I see films now and then that I think would be better left untouched by critical thought. The reason is not that they would fail to hold up under it; nor is it that there are no critics skillful enough to write about them without weighing them down with leaden phraseology (a phenomenon which often is the a result of overeager wordsmiths trying too hard to use one medium to describe another without offering due consideration to either); but simply that to recant these films' sequence of events would be to rob them of their spontaneity, to deconstruct them with theory would be to defuse what makes them tick, to suggest that they tick at all would be contrary to their organic qualities.

Furthermore. A critic could evoke the films' style, if not content, by telling a whimsical joke or anecdote (for most of these films I'm thinking of have some sense of whimsy to them), but this would merely serve to illustrate the indescribability of the film, and thus would be an effort in futility. Certainly, comparisons could be made to other films - an entire lexicon of them, if need be, so that every quality would be accounted for; but also with an equal if not greater number of related caveats to assure readers of precisely what the film is not.

Contradictions could be claimed: "this film can be described as such - except that it can't!" One could be content to offer general, non-specific appraisal, or perhaps even drift into approbation, laudatory encomium, or panegyric plaudits of perhaps platitudinal proportions. "This is the best American independent film of the last five years," one might say, followed by "So and so's such and such is without equal," which then may be met with a declarations of "uncompromised vision," "exquisite wit," "gentle yet defiant optimism," "artistic fancy" and so on and so forth.

At this point, however, the writer will no longer be praising the film, but simply indulging his or her vocabulary and syntactical skills. Such praise is more representative of the critic than of the film being critiqued. Such representations are, inevitably, of a negative sort. In these cases I think of, then, it is better for critics to plead the fifth, to maintain their distance, to hold their tongues. I think it is safe to assume that everyone - audiences, critics and these films themselves - will benefit from the restraint.

So now I've reached the point where I must make what might be considered a great escape: I came meaning to write about Miranda July's Me And You And Everyone You Know and now, having catalogued some (if certainly not all) of the reasons I don't think it should be reviewed at all, I simply won't. Consider it a blessing, readers, for indeed, there are films you simply do not want to read about. You simply need to see them.

For sticklers, though - an acquiescence! In lieu of a legitimate critique, I'd suggest that one could cull from the paragraphs above a list of words that might suffice: Best. Me. Wit. Independent. And. Whimsy. Film. You. Gentle. Of. And. Exquisite. The. Everyone. Artistic. Last. We. Miranda. Five. Know. July. Years.

It's a love story, you see. Except that it's not.