“The writer’s job is to tell the truth.” - Ernest Hemingway
It’s not just writers, of course, but all storytellers who must work in truth (unless you write for CNN). We can shape it, mold it, stretch it to its very limits. But ultimately, if what we’re saying is in total opposition to reality our audience will largely reject it. Why aren’t people going to the movies anymore? Because the industry has stooped to peddling lies. And because of that, their stories lack all sincerity.
Irony is out. They just haven’t noticed it yet.
I recently watched The Mummy (1999) and Van Helsing (2004), two movies from Stephen Sommers that came out before today’s current trends. Sure, they’re throwbacks to the 30s, with wipe transitions and direct homages to classic monster movies. But unlike the old Universal movies, they can still draw large audiences in rerelease today. I don’t think it’s just millennial nostalgia at play. Fantastic as the movies are, even with dated special effects, they’re still grounded in something familiar.
More familiar than our memories of the early 00s.
Sane, healthy, people (so the majority of us) grew up with some semblance of how the world works. It all goes back to good characters, and good characters express themselves through verbal and nonverbal reactions. We can imagine ourselves in completely unrealistic situations and think, “Yes, this is how I would react,” or, “I wish I had the courage to react like that.” So when the hero saves the girl and plants a big kiss on her we cheer. And when a woman saves a dude and they just touch foreheads we groan.
Society might tell us PDA is wrong and that girls can protect men. But that’s boooor-ring.
And what’s with all the snark?
Thrilling moments are regularly undercut with “humor” to suck all the joy out of the moment. We’ve all had that moment in a group conversation when everyone is laughing and someone makes a joke (witty, though it may be) that kills the mood. It’s too pointed or recontextualizes the moment in an unsavory light. Then everyone says, “Shut up!” and tries to recapture the moment.
Real humor isn’t contrived and we want it to stay.
It’s hilarious when Brendan Fraser uses a hissing cat to drive off Imhotep. Within the rules of the world it makes sense. Even if it hadn’t worked, well, he would’ve said it made sense at the time. The joke was set up and we get the payoff we didn’t know we wanted. And there’s a thrill in seeing our hero get a win over an unstoppable villain. If The Mummy were made today, I’m afraid the cat would hiss, nothing would happen (because it was just a random cat with no reason for him to grab it), and Fraser would toss the cat offscreen. Haha, don’t you know cats aren’t magic?
(Cats are totally magical creatures)
Or how about the scene in Van Helsing when Hugh Jackman’s hero has to risk turning completely into a werewolf to defeat Dracula? If Anna doesn’t get the cure to him in time he might kill the vampire and damn himself. They don’t have a moment to spare and say what may be their last goodbyes. As she’s about to leave he stops her and says, “Don’t be late.” It’s not a laugh-out-loud moment, but it is funny and something a guy in that situation might say. I’d want to say it.
Then he grabs her and they passionately kiss.
I’d want to do that too.
Then they and we go back to the adventure, still tasting that kiss. Anna doesn’t have a witty comeback to steal back the moment. Van Helsing doesn’t show any regret for having done it (because he did nothing wrong, “consent” be damned). Their romantic interest had been building all along and we longed for them to have that moment. And we got it.
Once you realize how romance and sincerity have been edited out of our movies, you can’t unsee it.
Now that you’ve read this far, watch the trailer for Venom: The Last Dance, which dropped yesterday. Once you get past the pre-trailer, it starts pretty good with a tense scene of Eddie cornered by a bunch of thugs. But we know something the bad guys don’t know. Eddie has an alien symbiote that gives him superpowers. We know they’re about to get thrashed. Tension builds.
And then there’s that stupid, stupid “We are Venom” joke.
Oh, yeah, that’s right. We’re watching a movie. It’s a joke with no setup. All it does (and the reason why it’s mildly amusing) is that it momentarily subverts our expectations. There’s nothing wrong with a bit of humor in a moment like this. But unlike the cat in The Mummy, it takes us out of the moment. It’s inorganic. It’s insincere.
The trailer for The Mummy made me feel like I was going to go on an adventure, which is a big promise to make. And the movie lives up to it. The trailer for Venom: The Last Dance? It didn’t make me feel anything. I'll bet it delivers nothing, too. One is a story. One is content. I know which movie I’ll watch again, and which one I’ll likely never watch. I know which movie will still be watched 25 years from now, and know which one will be forgotten.
Consume and create rewatchable stories. Sincere stories.
