While the official results are not quite in, I think it's safe to say: Hollywood is dead. Well, that's not entirely true. The narcissistic 'I'm rich-fuck the rest of you' decadent lifestyle still exists; in fact, its thriving more than ever in this post-production full consumption nepotistic yuppie-clan generation. What I mean is that the 'Pax Romana' of the Hollywood film industry is gone... buried beneath the unimaginative detritus of remakes, sequels, and Russel Brand movies. It is pretty sad... especially that last one.
Take a minute to think about it. In the last few years, there have only been a handful of worthwhile films made, while the thearters are flooded with knock off blockbusters that were most likely written by folks with the creative/imaginative capabilities of a coffee mug. And that might be a discredit to the mugs of the world: at least they can hold liquid. But maybe the fault lies elsewhere. Somewhere darker and infinitely more insidious than a Medellin cartel hangout: executive offices. Yes... the corporate thugs that wield their power and authority like a briefcase full of cocaine have slipped a nose over the neck of creative screenplay writing. These licentious miscreants have opted to play on the absent-mindedness of the American masses, relying upon image over talent (cast of the Twilight series... I'm talking about you) and guaranteed money over expression (the epitome of this embodied by the Clash of the Titans remake's impending sequel. Seriously... a sequel to a remake?!? Are they serious?). Such is the curse of the industry today: they traded art for paychecks.
How could this have happened? When did we, the audience, begin to settle for average or begin to anticipate the same old thing done on repeat? And it does further than just the writing. The craft of acting seems to have been tossed into a pit of cannibalistic neophytes while the rest of us watch the carnage with a $7 bag of popcorn. Look at Johnny Depp... once famous for his 'indie-film mindset' displayed best in the gangly roll of Edward Scissorhands, or his astounding portrayal of the Father of Gonzo, Hunter S. Thompson, in Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. Now, he has been type-cast into a series of films based off a Disney ride with animatronic puppets. That or some cookie-cutter action flick alongside Angelina Jolie. Then there's Robert Downey jr. The black sheep of Tinsel Town (a role Charlie Sheen has unanimously usurped), whose sardonic wit stole the show in Wonderboys, is now stuck playing either an eccentric Victorian-era inspector or an eccentric billionaire superhero. Even my girl Natalie Portman has experienced the decline, thanks to the Master of Fuck-Ups... the washed up jackass George Lucas. (True... the original Star Wars were revolutionary and brilliant... but his prequels are, in a word, atrocious. And you have to question a man who makes Star Wars: A New Hope only to fund Howard the Duck!!) Luckily, Natalie pulled herself up back into respect, rockin' her unbelievable talent once more most recently in Black Swan.
Sure... it's easy to blame the Suits for the decline. But we have to take a lot of the credit and, seeing as how I'm complaining... I wash my hands of this madness. Stop accepting the trite bullshit that Hollywood throws your way and charges you a ridiculous sum for; it's far too similar to pigs lining up at the troth... patiently awaiting their slop! It's time to hold Hollywood accountable for its actions once more, and demand that quality be invested. Besides... if I see one more movie with that lanky, self-aggrandizing, short-bus riding heroin junkie Brand in another movie... I'm goin' postal on all of you! Sleep tight with that night light, you fiends.
