Recently, I watched the Malayalam movie Aavesham in a theater.
By the time the climax arrived, tears were rolling down my cheeks. I was completely moved. The emotions, the music, the performances, the buildup — everything worked for me.
Right next to me sat my Telugu friend.
Nothing.
No tears. No visible emotion. No reaction.
For a moment, I wondered: Does he not have empathy? Is he stone-hearted? Am I the more sensitive, kind-hearted, emotionally evolved person here?
Of course, that is a tempting conclusion. When a piece of art deeply affects us, we often assume that anyone who does not respond the same way is missing something. Maybe they did not understand it. Maybe they lack taste. Maybe they lack emotional depth.
But the truth is simpler and humbler:
Art does not enter every heart through the same door.
The Rap Music Problem
Whenever I drive to pick up my son Shawn from college, I usually listen to a podcast on the way there. But on the ride back, the car becomes his kingdom.
Rap music blasts through the speakers. Shawn sings along. The lyrics fly past me. I can barely understand the words.
One day, I asked him:
“Shawn, why do you like this crappy music?”
He looked at me and said, “What do you mean, Appa?”
I said, “It’s full of bad words. I can hardly understand what they are saying. I can’t even call it music to my ears. Music needs to be soothing.”
He shrugged and said, “I don’t know. I grew up listening to rap music. I just like it.”
At that point, I could have concluded: Shawn has no good taste in music.
But is that really true?
Or is it simply that his musical world and my musical world are different?
For me, music may mean melody, softness, clarity, and emotional calm. For him, music may mean rhythm, energy, identity, attitude, and cultural familiarity.
Neither of us is completely right.
Neither of us is completely wrong.
We are simply listening from different histories.
The Mugamoodi Lesson
Several years ago, an acquaintance asked me whether I had watched the Tamil movie Mugamoodi, directed by Mysskin.
I had seen it. I liked it.
So I confidently told him, “It’s a good movie. You will like it.”
Big mistake.
The next day, he was very upset with me. He said the movie was a disaster and a complete waste of money.
What went wrong?
Did he have bad taste in movies? Did I have bad taste? Was the movie good or bad?
That incident taught me an important lesson. Since then, whenever I recommend a movie, I qualify my statement:
“I liked the movie. But I don’t know your taste. You may or may not like it.”
That one sentence saves friendships.
Because when it comes to art, we are not dealing with mathematics. We are dealing with perception, memory, emotion, personality, culture, mood, and expectation.
Art Is Not a Courtroom
Movies, music, literature, painting, sculpture — all forms of art are deeply subjective.
One person sees the Mona Lisa and says, “What a beautiful, mysterious masterpiece.”
Another person may look at the same painting and say, “Why is everyone praising this woman without eyebrows?”
Both are responding honestly.
That is the strange beauty of art. It does not produce one universal response. It produces millions of private responses.
A comedy that makes one person laugh may irritate another. A tragic climax that makes one person cry may leave another person unmoved. A novel that changes one reader’s life may bore another reader to sleep.
So who is right?
In a way, everyone is.
And in another way, no one is.
Do We Need Qualification to Criticize Art?
A few years ago, Mani Ratnam directed Kadal. The film was widely criticized and did not perform well. Around that time, Suhasini reportedly criticized some critics by saying that many people were not qualified to criticize the movie.
That raises an interesting question:
Do we need qualification to review or criticize a movie?
The answer is both yes and no.
Yes, qualification helps.
A filmmaker, cinematographer, actor, editor, or trained critic may notice things that an average viewer misses. They may understand camera movement, lighting, screenplay structure, symbolism, sound design, performance choices, editing rhythms, and visual grammar.
Their criticism may be more detailed.
Their observations may be more technically accurate.
Their explanation may be more sophisticated.
But does that make their opinion more “right”?
Not necessarily.
If a trained critic says, “This is a bad movie,” and an ordinary viewer says, “This movie moved me deeply,” whose experience is more valid?
Both.
The critic may be more accurate about technique.
The viewer may be more honest about emotional impact.
Technical accuracy and personal truth are not the same thing.
Accuracy Is Not the Same as Rightness
This is the central distinction.
A qualified critic may be more accurate.
But that does not mean the critic is more right.
A music scholar may explain why a composition is complex, innovative, and historically important. But if I do not enjoy listening to it, no amount of explanation can force me to enjoy it.
A literary critic may explain why a novel is structurally brilliant. But if the book leaves me cold, my response is still real.
A film expert may explain why a movie is visually stunning. But if I am bored, I am bored.
Training can refine perception. It can deepen appreciation. It can help us see layers we might otherwise miss.
But training cannot dictate taste.
What About Awards?
Then comes the next question:
What about National Awards? What about the Sahitya Akademi Award? What about prizes selected by panels of experts?
Should we accept that a movie or novel is good because a group of professionals selected it?
Yes — but with an important qualification.
The movie or novel was good for that panel.
Their tastes, values, standards, training, expectations, and judgments aligned around that work. That gives the work importance. It gives it recognition. It gives it cultural weight.
But it does not mean every viewer or reader is required to like it.
An award is not an objective measurement like temperature, height, or weight. It is not a scientific proof. It is a collective judgment made by a specific group of people at a specific time.
Awards matter.
But they do not abolish subjectivity.
Opinion Is Not Evidence
This is where many arguments about art go wrong.
We treat opinions as if they are facts.
“This movie is good.”
“That song is terrible.”
“This novel is overrated.”
“That painting is ugly.”
We say these things as if we are announcing objective truths. But most of the time, we are only expressing personal taste.
A more honest version would be:
“This movie worked for me.”
“That song does not appeal to me.”
“I could not connect with this novel.”
“That painting does not move me.”
Opinion is not evidence. It is not a scientific conclusion. It is a personal response.
That does not make opinion meaningless. In fact, opinion is central to how we experience art. But we should not confuse personal belief with universal truth.
The Myth of the Final Yardstick
So what is the yardstick for deciding whether a movie, book, song, or painting is good?
There is no single yardstick.
There are many yardsticks.
A critic may judge a film by craft.
A viewer may judge it by emotional impact.
A producer may judge it by box office success.
A scholar may judge it by historical significance.
A fan may judge it by repeat value.
A parent may judge it by whether it is suitable for children.
A teenager may judge it by whether it feels cool.
Each yardstick reveals something. None reveals everything.
That is why art remains endlessly debatable. If there were one final answer, discussion would end. But art survives because it refuses to be reduced to a single verdict.
Are You Qualified to Criticize a Movie?
Yes.
Definitely.
If you watched it, felt something, thought something, liked it, disliked it, got bored, got excited, cried, laughed, or walked out disappointed — you are qualified to speak about your experience.
But there is a difference between saying:
“This movie is bad.”
And saying:
“This movie did not work for me.”
The second statement is more honest. It leaves room for others. It admits subjectivity. It does not pretend to be the final judge of art.
At the same time, some people are more qualified than others in a technical sense. A trained critic may see more. A filmmaker may understand more. A scholar may explain more.
To borrow from Orwell’s famous line about equality:
“All are equal. But some are more equal than others.”
Similarly, all viewers are qualified to have an opinion.
But some viewers may be more trained, more informed, and more precise.
They may be more accurate.
But they are not automatically more right.
The Humility of Taste
The next time someone dislikes a movie you love, it does not mean they are foolish.
The next time someone loves a song you hate, it does not mean they have no taste.
The next time your child plays music you cannot tolerate, it does not mean civilization is collapsing.
It may simply mean that art has reached them differently.
Our tastes are shaped by childhood, language, culture, age, memory, peer groups, education, mood, and personal history. We do not come to art as blank slates. We come with baggage, longing, wounds, nostalgia, prejudice, and expectation.
That is why the same movie can make one person cry and another person check their phone.
That is why one person’s masterpiece is another person’s headache.
That is why the safest and most honest review may begin with two words:
“For me…”
Final Thought: Art Belongs to Everyone
Art is not a courtroom where one final judgment must be delivered.
It is a mirror. It reflects each person differently.
A trained critic can help us see more. A scholar can give us context. A filmmaker can explain technique. An award committee can recognize excellence.
But none of them can feel on our behalf.
At the end of the day, our response to art is personal. It is subjective. It belongs to us.
So yes, you are qualified to criticize a movie.
Your friend is qualified too.
Your son is qualified to love rap music.
You are qualified to dislike it.
The expert is qualified to analyze the craft.
The ordinary viewer is qualified to say, “I loved it,” or “I hated it.”
Because in art, accuracy matters — but personal experience matters too.
A critic may be more precise.
A scholar may be more informed.
A filmmaker may be more technically aware.
But when it comes to liking, loving, hating, crying, laughing, or feeling nothing at all, no one can be more right than you about your own experience.
Because at the end of the day:
Art is subjective.
