (or at least contain elements of a musical), La La Land was hailed, upon its release in 2016, as an original reinterpretation of the classic Hollywood musical of the 1950s.

Similarly, the innovations in form and content of New Hollywood in the 1960s and 1970s introduced new elements into the quintessential Hollywood genre, the Western, for example by questioning the myth of the frontier and the image of “Indians” (i.e. Native Americans) conveyed by the “classic” Westerns of previous decades. This then almost revolutionary perspective helped shape the (few) westerns produced subsequently, leading to the experiments of Quentin Tarantino (who in Django Unchained pays homage, among other things, to the original Django, one of the best films of the “spaghetti western” genre).

But originality is not just about technology or film genres. Sometimes, a particular use of techniques can convey a deeper conceptual meaning. We have already mentioned the extraordinary special effects created by George Méliès at the end of the 19th century, effects which, beyond their technical prowess, helped lay the foundations for cinema as a realm of fantasy and not just a recording of reality. And while other pioneers such as the Lumière brothers adopted a fixed shooting plan, constrained as they were by the near immobility of the camera, when Andy Warhol made Empire in 1965, a silent film with no story and no characters, in which the fixed camera films the same scene for 8 hours and 5 minutes, we are clearly faced with a provocation - a stylistic but also conceptual choice (the desire to record the passing of time, almost violating the very idea of cinema as an organisation of reality).

Originality can also relate to other aspects, such as innovations in casting, i.e. in assigning character types to actors: one of the reasons for the interest and popularity of a film such as Guys and Dolls, for example, was seeing Marlon Brando, already famous mainly for dramatic roles (such as in A Streetcar Named Desire, The Wild One and On the Waterfront), in a musical film.

One final consideration brings attention back, once again, to individual differences. Viewers differ from one another in how they perceive the novelty or originality of a film, especially in relation to the aforementioned issue of film genres. Some viewers may find many martial arts or superhero films repetitive, but seasoned and knowledgeable film buffs may find reasons to be interested in certain aspects (e.g., plot or character details, or even objects or sets) that others may miss; and even film critics may sharpen their analytical skills to highlight what they perceive as elements of novelty. Finally, let's not forget that the desire to appear “trendy” and “well-informed” may prompt some people to chase after what the media (or marketing campaigns, or word of mouth on the Internet) label as new and original products ...

Notes

6. Victoria Oliver Farner, The Video Essay: "Sound & Sight & Time" on Notebook|MUBI.

7. Heller N. 2019. "James Gray’s Journey from the Outer Boroughs to Outer Space", The New Yorker, September 19.

8. From a user revuew at IMDb. At the same site you can find a detailed guide to such "technical errors".

9. See e.g. Coegnarts M. & Kravanja P. (eds.) 2015. Embodied cognition and cinema,  Leuven University Press, Leuven.

10. Jullier, op. cit. p. 136.

11. From a user review at IMDb.

12. See Mariani L. 2023. "Did they really live happily ever after?" Film endings and viewers' reactions, cinemafocus.eu

13. Wilde O. 1891. The portrait of Dorian Gray.

14. As reported in Jullier 2021, op. cit., pp. 178-180.