It is with both a heavy heart and a burgeoning sense of excitement, with equal parts regret and anticipation, that I announce my permanent "semi-retirement" from regular film reviewing. I realize that this decision may seem rather abrupt, given that I only stepped out of my previous (and unintentional) "semi-retirement" six months or so ago, and I apologize to those of you who may be disappointed (and especially to Theo, who'll now have to rewrite his link again). Believe me, nobody can possibly feel more crestfallen than I; I've genuinely enjoyed having an appreciative audience for my disjointed ramblings over the past four years, and I'll miss the opportunity to share them with you. But I'm afraid that it's gotta go, folks. I'll explain why.

The Man Who Viewed Too Much began in mid-1995 as a lark: a way to kill time while toiling at the New York University computer lab, where I was fulfilling my work-study commitment as required in my financial aid package. At the time, I was attending NYU's Dramatic Writing Program, working on my screenplays and looking forward to the time -- not very far in the future, I then imagined -- when I'd be able to see my own name on a screen, five feet long and luminous. (Name that reference. Hint: music, not movies.) I was bursting with ideas and working like a madman (by the end of the program, you're expected to complete one feature-length screenplay; I wrote four, plus a full-length play and several one-acts), and never thought of the website as anything but a diversion, something to amuse my friends and keep me from falling asleep at the desk between brain-dead queries about how to find Microsoft Word ("it's in the folder called Applications; look for the icon that says "Microsoft Word").

In 1995, few could have predicted how ubiquitous the World Wide Web would soon become in our lives, and I certainly never guessed what was about to happen next: people other than my close personal friends began reading what I wrote. Strangers, that is. One of these strangers, an Entertainment Weekly critic (now editor) by the name of Ty Burr, liked the site so much that he gave it a glowing review in the pages of his magazine. More strangers turned up, and before long I too was writing reviews for EW, to my astonishment. The task paid so well that I was able to quit my moronic day job (I'd just finished school at the time) and support myself, however tenuously, entirely as a writer.

This, all by itself, was like a dream come true -- so much so, I'm sorry to say, that my real dream began to slowly recede. I had oodles of free time, but I devoted almost all of it to the site (excepting most of 1998, when I was too newly and deeply in love to do much of anything but sigh). I never renounced my intention of pursuing a film career, but I haven't taken any steps to make it happen, either. I have yet to complete another script since leaving NYU. I have yet to make even the slightest effort to acquire an agent, or to get the work I have allegedly completed ("allegedly" because I'm never satisfied with it, forever imagining that one more draft or polish will do the trick) read by people in the business -- this despite the fact that response to my work from the few film-biz folk who have read it (through no effort of my own; long story) has been entirely positive and encouraging. Effectively, I have been stalling -- which, ironically, is the title -- Stalling is -- of one of my four "completed" scripts. Thematically, it addresses the very kind of vocational paralysis and misplaced energy that I've been experiencing for the past several years. At the time that I was writing it, I thought that it was fiction.

Meanwhile, the site became more and more popular, and I began to feel more and more dependent upon the resulting adulation, which was immediate and intoxicating. I landed another couple of freelance film-writing gigs, and suddenly found myself on what seemed to be a path toward a career in film criticism; my girlfriend Leslie and I even talked seriously about the possibility of my going after Janet Maslin's post at the Times, of trying to convince the paper's editors that they should pull a Conan O'Brien and hire a snotnosed punk who'd shake their bored readership out of its complacency. I even started working on the query letter.

The only trouble is this: I don't want to be a goddamn film critic. I want to make movies. And it's high fucking time that I got started.

Somewhat predictably, given my preoccupations, it was, in part, a scene in a movie that finally brought this home to me. As I write, Fight Club has not yet opened commercially, so most of you won't yet know what I'm referring to, but Tyler Durden's oddly altruistic attack on the shopkeeper made a huge impression on me; I don't think a day has gone by since I first saw it that I haven't thought about it, and with a growing sense of shame. The other catalyst is more personal, and not one that I'm comfortable recounting publicly; suffice to say that a couple of days ago I received a similar wake-up call, and one far more frightening to me than a gun to the head. I intend to have a great deal to show for myself six weeks hence, and I begin today, right now.

While I won't be writing proper reviews anymore, the site itself will continue in truncated fashion, for those who are still interested. I'll continue to list the films that I've seen, and continue allotting grades to the new ones. And I'll try to write at least a few words of commentary for each new release, as well as occasional brief remarks on older films. Expect something not unlike the websites maintained by my compadres Skander Halim and Charles François. Occasionally, I may get really worked up about a particular movie and experience a slight relapse, churning out a lengthy rant; that's fine by me, so long as it doesn't get in the way of my goals. But for the most part, my energy will be focused elsewhere for the foreseeable future.

In addition to the attractions (snort) that will remain, I will shortly be inaugurating on the site a regular diary of my efforts to launch my filmmaking career. I can't imagine that this tiresome narrative will be of interest to more than five or six of my most steadfast readers, but I like the idea of making myself accountable to a handful of other people -- of knowing that if my energy begins to flag, or my resolve starts to weaken, somebody will notice, and potentially object. Look for it in the next week or two, if you're curious.

My heartfelt thanks to everybody who's been interested enough in my often outlandish opinions to check in every now and again, and my particular gratitude to those who've taken the time to send e-mail letting me know how much they've enjoyed what I've written. Stay with me, if you can. I'll have something even more entertaining to share with you before long. That is a promise.

md'a