First of all, this is a JJ Abrams movie—what exactly did these critics and amateur film “aficionados” anticipate? THIS is the man responsible for LOST, a show that many viewers have senselessly abandoned due to their incomprehension. His filmmaking is intriguingly obscure, almost Lynchian in style: all questions don’t have to be answered, despite what some bloggers and their so-called theories claim. If you’re into that sort of thing, then who am I to criticize you? Maybe you did see something fall into the water in the final Coney Island footage and maybe there is some meaning to this so-called whisper heard after the credits.

But some just insist on complaining, “Oh, we don’t know where it came from or what happened after the footage ends.” I say, “Does it really matter?” The movie is about the characters and NOT about the monster, which serves as a backdrop to the character development. It pisses me off how people come in with these preconceived notions from previous disaster-monster films and they think they know how the movie should turn out. When it doesn’t turn out their way, they’re disappointed and they blame the movie when they should be blaming themselves. Did these people not watch the trailer? The film is told through the point of view of normal people, are they realistically going to go out and discover the origins of this creature—no, they are going to run for their lives. But maybe I shouldn’t be too harsh, I mean it IS Oscar season and maybe audiences are on a conventional-”good”-movie high. Cloverfield is anything but conventional and people aren’t accustomed to that. Returning to my “Lynchian” reference, some of David Lynch’s movies have been severely bashed because of his unconventional approach and Abrams is no stranger to this mistreatment.

What I like about Cloverfield is that it is realistically unreal. To properly enjoy such a film, we must suspend our disbelief. Only after accepting that New York is being attacked by a monster can we grasp the reality of the characters and the situation. Ultimately, it is this paradox that makes the movie so jarring. We see the haunting and disturbing images of the dust-covered witnesses to the 9/11 attacks and the looters of Hurricane Katrina. You relate to these characters because they are regular people . . . they aren’t special agents sent to destroy the monster, nor are they scientists looking to capture and study it. They have no skills and are vulnerable like you and me.

It seems that Abrams is fully aware of this issue through his brilliant casting of actors that aren’t well-known. They aren’t in mainstream movies, so you don’t associate their roles in Cloverfield to previous roles. They might as well be complete strangers and it is this anonymity that makes them real. Ever watch The Lord of the Rings and whenever Elrond appears all you see is Agent Smith and it ruins that one scene? Well, this isn’t the case with Cloverfield as we see the actors only as the characters they portray. You witness their ordeal as they did. You’re still an observer, but you establish a connection with these characters through their laughter, their tears, and their terror. Honestly, don’t we all know a Hud? Don’t we all know that one mildly ostracised person that is awkward and endearingly says the wrong things at the wrong time? Of course we do, and this is exactly why I felt so sad when the footage cuts off. [(Obvious) Spoiler Alert] After the 70 or so available minutes of recording time, you feel as if you’ve known these characters for more than those minutes and all their deaths hit you hard. You are numb and it feels like you had just lost a couple of friends.

Maybe I’m putting a little too much emotion in it, but how can you not? Cloverfield isn’t a movie, but a movie experience—meaning you cannot criticize it on the typical standards of a movie. You judge it on how you felt. I like Cloverfield because it achieved what it intended to achieve: I was definitely drawn into the disaster and while equally thrilling and entertaining, it was also . . . touching.