Forventningsdrab / forventningsforvirring

Forventningsdrab:

Et værk du har glædet dig til får en overbevisende dårlig anmeldelse :

fra The New Yorkers David Denbys anmeldelse af Martin Scorseses nye film The Wolf of Wall Street:

I didn’t much care for “Wolf,” but every time I describe it to someone he says, “I want to see that!” Many people are going to be made happy by the wild, hyper-vulgar exuberance, the endless cruddy behavior (swindling, drugs, whoring, orgies, dwarf-tossing, more swindling), and the fully staged excess of every kind. To adopt the idiom and the tone of the movie: Are you fucking kidding me? Are you telling me that you’re bored by big money? By orgies? By monster yachts? Are you saying you don’t like looking at beautiful naked blondes? Is that what you’re fucking telling me? Three hours of that kind of hectoring. The film, as you can see, is a bit of a trap for critics. Scorsese mounts the filthy, piggish behavior on such a grand scale that mere moral disapproval might seem squeamish, unimaginative, frightened. Most of us, after all, wouldn’t dare screw up as badly as Jordan Belfort. The movie has a bullying tone, and you have to come back at it. All right, then: I myself am not squeamish, and I’ve done my own share of screwing up financially, and yet I found plenty of room in my heart for disgust, and even for boredom. “Wolf” is delivered, almost all the way through, at the same pitch of extreme aggression. It’s relentless, deafening, deadening, and, finally, unilluminating.

Forventningsforvirring:

Et værk du har glædet dig til får både overbevisende dårlige anmeldelser og overbevisende gode anmeldelser:

fra Village Voices Stephanie Zachareks anmeldelse af Spike Jonzes nye film Her:

Theodore doesn't know what he wants, and probably fears that even if he knew, he wouldn't be able to get it. What human being hasn't felt that way? But it's hard to respond to onscreen romantic trauma and feelings of disconnection when they're so wan and wispy. There are whole chunks of Her, so arduously layered with soft-focus pain and cautious happiness, that could have been lifted from those '80s phone commercials touting the benefits of "staying connected." Theodore, like James Stewart in Vertigo, is in love with an illusion. The difference is that this spectacle and all its ideas would fit on the screen of your iPod. 

fra The New Yorkers Anthony Lanes anmeldelse af samme film:

What makes “Her” so potent is that it does to us what Samantha does to Theodore. We are informed, cosseted, and entertained, and yet we are never more than a breath away from being creeped out. Just because someone browses your correspondence in a mood of flirtatious bonhomie doesn’t make her any less invasive; and just because you have invited her to do so doesn’t mean that you are in control. Who would have guessed, after a year of headlines about the N.S.A. and about the porousness of life online, that our worries on that score—not so much the political unease as a basic ontological fear that our inmost self is possibly up for grabs—would be best enshrined in a weird little romance by the man who made “Being John Malkovich” and “Where the Wild Things Are”? And it is romantic: Theodore and Samantha click together as twin souls, not caring that one soul is no more than a digital swarm. Sad, kooky, and daunting in equal measure, “Her” is the right film at the right time. It brings to full bloom what was only hinted at in the polite exchanges between the astronaut and HAL, in “2001: A Space Odyssey,” and, toward the end, as Samantha joins forces with like minds in cyberspace, it offers a seductive, nonviolent answer to Skynet, the system in the “Terminator” films that attacked its mortal masters. We are easy prey, not least when we fall in love. The human heart is where the tame things are.