The way people talk about the movie business these days, you
might expect Hollywood itself to show up in the death montage at
next year's Oscar ceremony. Heavily hyped films are fizzling.
Online filesharing is cutting into box office receipts. The city's
reliance on sequels and remakes has gotten so intense that it is
now the conventional wisdom to say the studios are out of
ideas.
The conventional wisdom is a little overwrought—surely it means
something that one of the most critically and commercially popular
films of the year, Toy Story 3, is not just a sequel but a
sequel to a sequel—but the larger indictment isn't far
off. Hollywood is undeniably in an unhealthy state. But the state
of Hollywood should not be confused with the state of motion
pictures, just as the state of the dominant record companies should
not be confused with the state of American music, the state of the
Big Three should not be confused with the state of automobile
manufacturing, the state of newspapers should not be confused with
the state of journalism, and the state of public schools should not
be confused with the state of public knowledge. The last decade has
seen movies breaking free of traditional Hollywood shackles and
finding new creators, venues, and formats, some of which stretch
the conventional conception of what a movie can be.
The number of films produced by U.S. companies has been
sliding over the last few years, from 928 in 2006 down to 677
in 2009. The number of films released in American theaters actually
increased slightly over part of that period, from 594 in 2006 to
633 in 2008, but in 2009 it descended to 558, the first decline
since 2003. These drops are partly a reflection of the recession,
and in part they reflect the effects of the Writers Guild
strike.
At the same time, though, there was a surge in movies that never
made it to standard American theaters at all. The Internet Movie
Database reports that
9,591 features were created last year—a number that
excludes documentaries, direct-to-video and made-for-TV movies, and
a substantial number of the pictures that never got past the
festival circuit. In 1999, by contrast, there were just
3,275. That isn't necessarily an apples-to-apples comparison,
as small and foreign filmmakers today might be more likely to make
an effort to get listed in the IMDb. But I doubt such a change in
practices would be enough to account for a nearly threefold
increase. Over the same time period, meanwhile, the number of
documentaries more than doubled. Chris Hyams—chief operating
officer of Slated, a New York-based company that does market
research for movie producers and distributors—estimates that the
number of new features playing at festivals worldwide last year was
even higher than the IMDb allows, perhaps as many as 30,000.
And don't forget the movies that aren't feature length.
The most important figure here may be the amount of footage
uploaded to the Internet, which keeps climbing. YouTube, for
example,
revealed in March that 24 hours of content were being uploaded
to the site every minute, up from 15 hours per minute in
the middle of 2008 and six hours per minute in the middle of 2007.
There are no reliable figures on how much of that is excerpted
without alterations from commercial films or television and how
much was created explicitly for the Web. But speaking anecdotally,
there seems to have been a sharp increase in both kinds of content.
Thanks to YouTube, Vimeo, and similar sites, there's a larger
audience than ever before for independently produced motion
pictures.
It's a safe bet that most of those movies are mediocre or worse.
But as Brian Newman
writes in The Wrap, "I never walk into the record
store and think there are too many bands out there, too many albums
to pick from. Instead, I value the diversity of artists available
for my listening pleasure." When the cost of filmmaking falls and
more people, in more places, from more social backgrounds, learn to
shoot and edit, the results may include an increase in crap, but
there will also be an increase in creativity, variety, and
verve.
For decades, cineastes bemoaned the death of the short, a form
exiled from mainstream theaters and abandoned to the marginal
worlds of film schools and film festivals. Now there's a sudden
increase not just in the production of shorts but in the size of
their audience. Small, bizarre, formula-busting movies can actually
become hits, though we don't call them hits; we say
they've "gone viral." And if some of those hits involve nothing
more profound than a dramatic chipmunk
or a well-choreographed wedding march,
that merely means the usual art-to-trivia ratio is still in place.
At least this trivia is content to deliver its single joke and then
end, which is more than can be said for the typical Saturday
Night Live movie. (Or, for that matter, the typical
Saturday Night Live sketch.)
Moving pictures aren't just getting shorter and simpler. They're
getting longer and more complex. American television is arguably in
its most creatively rich period ever, and one strand of that
richness is the rise of tightly woven, season- or series-long story
arcs. Such extended narratives were riskier undertakings in the
past, back when it was easier to miss an episode altogether and
impossible to hit "rewind" while you were watching. Those aren't
problems anymore, thanks to DVDs, DVRs, and online streaming, so
executives are willing to embrace more narrative complexity. And
with smaller outfits such as HBO in the TV production business,
those executives are ever more willing to serve niche audiences as
well. Not every long-term story arc is actually good, of
course, but that's true of traditional films and TV shows as well;
the important point is that masterpieces like
The Wire, a 60-hour megamovie released in weekly
installments, are now possible at all.
It is also now possible to gorge on such shows in a handful of
sittings, and to do so on the same devices we use to watch YouTube
shorts and mainstream features. That's one of the reasons I'm
comfortable discussing all three categories as though they
represent the same art. They're all moving pictures; it's just that
more and more of them aren't limited to the constraint of being
"feature length."
One last thought about those sequels and remakes. Are they
really more likely to be lousy than other movies? Most films are
based on well-worn plot formulas and character types, even if they
don't explicitly borrow a story or a character from an earlier
picture. I suspect that sequels and remakes aren't worse
than other releases so much as we're much more likely to resent
them when they fail, lest they stain our memories of the
originals.
But that resentment hasn't been a problem for online shorts, a
great deal of which consist of remixes, mash-ups, parody trailers,
and other reimaginings of well-known movies. No one mistakes the
ASCII version of
Star Wars for an official Star Wars product, so
even if you dislike it the Star Wars brand name won't
suffer any damage. (The prequels, on the other hand...)
When it comes to making something new out of something old, the
termite
artists in the YouTube hive have a better track record than the
studios that actually own the rights to the material.
"Film," Jean Cocteau once said, "will only become art when its
materials are as inexpensive as pencil and paper." I don't know if
we'll ever literally reach that day, but if nothing else we've come
to the point when the pencil-and-paper wing of filmmaking can make
far more artful use of the same raw materials that fuel the
established movie studios. If that's a sign of decline in
Hollywood, it's also an indication that there's no shortage of
creative energy in the culture at large.
Managing Editor Jesse
Walker is the author of
Rebels on the Air: An Alternative History of Radio in America
(NYU Press).