An intermission

Chrisicisms is taking a hiatus.

Let’s just jump right to it: Chrisicisms is taking a break. I’m not quite sure how long, but it’s going to be fairly substantial – more than the week or two I periodically take off during holidays or vacations.

Before we get into the whys and how long, let me clarify what it’s not. I’m not closing down Chrisicisms, I’m not quitting film writing, and I have no intention of this being the end of this newsletter. I am actually just wrapping up what will likely be my most heavily trafficked month, and I am more excited about what I want to accomplish here than I have been in a long time.

And in many ways, that’s part of the reason I need a break.

The problem

In June, I will have been writing about film professionally or semi-professionally for 20 years. I’ve been a critic in print and online for two decades, covering everything from No Country for Old Men to Hotel for Dogs. Aside from some small gaps when moving from one platform or publication to another, I’ve consistently had a place to write about movies.

This is something I wanted to do since I was a kid. I’m incredibly grateful, and I think I have a knack for it. I’ve done 20 years of summer blockbusters and award seasons. For the majority of my time, I’ve been part of a film critics society, doing this alongside smart and funny people who love film as much as I do. I’ve interviewed film personalities ranging from Danny Boyle to Ernie Hudson, published long-form work at publications I highly respect, wrote a master’s thesis about the state of criticism, and contributed a chapter to a book about faith and film. I love this, and there’s probably not going to be a time when this isn’t part of who I am.

But it can be exhausting. This isn’t my full-time job; it’s more of a hobby or side gig that takes up a substantial portion of my time. It often entails going to a screening after a long day at work, and sometimes making a 30 or 40-minute drive home late at night. It means taking lunch hours and evenings to write reviews. And to keep content coming, I’m also often watching two or three other things each week and writing about them. It’s constant.

There are two complications that arise:

The first is that it takes up a lot of time that could or should be spent doing other things. I have a wife and two kids. There are many nights where I don’t see my family or I have to spend time in another room writing or watching things. I’m often trying to juggle this newsletter with other responsibilities, such as serving at church, dropping the kids off at sports practice or having date nights with my wife. When I started college more than 25 years ago, my intention was to be a creative writer, maybe a novelist or screenwriter. But it’s been a long time since I’ve written anything creative. I’m 45 and starting to consider the back half of things; am I okay with never having pushed myself to do something different?

The other problem is that maintaining this schedule means I have to turn into a bit of a machine. I pride myself on keeping a running editorial calendar where I know what new releases and vintage films I’m covering. But to keep up with that schedule means I’m often watching and writing very quickly – and I’m not watching anything just for fun. And while I think I’m able to find something interesting in most films, it’s starting to feel like an obligation more often. And when that happens, it’s easy to lose the wonder and sense of depth.

And that’s hard to square with another thought that’s frequently bubbling to the surface: In an age where our world is going crazy, our stories matter more than ever. Now is not the time to stop watching films, reading novels or listening to music. We need them, and we need people to strike up conversations about them. It’s how we tune our hearts, create empathy, learn to love our neighbors and endure difficult times. I’m fine writing about the latest new release, but I want to be intentional about prioritizing films with something to say. And it’s hard to find the headspace to do that when I’m viewing and reviewing with the mentality of checking something off a list.

Over the Christmas break, I intentionally stepped back from writing for several weeks, and I watched movies and TV without an eye toward covering them. I was surprised how much I enjoyed it and how much I’d missed that freedom to watch without obligation. I returned reinvigorated. A few weeks ago, my church had a conversation about faith and the arts that lit something in me, and I feel the desire to be more purposeful about how I engage with cinema and help others to do the same.

But that’s not a change I can make on the fly. I need a strategic pause to fall back in love with film and figure out what this newsletter looks like going forward.

The solution

A few weeks ago, I began to consider a hiatus for this site that would coincide with Lent, which starts next Wednesday. I figured the 40 days of the Lenten season would be a good timeframe, trusting that God would guide me as I rethink my writing and viewing.

But I hesitate to describe this as “giving up my newsletter for Lent.” For one, I’m already planning to fast throughout the Lent season. Also, I don’t know that the timeframes will completely line up. I’m obviously publishing this and beginning my hiatus several days before Ash Wednesday. And to be honest, I don’t know if I’m going to start back right after Easter. Early May, with the start of the summer movie season, makes sense. We have a vacation in May, so restarting afterward might also be a good choice. I don’t know. And not quite calling this a Lent break also allows me the opportunity to come back early should I somehow be struck with inspiration. This will probably be fluid.

But right now, we’ll treat it like a Lent break, at least in terms of schedule and structure. I might even allow myself the opportunity to write on Sundays, which are days off in Lent, although I think those pieces will probably be a little looser and less structured. We’re Watching Here will also continue (in fact, Perry and I are planning an Oscars post-mortem later next week).

So what am I doing in the meantime? Part of this will be spiritual reconnection and renewal. I’m joining a weekly prayer group at church, which will take up the time I traditionally allot to screenings. I’m going to read through our Catechism. I’m going to physically and mentally allow myself to relax, come home from work and truly be done for the day instead of picking up side projects. I’m going to watch things to enjoy them, and spend evenings in silence or nature if I don’t want to be burdened with noise. But I’m also going to seek some creative rejuvenation. I want to dip my toes into new types of writing – maybe understanding poetry for once or taking a stab at some creative writing. These are things I hope to make part of the rhythm of my life, but I need some time of focus to start integrating them.

But like I said, unless I’m struck by some drastic breakthrough, this isn’t the end of Chrisicisms. When I come back, there may be a different pace and rhythm. I could see myself publishing less frequently in order to spend more time on pieces. I hope and pray that there will be a more intentional focus on movies that can make us better, engage our faith, and also teach us how to resist in an age of encroaching fascism. My intention is to step away, fall back in love with this, and really make it something special as we approach the fifth year (!) of this newsletter.

If you’re currently paying for a monthly subscription, I’ve paused them until May, so no worries about paying for this while I’m on hiatus. You can still follow me on Letterboxd and Bluesky (and Facebook if you ask nicely). As I said, Perry and I will still release new We’re Watching Here episodes, there will be a few Sunday posts, and I’m sure I’ll re-share some “greatest hits” in Notes and on social media. I won’t be totally dormant. And then we’ll come back when time’s up and make this better than ever.

As always, thank you for reading, commenting and supporting me. I couldn’t – and wouldn’t – do this without you.

— Chris