A few words about Calvin Wilson, the epitome of an honest film critic
The St. Louis Post Dispatch writer died at the age of 70 this week.
“Do you understand what we just saw?!?”
The voice cut through the glazed darkness of a theater that just rolled the credits on a movie I can’t even completely remember, but it was as right as rain. Calvin Wilson saw the blitzed expression on my face, chuckling as he walked away after asking me a question we both weren’t prepared to answer.
Wilson filled the quota of a “film critic,” someone who could criticize film without being afraid of the immediate backlash. A creative who walked to his beat and said what needed to be said without the usual bulletproof vest of caution, his specialty was honesty. If he walked out and didn’t like a movie that 95% of the attending critics happened to love, he didn’t shrink away to the bathroom or his car. Calvin stood and fired his take without hesitation.
He had just hit 70 years of age when he died from an undisclosed illness on Tuesday, following a long career with the St. Louis Post Dispatch. After reviewing movies for decades, Wilson had switched to his biggest artistic love: theater. Maybe the second love aspect of his film takes allowed for a sharper edge, or he could have just been that damn good.
When it came to film criticism, Wilson was like the late Joe Williams; their “fucks to give” meter was always low with a movie, big or small. It was hard not to look up to them or try to pick their brain after a movie. I would compare it to trying to catch up with a balloon that’s been let go; you only had minutes before the crowd would disperse. Every film critic and writer wants to get to the peak that Wilson reached.
I respected Wilson as a burgeoning teenage film addict, and appreciated the fact that we got to share some words after a few movies. You never knew what was going to come out of his mouth, and that made him great. Back when the newspaper didn’t cost $3, I’d run down to the Post Dispatch machine and yank out the Everyday section.
Sure, the fresh Bernie Miklasz sports column was going to be consumed before the ink could dry on my finger tips. But it was the review of a new movie that compelled my brain the strongest after the change dropped and the fresher-than-bread paper was extracted. Fridays carried the big movie ads, the ones that were cut out and glued to a scrapbook. Soon after, I flipped back a page and scanned for the Wilson grade on the Tom Cruise/Michael Mann collaboration, Collateral.
THREE STARS!! WOOHOO!
A three-star review from Calvin was like a four-star review for most critics. At their best, they should inform a movie lover without preaching. He never quivered in being direct, but knew how to compose a negative review without slandering the filmmakers. That’s a skill that doesn’t come to many, speaking from experience.
Writers like Wilson and Williams may have left the Earth, but their impact won’t be going anywhere. Emulation continues after life, a life of work and words that is left for everyone still breathing to try and keep going. If I can pull it off one day, I’d like to get as confident and easy-going with my film takes as Calvin Wilson was when I was a young kid scanning a newspaper to see what he thought of Arnold Schwarzengger’s Eraser.
A tribute to Wilson wouldn’t be complete without acknowledging his great laugh. I’m talking about an extended chuckle with legs. As Webster-Kirkwood Times film critic Kent F. Tentschert said in an email chain on Wednesday morning, he never seemed to laugh at the normal things that an audience member would find humorous. You could be 30 minutes into a hardcore drama with no avenues for a chuckle, and Calvin would suddenly scream with laughter. It would startle a snoozing viewer out of the slumber of boredom, and right back into the scope of the movie.
He had that effect all the time. Rest easy, sir. I still don’t know what we both saw at that Killing of the Sacred Deer screening.