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THE LL WORD
Contributing editor LEILA LATIF has something to say…
After the pandemic, the question of who or what would save cinema was everywhere. The answer, that a sequel to a 1986 action movie about naval aviator pilots would bring audiences storming back to the multiplex, was a welcome surprise. Punters revelled in Top Gun: Maverick’s big-scale spectacle and the memories of a simpler time in their lives that such old-school movie magic aroused.
THIS MONTH Why movie nostalgia just ain’t what it used to be.
Nostalgia can be a powerful tool for Hollywood to draw audiences to its tent-pole blockbusters. We love being reminded of the things we once adored and a time when bills, the housing market and lowerback pain weren’t the subjects of most dinner conversations. Millennials have been a common target, with the studios frequently asking us to revisit the biggest movies and characters of our childhoods, and tasking us with introducing them to a new generation. Batman, Ghostbusters, Star Wars, Indiana Jones, The Little Mermaid, Coming to America, Jurassic Park, Superman, Hocus Pocus, The Lion King and so on... All have had recent sequels or reboots that asked us to revel in nostalgic joys. But now, when so many of them have disappointed – and The Flash and Indy 5 just massively underperformed at the box office – the question has become: why isn’t nostalgia what it used to be?
The rate of return on these films is trending downwards. Post-COVID, The Little Mermaid, Space Jam 2 and Lightyear counted on hordes of geriatric millennials to introduce their offspring to existing IP and, judging by the receipts, they overestimated that draw.
In the age of streaming, when Disney+ et al make all your childhood favourites available at the press of a button, there might be little incentive for your average moviegoer to fork out for cinema tickets. The Flash assumed we’d be so excited to see Michael Keaton back as Batman that we’d somehow forget that you can watch him (and Michelle Pfeiffer and Danny DeVito, as a bonus) at the click of a button, then switch over to watch Indy crack his whip, or share in Buzz’s devastation when he realises he’s a toy. We may love these characters, but we’re also broke enough and jaded enough and disappointed often enough not to want to pay out just to see them against a background of sludgy CGI.
Tom Cruise saved cinema because Maverick worked regardless of whether your formative experiences involved watching fighter jets and homoerotic volleyball scenes. The Spider-Verse movies soar because they can be anyone’s first Spider-Man movie, while sprinkling in extra treats for seasoned viewers.
Meanwhile, watching The Matrix Resurrections without adoring the originals would be about as strange an experience as actually waking up in the Matrix. The Flash cameos would be utterly befuddling, and Indiana Jones would seem like a needlessly cranky archaeologist who should leave the Dial of Destiny to someone else’s fate. The only one that would improve with no prior affection is Lightyear, as Toy Story fans were more confused than anyone that a film revolving around the character that the toy was based on – but that isn’t voiced by Tim Allen – seemed like a good idea.
We all want the next generation of film fans to have the moments we did: watching Keaton face off against an impossibly hot, latex-clad Catwoman; holding our breath as Indy nearly got crushed by a boulder; loving Ewoks so much you spent endless hours rewinding your Return of the Jedi VHS until you spoke fluent Ewokese (that last one might just be me).
But if the box-office trends of this latest nostalgic fare are anything to go by, I’m not alone in wanting more than my childhood repackaged and sold back to me. Hollywood needs to learn how to save cinema another way.
LEILA WILL BE BACK NEXT ISSUE. FOR FURTHER MUSINGS AND MISSIVES FOLLOW @LEILA_LATIF ON TWITTER.