With 2021’s film debuts gracing both movie theaters and living room televisions, it may take a few years to observe which films hold up well over time. But, I will assume that this year’s mainstream cinema will most likely fade from recognition in the near future.
The discourse surrounding the degradation of Hollywood movies is not a new subject. Even recently, IndieWire published a piece about how streaming platforms have edged out large production studios in the movie business, while Mic proposed strategies to revive complex and artistic filmmaking. NPR reported that Barry Diller, the former head of two major Hollywood studios, said that the once-powerful blockbuster structure is on the decline, and the quality of films is suffering for it.
But the last several years of critics’ lament have not been met with evolving Hollywood practices.
The year 2021 featured some highly anticipated movies, such as Dune, Licorice Pizza, Free Guy, and Don’t Look Up, as well as several successful superhero multiverse releases. But, for many cinephiles, it was also the 10th and 20th anniversary of films that represent the heights of the last two decades of artistic filmmaking history. After watching and rewatching cult classics—including Mulholland Drive (2001), Donnie Darko (2001), Spirited Away (2001), The Skin I Live In (2011), and Melancholia (2011)—I found it easy to take the same pessimistic position as film critics in their ardent denunciation of recent film releases.
The central conflict that pervades modern Hollywood cinema is ultimately the tendency for filmmakers to underestimate their audiences’ ability to analytically engage with their work. Part of what defined notable movies in previous decades was their ability to probe new sociological ideas and question dogmas through artistic storytelling. There was a level of complexity in interpretation that I feel is lacking heavily with recent screenwriting. In the genres of drama, science fiction, and thrillers especially, there is no more appeal in the industry for open interpretation. Complexity can galvanize greater discussion surrounding movies and inspire people to revisit great films.
In the past, movies invited the audience to indulge in analysis, and film criticism was plentiful in the interdisciplinary studies of psychoanalysis, gender studies, and philosophy. Exhibitions of intellectually invigorating filmmaking appear in the movies I previously mentioned celebrating anniversaries of their release.
In Lars von Trier’s Melancholia, Justine (Kirsten Dunst) is a bride who slowly succumbs to her depression at the same time that, unknown to the majority of the human race, a new planet is about to collide with earth. The film speaks about the powers of the natural world and the dynamic relations between solipsism and change.
The introduction of Melancholia displays a still image of Pieter Bruegel the Elder’s The Hunters in the Snow—a 16th century painting depicting weary huntsmen looking down from a cliff to see silhouettes of townspeople playing on an icy pond. I believe the use of Bruegel’s painting foreshadows the predicament Justine finds herself in. She has full knowledge of the fate of humanity, but she lacks the courage to disillusion her family, who treat the passing planet as a marvel rather than certain death. This is alike the hunters, who stand defeated from afar, while the rest of their village takes joy in the depth of winter.
As a director, von Trier demonstrates his talent as he uses subtle visual details to transfer the writing from the page to the screen. Not only does The Hunters in the Snow foreshadow the themes of Melancholia, von Trier also establishes the tone and mood of the movie with this dreary initial image. These open-ended scenes force audiences to draw their own conclusions. The movie embraces the individual perspective of the viewer—becoming more personal and powerful as a result.
The qualities of filmmaking exhibited in 2021’s releases ultimately fail in comparison, despite the rise in demand for movie streaming which the pandemic has afforded to the entertainment industry. This often results in movies that rely on the star power of their casts and visual graphics alone.
In David Lynch’s Mulholland Drive, Rita (Laura Harring) suffers from dissociative amnesia following a car crash. As a result, she loses all memory of her identity and employs the aid of a naive aspiring actress, Betty, to help her rediscover her name and identity. With its neo-noir mood, the movie examines the psychological concept of the external presentation of the self—referencing the psychoanalyst Carl Jung’s theory of personae. In an effort to display Rita’s fractured identity, the film shows her inability to grasp who she is, as the lines between Rita and Betty’s characters become blurred.
In a pivotal moment, Rita discovers the dead body of a woman who could have given her essential information about her own identity. The discovery triggers Rita’s mental breakdown, and Betty offers to bear part of her emotional burden as she says one of my favorite lines.
“I know what you’re doing,” she says. “I know what you have to do, but let me do it.”
Rita then wears a wig that identically matches Betty’s hair and the two have sex that night. In my opinion, this signifies the turning point of the film, as Rita and Betty merge into one persona. With this thought-provoking twist, Lynch explores the psychological idea of fluidity of a human’s self-concept and the instability between perceived reality and fantasy. He uses sexuality in Mulholland Drive as a proxy to achieve this goal.
As filmmakers like von Trier and Lynch created metaphorical puzzles and psychological conundrums, films became love letters from the screenwriter to the moviegoer. They were a transfer of the moviemaker’s personal perceptions of reality onto the big screen for their viewers to witness. In the works of both von Trier and Lynch, there is an indulgence in the absurd that allows the audience to travel on endless imaginative roads.
But, in recent years, industry expectations for mainstream movies do not afford directors the same creative freedoms. The close interpersonal relationship between the film and its maker has become defunct, as the economy of moviemaking is increasingly reliant on the trends of the box office and pop culture that denote the path of storytelling even before the film’s opening shot. The blame for this decline does not fall on the expectant public, but on the complacency of the studio.
The criticism of current movies should not be read as dismissive of the hard work and creativity that go into these productions. It is extremely difficult to make a movie. Instead, it should be taken as a push to embrace the vast artistic possibilities of filmmaking. Each line can bring a beauty to cinema that should be purposeful, exemplifying filmmaking as an artform.
As advancements in video technology continue to improve the visual beauty of films, the writing and content of movies should also hold itself to a higher standard of imagination. In a reformed Hollywood, complexity and artistic value would not dissuade audiences from seeing films. Instead, it would give worth to the tickets they pay for. This would require a change in how the mode of cinema operates.
Featured Graphic by Annie Corrigan / Heights Editor
