I remember, as a young man, looking forward to the next “big movie.” Whatever it happened to be, I knew the experience would blow my mind right out the back of my head. Titanic, Jurassic Park, Independence Day; each film was a “not to be missed” occasion that was talked about for months, and guaranteed to earn more money than a small country.
But it wasn’t just the film, of course. Back then visiting the cinema was a noteworthy occasion. I distinctly recall going to see Titanic and bumping into a friend’s parents as they left the cinema, both glowing with excitement like they had just been physically present for the moon landing.
“Oh my God,” I thought, looking at their goofy grins, “If that movie can do this to a pair of adults, I’d better book my recovery wheelchair in advance, because I will surely not be able to walk from the pure awesome I am about to have inflicted upon me.”
The smell of popcorn was pure heaven, the claustrophobic confines of the cinema an assault on my senses that got my brain swimming with anticipation. And always, as the lights dimmed and first previews started playing, I would enter a happy place; one where the only possible outcome was another evening spent in movie watching bliss.
Yes, I’m sure you’ve already guessed; I deeply miss those days. Films are not what the used to be. Cinemas are no longer the social gathering places they used to be, and every other week is the premier of “the next big movie.” I still sometimes attend the cinema, perhaps twice a year, but each visit is one that leaves me feeling forlorn, like visiting a long lost friend in hospital who is slowly losing their mind.
Has movie quality plummeted? Of course it has. There is simply no comparison. Early blockbusters had a clear feeling of passion about them, the result of being made by artists who deeply cared for their work, and respected their audience. There was not a sense that “higher powers” had had their fingers in every aspect of the production, cutting back on costs, demanding forced romances, and expecting the production be finished in half the time required. Actors could act, imagine that, and brought their A game in terms of performance, not via twenty thousand sit-ups a day. Locations were real, not the overly glossy, extremely unnatural result of computers and green screens. Putting it simply, films have become a fast food equivalent of their earlier selves.
But before we get too lost in rose-tinted nostalgia. It’s not just that films have changed; the world of entertainment has likewise dramatically changed. We live in the YouTube generation, and cinemas are dying. Youngsters have twenty four hour access to practically unlimited sources of visual entertainment. Why, for any reason other then to go out with friends, would they visit a cinema? Yes, movies have become fast food. But then I don’t expect anyone to make a movie that is a financial flop, just because they “love making movies.” Imagine being responsible for a hundred and fifty million dollar budget, trying to appeal to teenagers who are about as impressed by CGI these days as they are paint drying, and working with investors breathing down your neck, who swear they will crush your career if the film fails. What would you do but minimise expenditure wherever possible in similar circumstances, resulting in sloppy, slapped together movies that are the equivalent of yesterdays Big Mac. That’s reality. When Steven Spielberg made Jaws he was not contesting with a multi-billion dollar gaming industry, 24 hour YouTube websites, and Pew Die Pie, who regularly smashes television production companies in the face with his subscriber statistics.
And besides the fast food syndrome, I know that I personally have changed. I’ve become far more critical of films, and often sit rolling my eyes at plot holes and yawning at bad dialogue. A younger me would never have noticed that Indiana Jones could fire nine bullets from a six shooter. I’m a writer now, you see, and an eye for good writing and realism is one of my biggest curses where entertainment is involved.
I remember a time, very long ago, going to the drive-in with my family. We would all pack into the car and head out to watch a double feature under a clear summer sky. That was magical. Sure, there was a possibility rain would unexpectedly pouring down, but that somehow made it all the more of an adventure. The food was bad, but we didn’t care. There was a chance of being stuck with a terrible angle, and seeing only 60% of the screen. We also didn’t care. It was guaranteed to be an amazing experience, whatever happened. And this is the crux of the matter. I have finally begun to understand what it means to get older. I have become a real “adult.” I miss how it used to be, not because of the quality of films, the nature of technology, or that it was all just “better” back then, but because I was younger. The world was just less complicated.
Yes, I wish with every fibre of my body I could be young again. These days, the smell of popcorn is not so much heavenly as it is something I sneer at, knowing that the mark-up on popcorn is somewhere around 900%. I wish I could again forget costs and enjoy Independence Day, a film I now hate for its obscene levels of American arrogance. I wish I could overlook how Jean Claude Van Damme had the acting talent of a mongoose, and spent most of his films looking like he took steroids via drip. I have changed, the world has changed, time moves inevitably forward. Suddenly it doesn’t seem so far away I will be sitting on my porch and yelling at those darn neighbourhood kids to “stay off my lawn.”
But then, these days at least I don’t puke on myself every time I talk to something with breasts. So, fair trade I guess.
Either way, the truth of the matter is simple. Yes, movies have become fast food. But I have also grown older. Today’s young generation will look back with nostalgia, as will the generation after, and the generation after. Such is life. The real causalities, as far as I can tell, the ones that are not likely to recover any time soon or be replaced by something similar, are books. And that is where the real tragedy lies. Because although nostalgia says I miss the way things used to be, you also cannot stop the way the world seems to be going. And you cannot deny that the future looks awfully bad for written media.
But it wasn’t just the film, of course. Back then visiting the cinema was a noteworthy occasion. I distinctly recall going to see Titanic and bumping into a friend’s parents as they left the cinema, both glowing with excitement like they had just been physically present for the moon landing.
“Oh my God,” I thought, looking at their goofy grins, “If that movie can do this to a pair of adults, I’d better book my recovery wheelchair in advance, because I will surely not be able to walk from the pure awesome I am about to have inflicted upon me.”
The smell of popcorn was pure heaven, the claustrophobic confines of the cinema an assault on my senses that got my brain swimming with anticipation. And always, as the lights dimmed and first previews started playing, I would enter a happy place; one where the only possible outcome was another evening spent in movie watching bliss.
Yes, I’m sure you’ve already guessed; I deeply miss those days. Films are not what the used to be. Cinemas are no longer the social gathering places they used to be, and every other week is the premier of “the next big movie.” I still sometimes attend the cinema, perhaps twice a year, but each visit is one that leaves me feeling forlorn, like visiting a long lost friend in hospital who is slowly losing their mind.
Has movie quality plummeted? Of course it has. There is simply no comparison. Early blockbusters had a clear feeling of passion about them, the result of being made by artists who deeply cared for their work, and respected their audience. There was not a sense that “higher powers” had had their fingers in every aspect of the production, cutting back on costs, demanding forced romances, and expecting the production be finished in half the time required. Actors could act, imagine that, and brought their A game in terms of performance, not via twenty thousand sit-ups a day. Locations were real, not the overly glossy, extremely unnatural result of computers and green screens. Putting it simply, films have become a fast food equivalent of their earlier selves.
But before we get too lost in rose-tinted nostalgia. It’s not just that films have changed; the world of entertainment has likewise dramatically changed. We live in the YouTube generation, and cinemas are dying. Youngsters have twenty four hour access to practically unlimited sources of visual entertainment. Why, for any reason other then to go out with friends, would they visit a cinema? Yes, movies have become fast food. But then I don’t expect anyone to make a movie that is a financial flop, just because they “love making movies.” Imagine being responsible for a hundred and fifty million dollar budget, trying to appeal to teenagers who are about as impressed by CGI these days as they are paint drying, and working with investors breathing down your neck, who swear they will crush your career if the film fails. What would you do but minimise expenditure wherever possible in similar circumstances, resulting in sloppy, slapped together movies that are the equivalent of yesterdays Big Mac. That’s reality. When Steven Spielberg made Jaws he was not contesting with a multi-billion dollar gaming industry, 24 hour YouTube websites, and Pew Die Pie, who regularly smashes television production companies in the face with his subscriber statistics.
And besides the fast food syndrome, I know that I personally have changed. I’ve become far more critical of films, and often sit rolling my eyes at plot holes and yawning at bad dialogue. A younger me would never have noticed that Indiana Jones could fire nine bullets from a six shooter. I’m a writer now, you see, and an eye for good writing and realism is one of my biggest curses where entertainment is involved.
I remember a time, very long ago, going to the drive-in with my family. We would all pack into the car and head out to watch a double feature under a clear summer sky. That was magical. Sure, there was a possibility rain would unexpectedly pouring down, but that somehow made it all the more of an adventure. The food was bad, but we didn’t care. There was a chance of being stuck with a terrible angle, and seeing only 60% of the screen. We also didn’t care. It was guaranteed to be an amazing experience, whatever happened. And this is the crux of the matter. I have finally begun to understand what it means to get older. I have become a real “adult.” I miss how it used to be, not because of the quality of films, the nature of technology, or that it was all just “better” back then, but because I was younger. The world was just less complicated.
Yes, I wish with every fibre of my body I could be young again. These days, the smell of popcorn is not so much heavenly as it is something I sneer at, knowing that the mark-up on popcorn is somewhere around 900%. I wish I could again forget costs and enjoy Independence Day, a film I now hate for its obscene levels of American arrogance. I wish I could overlook how Jean Claude Van Damme had the acting talent of a mongoose, and spent most of his films looking like he took steroids via drip. I have changed, the world has changed, time moves inevitably forward. Suddenly it doesn’t seem so far away I will be sitting on my porch and yelling at those darn neighbourhood kids to “stay off my lawn.”
But then, these days at least I don’t puke on myself every time I talk to something with breasts. So, fair trade I guess.
Either way, the truth of the matter is simple. Yes, movies have become fast food. But I have also grown older. Today’s young generation will look back with nostalgia, as will the generation after, and the generation after. Such is life. The real causalities, as far as I can tell, the ones that are not likely to recover any time soon or be replaced by something similar, are books. And that is where the real tragedy lies. Because although nostalgia says I miss the way things used to be, you also cannot stop the way the world seems to be going. And you cannot deny that the future looks awfully bad for written media.