1. Magnolia — written and directed by Paul Thomas Anderson

2. Network — directed by Sidney Lumet

3. Good Will Hunting — directed by Gus Van Sant

4. GoodFellas — directed by Martin Scorsese

5. Manhattan — written and directed by Woody Allen

There you have it. My all-time, top-five favorite movies, a list that will undoubtedly inspire at least a few grumbles and/or a few issues of this Diamondback being hurled across the classroom in disgust this morning.

Why? Because people, when it comes to movies, know what they like and what they don’t like more fervently than perhaps any other art form.

I’m an English major. I’ve spent the last four years reading, watching and writing stories for daily newspapers, English classes and The Diamondback. Typically, I don’t think a movie is any different than a novel — a story is a story is a story. You can film it. You can write it. You can tell it. But if you suck at the fundamentals of telling a story, you’ll fail at all three.

I’m astonished at how opinionated people tend to be about the movies they watch, how concretely they critique them, how Sweet Home Alabama inexplicably “sucks,” how Tom Hanks is eternally “awful,” how “abysmal” Armageddon was, how “bad” an actor Matt Damon is (he’s not — in fact, by my count, he’s one of the most consistently solid actors in Hollywood). No one’s ever this forthcoming about novels like The Deerslayer or Beloved or Light in August.

It’s because people are scared of novels. They’re intimidated by them. It’s the words. People are afraid of misinterpreting ambiguous words, but a movie? Hell, you’re just looking at pictures right?

And therein lies my frustration with most average moviegoers. It’s a lack of respect. Talk to any professor at this university, and they’ll agree — the more you read, the better you comprehend, the more you understand, etc. But people watch movies like they’re consuming chicken nuggets. Feed me, damnit, occupy my time, but for Heaven’s sake, just don’t distract me.

People look to movies for mild, benign entertainment. This is where most critics and I diverge from the mainstream. I don’t think My Own Private Idaho is an art film. It’s just a story. Is Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas an art book? Hell no. It’s a book, but for some reason we designate certain movies art films and everything else is mainstream fare.

I’m looking for equality here. I am an equal opportunity reviewer. I aim to break down stereotypes that for too long have stigmatized the film medium. Movies can be smart, including those that star Reese Witherspoon (ex.: Sweet Home Alabama, Election, Cruel Intentions). Don’t rush to judgement. Unless you thought Herman Melville “sucked ass,” which I’ll pay $20 bucks for if you actually had the audacity to say that in class, give everything you see a chance. I do.

Except for American Wedding. That movie definitely sucked ass.

So did Cellular.

And Garden State was poorly written and incredibly overrated.

(EDITOR’S NOTE: Cribbs, shut your f—ing mouth.)

Jonathan Cribbs is a Diversions film critic and failed screenwriter. He can be reached at cribbsdbk@dbk.umd.edu.