We’re grateful for Ann Hornaday.
A wonderful writer and better person, she was an also generous and inspiring friend. I knew her primarily as a fellow film journalist. We sat together at critics’ film screenings, we talked as we rode home together on the metro, headed to different places, and glad to have the time together. We talked about movies, of course, and also life, contexts, aspirations, and memories. We laughed a lot; Ann was incredibly funny as well as astute.
As many people have noted, Ann was for many years the chief film critic for the Washington Post, a position she took seriously and also, one she used to make the world better. For her, that meant supporting filmmakers and new ideas and energies. She and I shared particular affections for movies that challenged viewers, that posed questions and generated conversations. This even as we also appreciated formula and craft and conventions, especially when these were dazzling in some kind of special way.
Ann loved to write. That’s clear in her writing, in her sentence rhythms and architectural ingenuity as much as in the content. She and I used to talk about how we made our ways from our different degrees – hers in Government and mine in English – to our mutual passions. That she was early on an administrative assistant for Gloria Steinem at Ms. makes sense; they shared a belief that writing could make a difference, not only by persuading readers or asserting opinions, but also by engaging in the art itself, in Ann's case, an art that is exquisite and evocative and moving.
Ann’s several writing positions, as well as her lovely, brilliant book, Talking Pictures: How to Watch Movies (2017) and her often remembered status as a finalist for a Pulitzer (2008) all speak to her range and her incredible capacity for reaching all kinds of readers. And while famous filmmakers like Ava DuVernay have testified to her intelligence and advocacy, Ann was also keen to mentor aspiring writers and support independent, emerging filmmakers. She spent an afternoon with George Mason University filmmaking students, so she and I could talk with them about film criticism and writing about films: why do we do it and how does it matter?
And when Ann came back from film festivals, she was frequently most enthusiastic about new films, unusual or exciting for the risks they were taking. I was curating the Visiting Filmmakers Series at George Mason University, and we worked out how to bring some of these compelling new filmmakers to campus, so students and community members could meet them. Always free and open to the public, our screenings are all different and all surprising in their own ways. Ann's participation elevated our events discussions every time.
Two of these were especially memorable. In November, 2012, we brought Pete Nicks, with The Waiting Room, a remarkable film and interactive project that Ann had seen and recommended. Ann was the host for that event; Pete was doing something we hadn’t seen before, his documentary’s camera and sound work gorgeous and also alarming, showing how people held together the chaos of the Emergency Room at Oakland's Highland Hospital.
A few years later, in 2016, Ann suggested we bring Khalik Allah, with Field Niggas, another documentary that was formally and thematically unfamilar, using async sound, for instance. We worked with Professor Wendi Manuel-Scott, director of Mason’s African and African American Studies Program. Khalik shared his experiences and dreams. Wendi and Ann were phenomenal hosts, open and incisive, like dancers in a theater full of engaged viewers.
I’m grateful for Ann. She made every moment with her special, in person and in her writing.