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I have often fallen asleep in small theatres It is an embarrassing thing to have happen during one-man shows, and I am certain that at least one actor, a man whose work I have enjoyed on many occasions and whom I admire, saw me sleeping during his one-man show I dropped off right in the middle of the performance for about fifteen minutes, third row of maybe ten, centre, and for the rest of the time I felt the reverse of what I should have felt: I felt him gazing at me Had he seen? Was he watching to see if I looked bored? If I was going to fall asleep again? It was a small community theatre, so right after the performance he was waiting in the lobby to greet everyone I stepped into that room full of tension, and my girlfriend prolonged my distress by asking to linger and look at the displays for upcoming shows All I could do was stand across from him and feel his presence pushing ever more into mine   For a long time I thought something like this was beyond the reach of film Instead of pursuing the kind of heat you can feel in the theatre, film had gone a different direction: it had gone montage I cannot overstate what a happy decision this was for film Understanding montage meant that, as an art, film could finally stop being utter crap Film could now be edited, it could tell stories, it could make a credible attempt at convincing you it imitated reality It was released from the indignity of being a faddish technological spectacle destined to fade from the public’s imagination It could compete with novels to be the preferred middle-class entertainment   But in gaining montage film gave up the heat of spectacle Film could be sharpened, but it would be a knife, not broken glass Montage, like any kind of editing, encourages you to step into cliché The very best films fight to exceed these limitations, and the very most average—the Hollywood blockbusters—luxuriate in cliché like pigs in their own filth If