First it was book critics, then dance and classical music reviewers. Now it’s the film critics at the nation’s major publications who are becoming an endangered species. Three weeks ago, what has become a familiar scene played out once again at the Washington Post, as acclaimed writers Stephen Hunter and Desson Thomson accepted buyouts and resigned their full-time positions.

As more than 30 film critics have abandoned or lost their posts since 2006, the discussion among many cineastes has evolved from confusion and disappointment to concern about the future: What will a world without print film critics be like?

A partial answer to that question could be found last week amid a most unusual East Village gathering. Assembled to salute the recent release of the book “Exile Cinema: Filmmakers at Work Beyond Hollywood,” a collection of film essays that celebrate and analyze unsung cinematic masters, edited by the film professor and critic Michael Atkinson, New York movie buffs heard readings by such prominent critics as Ed Halter, Stuart Klawans, B. Kite, and Mr. Atkinson. (“Exile Cinema” also features pieces with such familiar bylines as Guy Maddin, Jonathan Rosenbaum, David Sterritt, and Dennis Lim.)

Given the exodus of critics in recent months, one could sense mixed emotions in the discussions that followed the readings. To some degree, the event — much like the book itself — was meant to celebrate the very potential of film criticism, especially in a city such as New York, where the very best critics introduce their neighbors to blockbusters, B movies, and brilliant filmmakers operating outside the comfort zone of Hollywood. Indeed, there is a eulogistic purpose to “Exile Cinema,” a commemoration of a time when staff critics at any one of a number of distinctive city papers stood atop the platforms of their mainstream publications and shined a light on the unknown, underappreciated, or forgotten artists who make the city’s art community what it is. In effect, the book functions as a fantasy edition of what its collected writers hope that film criticism can once again be. “Exile Cinema,” in that sense, is their rallying cry.

Mr. Atkinson said he began working on the book three years ago, before he left his own full-time position at the Village Voice in 2006. “You could feel through the years a slow dumbing-down of the writing in most places, but when I started this three years ago, it didn’t quite have the feel of a tragedy yet,” he said. “But in the introduction to the book, I make it explicit: This book is an homage to the slowly disappearing art of film criticism. While the influence of critics can at times be minimal, they are integral to keeping the film cultures as broad as it can possibly be. Without film critics, the discourse will die.”

While editing “Exile Cinema,” Mr. Atkinson set out with some ground rules: He wanted to expose readers to filmmakers they did not know, especially ones who are still alive. Given last weekend’s New York premiere of Guy Maddin’s “My Winnipeg,” one of that director’s most accessible works to date, it almost seems appropriate that his name appears in the book both as a subject and as an author. The critic Mark Peranson discusses Mr. Maddin’s unique position as a filmmaker more revered in America than in his homeland of Canada. Flip back 12 pages, and you fill find Mr. Maddin’s own essay about the unsung Brazilian horror-movie director Jose Mojica Marins.

Across 200 pages, the passions of Messrs. Maddin and Peranon are matched by nearly two dozen writers. Mr. Rosenbaum (now retired) writes about the funny, surreal Japanese director Seijun Suzuki. Mr. Lim (formerly of the Village Voice) focuses on the Malaysian moviemaker Amir Muhammad. Jonathan Romney exalts the Hungarian filmmaker Bela Tarr. Mr. Sterritt hails New York’s own avant-garde master Ken Jacobs.

Mr. Atkinson’s team is an inspiring collage of energized critics, all writing furiously to turn their readers on to something new. “A point of the book is that much of this work still can’t be seen in America,” he said. “There’s no way to get access to it, outside of buying a multi-region DVD player and shopping European or Japanese DVD sites. There are people out there who will do this — but they first need to know these filmmakers exist.”

In other words, the decline of the print critic begets the decline of the educated moviegoer. As critical commentary shifts to Web logs and online forums (Mr. Atkinson himself writes for several Web logs), and art houses find it more difficult to schedule revivals and retrospectives, the chasm between the multiplex crowd and the art-house crowd will grow ever wider.

“Have you gone to an art house lately? Some screens are literally the size of the flat screens people have in their living rooms right now,” Mr. Atkinson said, referring to the shrinking marketplace for independent films. “For those people who are searching for films made for adults, there’s almost no reason to go to the theater anymore. It’s reaching the point where there will be six big movies released a year, all made for a half-billion dollars, that everyone will see on a single day, and other than that, people will just stay home and watch Netflix. It’s already happening.”

ssnyder@nysun.com