Any time I publish a harsh pan of a movie, as I did with Suicide Squad and Batman v. Superman: Dawn of Justice, folks pop up on Twitter and Facebook and in the comments on the piece itself to insist that they'll see the movie anyway, and that audiences will make up their own minds, independent of critical judgement. (One charmer popped up to declare that he was discounting all reviews of Suicide Squad by women because they must be motivated by our jealousy about Margot Robbie, which is his prerogative, no matter how silly.) More recently, a conspiracy theory has cropped up among fans of DC movies that Marvel is paying off critics to kill DC's nascent, troubled cinematic universe.
If these reactions manage to rise to the level of making me feel a little sad, it's not because they make me feel irrelevant or powerless. Instead, it's that these responses fundamentally misunderstand what criticism is supposed to do.
I'm not a Hollywood industry kingmaker, no matter how often I may tell showrunners and movie writers that they really ought to check out Tamora Pierce's works for a possible adaptation. I'm not working for The Post, the publication that's home to the greatest political reporting in the country, because my career goal is to make some franchises happen and destroy others. If I wanted to get involved on that sort of granular level, I'd be in Los Angeles, doing something very different with my life.
In fact, though I've written such pieces in the past, I can't really think of any occasion now in which I'd actually urge audiences to actively avoid a film, television show or novel, on the basis of content. I might do something different with a work that was produced under conditions so unethical or dangerous that I don't think they should be supported at any level, though in general I tend to prefer offsetting the purchase price of a work with a donation to an organisation that works on the relevant issues.