I'm a true critic

(Raymond Crow's POV)

I'm the poor sap who played Carlo.

Right now, I'm feeling the heat of a hundred deadly stares boring into the back of my head. Those tough-looking demons and stocky dwarves? They're looking at me like they're planning my murder in excruciating detail.

Being a half-demon, half-human hasn't exactly been a walk in the park. Humans don't trust me, demons look down on me. It's why I chose to settle in the Morningstar Kingdom.

Sure, it's a demon realm, but the discrimination here is... well, let's say it's the lesser of two evils.

Right now, though? I'm wondering if I made the right choice. The hatred radiating from the audience is almost tangible. I can practically taste it.

And yet... there's a part of me that's thrilled. Terrified, sure, but also exhilarated. For the first time in my career, people are reacting to my performance. Strongly. Viscerally.

It's not the adoration I dreamed of, but hey, any attention is good attention in this business, right?

I've always dreamed of being a star, but good roles for someone like me? They're rarer than a kind word in the nine hells.

I've often thought about packing up and trying my luck in the dwarven kingdoms or maybe even with the elves. Their entertainment industry is light-years ahead of ours.

But now? Now I'm not so sure I need to leave. Because this film, this "Demonfather," it's something else entirely. And it was made right here, in the demon realm I'd almost given up on.

And it was created by Arthur Morningstar, the prince I've been previously despising. The guy I thought was just another entitled royal brat playing at being an artist. Shows what I know, huh?

As I watch the audience react - humans, elves, dwarves, demons, all captivated by the same story - I can't help but smile. Yeah, they hate my character right now. They probably want to see Carlo suffer a slow, painful death. But that hatred? It's born from investment in the story. In the characters. In this world Arthur has created.

I might be public enemy number one in this theater right now, but I'm also part of something groundbreaking. Something that could change everything for actors like me.

So let them glare. Let them mutter their threats. I'll take it all with a smile. Because for the first time in my career, I'm part of a film that matters.

***

(??? POV)

If someone had told me this morning that I'd be utterly engrossed in a demon film by nightfall, I'd have laughed in their face. But here I am, Dianne James, esteemed elf critic from the Moon Kingdom, completely captivated by "The Demonfather."

It's as if the sun has decided to rise in the west. A demon film, of all things, has managed to engage every fiber of my being.

We elves from the Moon Kingdom, we're known for our prowess in arts and music.

And as a critic? Well, let's just say "picky" doesn't even begin to cover it.

Take that human film "Stars in the Cave," for instance. Humans raved about it, called it a masterpiece. Me? I gave it a 3.1-star rating. You'd have thought I'd insulted their firstborns.

"You don't know anything about films, Dianne," they said.

"Dianne James doesn't know what she's talking about."

I just scoffed. If only they knew that a 3.1 from me is practically a standing ovation. In my three years as a critic, I've never given higher than a 3.4 - and that was to "The Moon's Lullaby," a film from my home kingdom.

But this... this "Demonfather." If it maintains this quality to the end, I might just do the unthinkable. I might give it a full 5 stars.

The thought both excites and terrifies me. A perfect score? From me? To a demon film, no less? It's unprecedented. It's almost scandalous.

And yet, as I watch the story unfold, as I find myself invested in these demon characters and their complex world, I can't deny the artistry on display. The nuanced storytelling, the compelling performances, the sheer audacity of its vision - it's unlike anything I've seen before.

I can already imagine the uproar my review will cause. My fellow elf critics will be appalled. The humans will cry foul, accusing me of bias against their works. And the demons? They probably won't believe it themselves.

But a critic's job isn't to pander to expectations or maintain the status quo. It's to recognize and celebrate true artistry, wherever it may be found.

And if that artistry happens to come from an unexpected source - a demon prince, of all people - then so be it.

As I'm lost in thought, contemplating the potential impact of my review, my fellow elf critic, Ryu, interrupts with a complaint.

"If Carlo isn't killed for being responsible for Sonny's death, then I don't care how good the film is. I'll give it a bad review," he declares, his voice dripping with disdain.

I can't help but sigh. This is exactly the kind of short-sighted critique that gives critics a bad name. "Well, you really can't rate a film like that just because you hate one character," I point out. "A good critic should evaluate the film as a whole - its narrative structure, character development, cinematography, and overall impact. You shouldn't let personal feelings about a single character overshadow the entire work."

Ryu scoffs, clearly not impressed by my attempt at wisdom. "Feelings definitely matter in rating, Dianne. If I don't like it, I'll rate it badly."

I shrug, realizing this is a losing battle. "Your life, your choice," I concede. "Just watch the film and see if it will satisfy your 'feelings'."

I can feel Ryu's annoyance radiating off him, but I choose to ignore it. There's no point in arguing further. Instead, I turn my attention back to the screen, eager to see how the story unfolds.

As I refocus on the film, I can't help but reflect on the difference between Ryu's approach and my own. Yes, emotional engagement is important in cinema. But allowing a knee-jerk reaction to a single plot point to determine your entire opinion of a film? That's not criticism. That's just being a fan - or in this case, an anti-fan.

True criticism requires objectivity, the ability to step back and evaluate the work as a whole. It's about recognizing artistry and craftsmanship, even in stories or characters we might not personally like.

And "The Demonfather," regardless of what happens to Carlo, has displayed an abundance of both artistry and craftsmanship. Whatever comes next, I'm determined to judge it fairly, based on its merits as a complete work of cinema.

As the next scene begins, I lean forward slightly, my critical faculties fully engaged. Let's see what other surprises this demon film has in store for us.

This film is nothing short of a rollercoaster, each scene more gripping than the last. The attempt on Don Corleone's life, the tense hospital scene with Michael protecting his vulnerable father, the humiliation of Michael followed by his cold revenge - each moment is etched into my memory with stunning clarity.

And then there's Carlo's abuse of Connie, her heartbreaking call to Sonny, and the shocking twist of Sonny's death just when we thought he was riding to the rescue.

These scenes don't just play out on the screen; they resonate within me, sending shivers down my spine and raising goosebumps on my skin.

The artistry is undeniable. Each actor embodies their character with such conviction that I often forget I'm watching a performance. It's as if I'm peering through a window into this complex, dangerous world.

Of course, there's the unexpected nudity in Michael's scene with Apollonia. It's tastefully done, but as a woman, I can't help but feel a twinge of disapproval at Michael's betrayal of Kay.

Yes, multiple wives aren't uncommon in the world, but Michael's secrecy about it leaves a bitter taste.

I find myself sympathizing with Kay, left alone and worrying. Perhaps it's because she's an elf like me, but I think it's more than that.

Her situation speaks to a universal fear of betrayal and abandonment.

Despite these moral quandaries - or perhaps because of them - I find myself utterly engrossed in the film. It's not just entertaining; it's challenging. It's forcing me to confront my own beliefs and prejudices, to question the nature of loyalty, family, and power.

This, I realize, is what great cinema does. It doesn't just show us a story; it makes us part of it. It provokes thought, stirs emotion, and lingers in the mind long after the credits roll.