Historically, the French embrace the great artists of the US in a much more fulsome manner. Too many critics of the paid phalanx in the US are timid and unresponsive to the fine-grain textures of their countrymen's products—carrying well-whittled envy ready to be deployed garrote-style into the belly of the artist's ego, while hectoring, You may be able to make, but we have the power to crush careers—and, these days, even cancel any one of our greats no matter past canonization. Barthes, Blanchot, Derrida were keyed into the printed page while Andre Bazin, the Nouvelle Vague directors, and Michel Cimet saw the writing on the wall in cinema.