So I have this theory that nobody agrees with. I've tried and I've tried to sell it. I've marked it down. Bargain basement. Buy-One-Get-One-Free and still no takers. They all stare blankly. Shake their heads. And then politely disagree. And so here's my theory. Gathering dust. Taking up space in the various corners of my mind. And I just don't have the heart to scrap it. I've fought too hard, or care too much " one of the two " and frankly, I'm feeling like the last Roman defending the Empire " spear and shield and all the inevitable weight of history against me. And I think, sometimes it's better to just run away. So I figured that I'd try. One last time. And then gun it like Old Yeller and JFK.
Hollywood is not as dumb as we think. Somewhere, deep down in the bowels of Los Angeles, there's a room full of people who know how to make a movie. And a good one at that. People in suits who understand the art of subtlety and drama and craftsmanship. Who are, in fact, perfectly able to read and comprehend the quality of a screenplay. Men with foresight and intuition. And a ridiculous amount of money. And they're smart enough to starve us. For the first five months of the year, they intentionally deprive us. A no-fun diet of comic-less comedy and flatlining fiction. They release a slew of relatively inexpensive ventures aimed only at keeping the marquis bright and our tongues wagging for the summer season. Thirty-second teasers and trailer titillation. With all the promise of blue skies and blockbusters. And when it comes, we go. Like a thousand bony orphans to the last grain of rice. And suddenly there's substance and fun and style. And we pay and we pay and we pay. Because there's just so much. Plates full and plates full. And there's been so little for so long and we just have to watch. To see something funny, something thrilling. To see something die, or explode. And then " what " there - at the very height of its boyish indulgence " there, see, there " just to the side of the summer spectacle? What's that?
Another lull. We call it September.
And then there's Oscar season and we're back in action, shelling out our hard-earned movie-money, only this time for care and character. Now we have story and direction and quality acting. We're full and stated and no longer starving. But we're about to be.
Flip a page.
Welcome to January.
So my point is this:
That Hollywood makes quality, and it makes crap, and both on purpose. The crap keeps our wallets poised, our knees bent, waiting for the race. The quality is the starting pistol. And we're off again.
Carrot and stick.
Most people don't agree. They shake their heads and say that one can never tell what will and won't sell. That Hollywood is about profit and percentage and that all the rest is formula. And I just don't agree. I think that Hollywood is smart. And capable. And that it calculates better than Deep Blue or HAL. Which is why we should demand better for ourselves. Because ignorance is one thing and ignoring another. And a population of paying cinephiles is nothing to ignore.
So drop me a line and let me know.
Love this theory, or leave it?