Before MEL was a website, or had a name, it was just an idea. I had been working with Josh Schollmeyer, who was my editor at Playboy for a few years, and before that we were acquaintances. (I was buddies with his childhood best friend in film school. Josh and I then met at the friend's bachelor party and stayed in touch.) Over at Playboy, Josh and I were excited by the prospect of revitalizing a publication that had fallen into self-parody, one that had once done smart cultural coverage and thoughtful, in-depth interviews. The possibility of trying something different in the world of men's magazines — something that reflected the fact that modern masculinity wasn't anything like what you saw in men's magazines — appealed to both of us.
It didn't work out at Playboy, and soon Josh was looking for something new. I still remember having dinner with him a little while later. He sounded optimistic. "You know how we talked about what we'd like to do at Playboy if we'd had the chance?" he said to me. "I think I may have found that." This was in 2014.
Michael Dubin, the CEO of Dollar Shave Club, had been interested in starting a men's publication. He and Josh founded this nascent site, and Josh brought me on to help him and some others dream up what it could be — and, also, what we didn't want it to be. It wasn't going to be heavily, boringly masculine. It was going to be curious about the world and the societal shifts that were occurring. It was going to talk about mental health and sexuality and politics and online culture. I helped write the site's initial articles in order for us to get a sense of what the potential might be. It wasn't until 2016 that we really started to promote the site — and only after it had finally landed on an official name. MEL. Three capital letters. No, it wasn't a reference to Mel Gibson. It was a name that had a personal connection for Michael. As with all new websites, the name sounded dumb at first. But, as with all new websites, the more you said it — and the more the site began to establish its voice — the more natural the name became.
I was merely a contributing editor — writing pieces and pitching ideas in staff meetings — but Josh soon assembled a great collection of writers, artists and editors who believed in his vision. I handled entertainment and the arts, and they covered everything else, which was a lot. Pitch meetings were a joy because I learned so much from these people, whose areas of expertise were so different from mine. For most of MEL's run, I'm fairly certain I was the oldest contributor, and this Gen-Xer got an education about the real-life experiences of Millennials and Gen-Zers, which were vastly different and more complex than the patronizing depictions I'd often read in the news. Josh encouraged us to draw from our interests and anxieties when suggesting articles, and so we learned a lot about one another.
For me personally, what I especially learned was how those younger generations perceived the filmmakers, actors and musicians that I held dear — and, spoiler alert, they weren't always as enamored as I was. Stopping by the MEL offices or reading some of my colleagues' pieces was a constant reminder that any sense of an artistic canon or sacred cows was a myth. Everything was up for debate, which wasn't surprising since the site was so dedicated to questioning how much patriarchal systems played into determining what kinds of entertainment were considered "worthy." Having to defend what I considered unarguable positions was a useful exercise. My younger cohorts inspired me to scrutinize how I evaluate art — and to interrogate my own blind spots.
As many women as men wrote for MEL, and while it was never an especially large staff, it was fairly diverse. We had writers all across the country, as well as the U.K. It felt like a family, which is a thing you sometimes hear about publications. Nonetheless, I've been lucky to have felt part of a few such families in my professional life, and MEL was one of them.
The site was nimble enough to respond to what was happening during those years. Trump's ascendance, which was also the rise of neo-Nazis in this country, inspired a lot of thoughtful reporting and essays. The allegations against Harvey Weinstein, which sparked the #MeToo movement, provoked painful soul-searching about what it meant to be a good ally. These and other issues of the time, including Black Lives Matter, were examined from the perspective of masculinity, but in retrospect what I realize MEL was doing was exploring how masculinity was itself at the heart of all these societal ills. "Toxic masculinity" eventually became a cliched buzzword, but that was what MEL was dedicated to dissecting. I can't speak for anyone else, but as a straight white man, the site was cathartic. Even while writing about movies, music, television and whatever else, I found myself returning again and again to these same themes, roto-rooting through my anger and helplessness at how bad America seemed in the Trump years. Of course, others had know far longer than I about the insidiousness of sexism and racism in this country, but I was determined to do my part in addressing it in the popular culture I covered.
MEL went away briefly in 2021 when Unilever, which bought Dollar Shave Club, decided to cut our financing. We found another home soon after, but the resurrection was short-lived: At a meeting on July 22, 2022, we found out MEL was done, effective immediately. Just about anybody who's had a job in journalism or media has had one of those experiences. It's not fun.
I've been so happy that so many of my colleagues have gone on to do great work at other places. It
is bittersweet to see some of them get engaged or married — I always
felt like the "old" person in comparison to them, the married guy in a
room of mostly young, single folks. Life keeps moving, but I will always feel
fortunate to have known them and to have worked alongside them.
And I'm grateful to Josh, who brought me on at the start, giving me a wide platform to write about all types of things. For MEL, I profiled so many artists I've long admired, including Frederick Wiseman, Todd Haynes, Werner Herzog, Craig Finn, Britt Daniel, Rufus Wainwright and Boots Riley. Plus, I got to speak to emerging talents, like Garrett Bradley and Ephraim Asili. And then there were the cultural deep dives that Josh encouraged me to pursue. One of my favorite pieces was dedicated to the long shadow that Deliverance's rape scene still casts across society. I'm also quite proud of my look back at the history of the Red Ryder BB gun, a symbol of boyhood violence for generations, which gained newfound popularity thanks to A Christmas Story. (It remains a beloved holiday item.) And I was very pleased Neil LaBute sat down for a long conversation this year in honor of the 25th anniversary of In the Company of Men. He was willing to talk about everything, including his seeming cultural disappearing act since #MeToo.
But I also really loved writing what Josh and I nicknamed "Song Histories," which were 3,000-to-4,000-word essays on iconic or infamous songs that were suddenly back in the collective consciousness for whatever reason. More than just simple "What inspired this song" pieces, these were my nearly-weekly attempt to deliver definitive takes on artists and their work, all through the prism of one indelible tune. My tributes to "Fast Car," "Nothing Compares 2 U," "Wake Up," "Nothing Else Matters," "You Oughta Know," "Strange Fruit," "My Way," "Vienna," "Jeremy," "Stan" and others allowed me to place a song within its historical context while reflecting on its continued resonance, especially as songs were being rediscovered and reconsidered on TikTok and social media. Unexpectedly, these were also sometimes very emotional to write: There's a powerful intimacy to music that not even the greatest film can quite achieve, and even when I didn't particularly like the artists I was discussing, I found myself connected to them in a way I hadn't before. I miss Song Histories more than just about anything else from my MEL days.
I write for so many great outlets. And yet, you always prepare yourself for the possibility that any of them could go away at a moment's notice. Being with MEL from the start will always be something I'm awfully proud of. MEL didn't change the world, but it helped me make sense of it for a little while.
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Now, let's talk a little about the film year. Here's my Top 10...
1. Aftersun
2. The Eternal Daughter
3. Tar
4. One Fine Morning
5. Playground
6. Vortex
7. Descendant
8. EO
9. The Fabelmans
10. Neptune Frost
The two movies I most wanted to get onto that list were We're All Going to the World's Fair (No. 11) and Mad God (No. 12), both of them exceptional. Alas, they just didn't make the cut.
If you're curious, I also put together a list for Screen International. But be warned: Screen counts any film that premiered at any festival this year as a 2022 release, so a certain Kelly Reichardt gem that won't open in the U.S. until 2023 is on it. Also, we put documentaries and features on two separate lists.
If the most noted theme of this year was "Movies about the power of movies," my Top 10 suggests that I was more moved by the relationship between children and parents — specifically, how the child (a.k.a. the filmmaker) tries to understand the parent they've lost. Look no further than The Fabelmans, which Universal is incorrectly selling as a paean to cinema's redemptive power. Anybody who watches Steven Spielberg's personal project will correctly assess that it's really more of a lament for how art can't fully heal the wounds that family dysfunction creates. That sense of trying to use filmmaking as a balm carried through in several of 2022's finest movies, like One Fine Morning, The Eternal Daughter and Aftersun, all of them as nakedly semi-autobiographical as Spielberg's opus. The poignancy of those films derives from how clear-eyed they are about the permanent divide between ourselves and the unknowable adults who raised us — and how even a terrific movie can't bridge it.
* * * * *
Professionally, I remain, happily, extremely busy. I have now been writing for Screen International for 17 years, serving as the trade's Senior U.S. Critic and traveling to Cannes and Toronto. (Fingers crossed, I'll be back at Sundance in January for the first time since 2020.) In the wake of MEL's end, I've contributed pieces to Slate, Chron, GQ, InsideHook, Decider and Cracked, but I've been especially pleased to profile several actors and filmmakers for the Los Angeles Times. It was a treat to speak to White Lotus star Michael Imperioli and Yellowjackets' Christina Ricci, but even those highlights couldn't compare to interviewing the creative teams behind three of my four favorite films of 2022: Aftersun, The Eternal Daughter and One Fine Morning. Their insights and enthusiasm only increased my love for their movies. And if all that wasn't enough, I also spent a relaxing afternoon with Nina Hoss from Tar, the other of my four favorites.
Speaking of the L.A. Times, perhaps my single most enjoyable experience of the year was hanging out with Lizzo. A few weeks before Special came out, but with "About Damn Time" already on the radio and climbing the charts, I talked to her about therapy, self-esteem and her burgeoning empire, which included a soon-to-be-Emmy-winning reality series. Cocky, assertive, candid, crass, vulnerable, funny as hell, Lizzo could not have been better company. Some profiles you finesse and shape, and some you simply try your best to accurately reflect what it was like to be in the subject's presence. I think I did a little of the former with Lizzo, but in some ways, that piece was mostly the latter.
Meanwhile, the Grierson & Leitch podcast celebrated its sixth year in 2022. You can hear me on a regular basis over at KCRW's Press Play With Madeleine Brand. I was once again thrilled to be part of the Gotham Awards nominating committee. And 10 years after being asked for the first time to submit a ballot for the once-a-decade Sight and Sound greatest films poll, I sent in a very different one in 2022. I remain ecstatic about the new critics' poll champ, which I consider the second-greatest movie ever made. (The greatest ended up topping the directors' poll.) In much sadder news, I had the honor of writing the obituary for Jean-Luc Godard over at Rolling Stone.
Now that the pandemic is fading into the background, it's been great to get back out in front of audiences to moderate Q&As with filmmakers. Most of these weren't recorded, but in some ways the off-the-cuff casualness of the exchanges was what made them such fun. My thanks to the folks from RRR, All That Breathes, Navalny, All the Beauty and the Bloodshed, Decision to Leave, The African Desperate, A Piece of Sky and Riotsville, U.S.A. for inviting me to host these conversations.
And that's enough. Here's to a great 2023. This new year will be one of milestones for me. It's my 30th anniversary of moving to Los Angeles. It's been 20 years since I started dating my wife Susan. My hope is you have milestones to celebrate in 2023 as well — things you're already looking forward to and ones yet to be discovered.
