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"Let me put this bluntly, in language even a busy blogger can understand: Criticism and its humble cousin, reviewing is not a democratic activity. It is, or should be, an elite enterprise, ideally undertaken by individuals who bring something to the party beyond their hasty, instinctive opinions of a book (or any other cultural object)."

So sayeth one Richard Schickel a film critic and book reviewer.

Or should I say, so sayeth one Richard Schickel a hard-copy-published writer who presumably sees his trade being undermined by those of us who take a different stance. As a writer on both Time magazine and the LA Times, he ought to feel less insecure.

Those of us who (ever so 'umbly) deign to express our "hasty instinctive opinions" on sites such as this one are clearly no threat.

Or are we? Perhaps.

Whilst I am, not surprisingly, irritated nay, insulted by Mr Schickel's remarks, I am not surprised. The idea that the ability to decide whether or not something is "good" or "bad" is something only specially talented or trained or educated individuals are able to do, individuals of a certain "class" perchance, is just so much Suffolk-pink tinged hogwash!

It is however an opinion that one would expect of an individual from that specially talented, trained, educated, class. After all there is a certain demarcation issue at stake here (brothers and sisters!). We cannot have any old Tom, Dick or Harriet expressing their views for the world at large to read. How on earth will standards be maintained if the working class' or the uneducated' start of all things expressing opinions?

Quite.

Firstly, there is no such thing as "good" or "bad" when it comes to films, books, "or any other cultural object". There are simply things which he (or I) find to be good, bad or indifferent according to our own personal perceptions of whether the artist has achieved his or her aim, whether that aim was valid and whether irrespective of the first two, we find something of meaning in the result.

The whole point about art is that there are no absolutes. Or art would have no point at all.

I am as capable of making those personal perception judgements as Mr Schickel. Indeed, I am as capable of making that judgement as is the man who every couple of weeks hefts my wheelie-bin onto the cart for emptying but who (for all I know) may go home to update a very erudite blog on whatever facets of modern or historical society attract his personal interest.

Even more "indeed" is there an argument to be made that

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