En garde. I’ll let you try my New Dumb Avant-Garde style.

Care of the Tom Spurgeon comes this New York Observer essay by Ron Rosenbaum on Kill Bill, Sin City, graphic novels and hyper-referentiality. I didn’t much care for it. Actually, that’s putting it mildly: For a brief while it made me consider writing off the entire critical enterprise and creating in a vacuum for the rest of my life. But that’s me all over, and it’s probably not one of my finer aspects as a critic, or as a consumer, or indeed as a creator, of art. I have a Goldwaterian attitude toward the defense of work that I love, coupled with an occasional inability (unwillingness?) to articulate why, that does not become me. Fortunately, I also have the almost physical need to run on at the e-mouth about stuff like this, which was ultimately the impulse that won out.

So, Rosenbaum. I’ve read and enjoyed, if not agreed with, some of his writing on popular culture in the past, his participation in Slate’s colloquy on The Sopranos Season Four, for example. What I consider the greatest single season of the greatest single show in the history of televison he wrote off as so much meandering overreach, so perhaps he and I simply have different tastes. Which is fine, of course–everyone is entitled to her opinion. Indeed, there has been a somewhat depressing tendency of late among the Internet circles I move in toward ascribing some larger mental bias cum widespread critical conspiracy to certain opinions, as if people cannot arrive, in good faith, at a verdict that disagrees with one’s own. (Steven Berg wrote a read-the-whole-thing-worthy essay on the topic, so I don’t really have to.)

However, when you yourself attempt to construct a Grand Theory out of your opinion, you open that Grand Theory up to criticism. Here is Rosenbaum’s, inspired by the trampling underfoot of Daryl Hannah’s eye by Uma Thurman in Kill Bill Vol. 2:

I don