Why Your Greatest Isn't My Greatest

The greatest movie ever made is Rob Reiner’s The Princess Bride. The greatest book ever written is Vladimir Nabokov’s Lolita. The greatest album ever recorded is Sinatra at the Sands. The greatest painting ever painted is Café Terrace at Night by Van Gough. And the greatest feat of architecture is the Chrysler Building in Manhattan.

You don’t agree with all my choices? I don’t blame you. I could have just as easily listed Casablanca, A Tale of Two Cities, Abbey Road, Matise’s The Blue Window, and The Golden Gate Bridge. Or how about Citizen Kane, Catcher in the Rye, Miles Davis’ Birth of the Cool, Edward Hopper’s Nighthawks, and the Roman Coliseum?

The point is, there seems to be no point. There is no point in objectively ranking the “greatest” works of art. If my favorite album is Sinatra at the Sands, and yours is Nirvana Unplugged in New York, and my waitress at Denny’s loves The Wall, who’s to say who is right? To each his own, even if his own is Barry Mannilow's Copacabana.

Except, there is a point. But it’s not the point we think. The point is not the ranking, but the reasoning behind it. The point is not to settle an argument with someone, but to start one with yourself.

By ranking the greatest movies, songs, and other art forms, we are forced to come to terms with our own understanding of the art, and that helps us come to an understanding of who we are and how we see the world. If I say that The Princess Bride is the greatest movie of all time, I need a reason. My reason says something about how I experience movies, and how I experience art in general. By extension, it tells me something about how I understand the world. Art is the medium by which we are able to observe how we perceive the world, without experiencing the subjectivity of that perception. Art facilitates the objective analysis of our subjectivity.

Allow me to illustrate by example. The Princess Bride is my favorite movie. Speaking critically about the art of the film, I would say that the cinematography is lush and fantastical, with a lot of wide shots to capture the vastness of nature’s beauty. The pacing of the film is all inertia, with no stops or slow-downs. The performances are comically exaggerated when the story calls for it, but also contain subtly, nuance, and heart. The music is sweeping and dramatic. The dialogue is witty, with carefully studied verbal mannerisms and a strong undercurrent of cynicism and incredulity throughout. The story, well, it’s schmaltzy, melodramatic, and absolutely perfect.

I can see from this cursory examination that the movie represents the world as I wish it were. I wish the world were a lush landscape of verdant vistas. I wish everyone spoke in clever and pithy remarks, with a healthy dose of skepticism about everything and everyone. I wish my life were a classic fairy tale adventure, full of action, intrigue, insurmountable odds that somehow get surmounted, and of course true love. And I wish there was never a dull moment, with one adventure leading boldly into the next.

Because this describes the world as I wish it, it stands to reason that the world as I see it is the opposite. I must see around me the bleak and unwelcoming sprawl of civilization. I must find everyday conversation to be mundane, trifling, and empty. I must think people believe too much of what they see and hear, are too easily fooled, and much too credulous of their surroundings. And I must find my life a plodding affair, lacking momentum, lacking adventure, and of course, lacking romance.

That’s all rather depressing, but if that is the world as I see it, then I know what I have to change in my world to make my life better. I have to look harder for the beauty in our world, and find something glorious in even the most atrocious sights. I have to work on appreciating the nuance and subtext of mundane conversations, and to hear and appreciate the music in every person’s voice. I have to pursue new thrills and take new chances to spur adventure in my life. And as for romance, well, I have to work a little harder on that one, too.

The point here is not to throw myself some kind of pep rally. The point is that art, be it The Princess Bride or anything else, is a funhouse mirror to which we can hold up our lives, and see an idealistic alternative in the reflection. By this comparison, we are able to discover, and hopefully to address, those deficiencies that hold back our life as it is from becoming our life as we want it to be. We rank our art, our top ten movies, our top five songs, to help us decide which funhouse mirror reflection we most want our life to become.

Whether you identify with Kurt Cobain’s passion, Pink Floyd’s rebellion, Ralph Ellison’s disenfranchisement, or Jackson Pollack’s chaos, your appreciation for your favorite works of art has little to do with the art, and much to do with you.