The country of narratives

There was a time when a film critic who dared to write about the narrative structure of Shark (1975), by Steven Spielberg, hailing the subtle reconversion of classic parables about an idealized Nature, would be condemned in the public square for its pretentiousness — an “action” film, plus a mechanical shark, what does that have to do with narratives? The scene would repeat itself if the same critic dared to suggest that, from Save Yourself Who Can (1980), with the integration of new image manipulation techniques, Jean-Luc Godard was revolutionizing the very concept of narrative. Narrative? There are these critics with their intellectual jugglery…

I confess that I miss those times. At least an insult was really an insult, stupid and frontal, and the message could not be clearer: there was a vast club of offended citizens for whom the simple use of the word “narrative” could only be a symptom of arrogance. Without forgetting, let’s be realistic, that among these outraged citizens there were also respectable members of the journalistic class.

I jump in time. I also confess that, now, my fragile philosophical conscience is experiencing moments of confusion and anguish. After all, there is a whole world of “analysis” committed to assuming (certainly correcting) the evil legacy of film criticism. What is it with the football coach who suddenly adopted the three-back option? It turns out that what the coach is doing is infinitely complex. Namely: his narrative has changed… And even more so, pay attention, as the way the club president refers to the same coach is narratively different — radical, without a doubt.