To any sane person (other than a marketer or a techie), the current Hollywood major-studio feature films are by and large loud and idiotic.
How did they get this way?
Mark Harris, writing in GQ, has his own theory. To Harris, there was a time when the likes of Star Wars and Jaws could coexist in the multiplexes with the likes of An Officer and a Gentleman and The Shining. Then….
Then came Top Gun. The man calling the shots may have been Tony Scott, but the film’s real auteurs were producers Don Simpson and Jerry Bruckheimer, two men who pioneered the “high-concept” blockbuster—films for which the trailer or even the tagline told the story instantly. At their most basic, their movies weren’t movies; they were pure product—stitched-together amalgams of amphetamine action beats, star casting, music videos, and a diamond-hard laminate of technological adrenaline all designed to distract you from their lack of internal coherence, narrative credibility, or recognizable human qualities. They were rails of celluloid cocaine with only one goal: the transient heightening of sensation.
That’s exactly what’s also wrong with America’s political discourse.
A cable TV channel (founded by a Hollywood studio) has taken effective control of one of the two major parties. Along with its radio pundit counterparts, it dumbs down all debate into simplistic emotional manipulations. You’re not even supposed to think about what they’re saying. You’re just supposed to react with anger/hubris/fear on cue.
PS: The 2011 Oscars? What a bore of self congratulatory tripe. Even more than usual.
The celebrities and their handlers are not even pretending, for the most part, to be living in a world remotely resembling the real America of the bottom 98 percent.
the ordeal was “sped up” in the wrong way, by taking out any potential for spontaneity and water cooler moments, leaving the bare bones outline of the massive droning ritual with no “breathing room,” no chance for personality or creativity. Much like your standard assembly line major studio movies themselves. The only “moments,” such as they were, were a senile Kirk Douglas refusing to stick to the script and the appearance of Mr Trent Reznor in a tux. That and a sharp political barb by the Best Documentary winner were, I am afraid, it.
One more reason for me to say: Save the movies. Kill Hollywood.
