Because of my critical nature, I approach a new film that everyone is raving about with some degree of dread. If I like it, as was the case with "Central Brasil" (Central Station) and "Cidade do Deus" (City of God), I am filled with the relief that comes with consensus, with not having to go against the tide.

But if this cultural phenomenon leaves me lukewarm or even a bit cold, as was the case with "Carandiru," how do I tell inquiring friends, expecting consensus, without making myself a target? How do I keep them from misinterpreting my critique of the film they adored as a challenge to a verbal duel over its merits?

To avoid this duel, I could simply lie and say I loved the film. Feigned conformity, a tactic used by some, avoids the controversy and confrontation that often results when cinematic opinions collide.

But dissimulation is not a dance I recommend. And an honest, albeit dissonant voice occasionally finds company. When I asked my stepdaughter if she liked the widely-acclaimed "The Pianist," she risked giving me an honest "no" and, to her relief, I agreed.

So, how do such dissonant voices disarm fellow cinema lovers ready to engage them in a duel? First off, your cinematic taste reveals far more about you than about the films you watch, everything from your most intimate fears and fantasies to your prejudices and politics. So personal an art form is bound to touch raw nerves, open old wounds, provoke passionate reactions.

That's why the safest way to critique a film is via a carefully-pondered response. Some friends, however, annoyingly ask what you thought of a film even while its credits are still rolling, usually to avoid the risk of giving their opinions first. If so cornered, you can say "Interesting. And you??" or mention one scene you liked.

If you don't like such dodges, I suggest saying whether or not you liked the film, rather than whether it was great, awful or somewhere in between. Why risk suggesting you are connoisseur of cinematic quality, an aesthetic arrogance that provokes arguments?

Cultural differences also explain cinematic tastes. When a Brazilian friend couldn't believe I liked "Chicago," I, an American, realized that he might be incapable of appreciating the film because the Hollywood musical was not part of his cultural vocabulary. But I avoided a duel by sparing him this observation and, instead, applauded the film's scathing critique of American society.

A short and concise opinion is also less antagonistic than a long, pedantic one. I critiqued "Carandiru" simply by saying that, because it was the faithful filming of a diary, it lacked dramatic structure, the glue needed to make its scenes build upon one another. When a friend asked me why I liked the recent romantic comedy "Separações," which he panned, I disarmed him by saying, "it made me laugh."

Because people like or dislike films for a multitude of motives, most of which don't conflict, discussing them can enrich your appreciation of them. This stops being true only when discussions get passionate and degenerate into a Tower of Babel.

Films don't speak a universal language. If they did, people wouldn't have such diverse opinions about them. It's that cornucopia of comments and what they reveal about the people making them that make films worth talking about.

This article was originally published by the Folha de S. Paulo newspaper.

Michael Kepp is an American journalist who has lived in Brazil for the last 21 years and who has written for Time, Newsweek and many other U.S. publications.  He is the author of the book of crônicas "Sonhando com Sotaque - Confissões e Desabafos de um Gringo Brasileiro." For more information on the author and book consult www.michaelkepp.com.br.

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