Ever get the feeling Hollywood’s stuck in a time loop, trying to sell us the same ol’ popcorn-and-projector deal like it’s 1924? As Mercury dances unpredictably through the heavens right now, shaking up communication and tech vibes, could it be that Tinseltown’s classic reel just can’t keep up with the cosmic hustle of today’s eyeball wars? Between streaming binges, video games that demand your thumbs, and social feeds that scroll faster than a shooting star, the movie biz is juggling flaming swords, hoping to snag our undivided attention in a world wired for instant, tailored thrills. Mike Hoff throws down some sharp truths about how the old-school theater act—popcorn, sound systems, and Nicole Kidman’s awkward grins—might be missing the mark big time. So, what’s next for Hollywood when the stars won’t align for “just sit there and watch”? Buckle up—this essay dives into why the glitzy spectacle alone won’t cut it anymore, and how the silver screen needs a new kind of magic to lure us back from our couches. LEARN MORE
A few weeks ago, we launched a contest inviting readers to submit personal essays about what’s gone wrong with the movie business—and how it might win back the audiences that seem to have largely abandoned it. We received many excellent entries, but five stood out as the best. We’ll be publishing one each day this week.
Here’s the first, courtesy of Mr. Mike Hoff!
Hollywood is trying to keep its lead in the game of visual storytelling, but using a 100-year-old method — images projected on a large screen in an auditorium with popcorn — isn’t going to succeed when the goalposts have moved.
Studios in California and around the world have known for over a decade that they are competing for eyeballs with professional sports, video games, and streaming services. These entertainment experiences cut into theatrical revenue without asking customers to venture into a dark room with a bunch of strangers for 2–3 hours.
Theater owners have made moviegoing more enthralling with better sound systems, digital projection, and 3D viewings — a toolset similar to those used to entice audiences since the time of The Wizard of Oz.
And Hollywood is still evolving — the recent success engaging Taylor Swift fans with singalong screenings of in-concert footage sparked a mild moviegoing renaissance in October 2023. But asking a specific group of fans to get out of their seats and interact with prerecorded video seems the antithesis of cinema. In other words, attending a pop concert in a movie theater is hardly a differentiator for the average moviegoer.
Perhaps the best example of Hollywood and theater chains misunderstanding their dilemma is the oft-mocked ads of Nicole Kidman vacantly smiling from her darkened seat. Not only is this yet another advertisement for moviegoers to sit through, but reassuring fans of their purchase — rather than appealing to people who haven’t bought a ticket — seems a waste of time and money.
Saving Hollywood is not about getting “butts in seats” — well, it is — but delivering a curated visual event is no longer a unique experience for the viewing public. The game has changed. Two generations of potential moviegoers are now comfortable sitting on their couch and playing superior video games, liking and commenting on YouTube, and doom-scrolling through TikTok. These are premium, convenient, highly tailored visual consumables that foster minimal but often fervent engagement. Meanwhile, someone dancing in the aisle to “Shake It Off” might be asked to leave the theatre.
Hollywood also has little defense against the “creator economy” fostered by Apple, Instagram, and a million websites. Studios have solicited top creators to make movies — but that’s like asking the world’s best hockey player if he or she can shoot baskets. It may be the same visual format, but it’s a different skill set.
Producers have also mistaken the move to releasing films on streaming services — under the banner of “if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em” — as a prudent financial bulwark against the newest wave of visual presentation. In theory, you can cut-and-paste your movie to the “small screen,” generating additional revenue for an existing product, without discouraging the initial purchase.
The problem is that Netflix doesn’t want to become Disney or Universal or Sony — it wants to become like Amazon, where you visit their site regularly knowing there must be something good there, if only the Algorithm would unearth it. More than Disney+, HBO Max, or Apple TV, Netflix is looking to carpet-bomb the visual storytelling landscape, making movies instantaneous, harmless, and disposable.
In response to these threats, Hollywood falls back on doing what it does best: upping the spectacle. Come back to the cinema, they say, and you can experience firsthand what it means to drive an F1 racecar, or witness the comical emotions of a teenage girl, or travel to Pandora or cyberspace or the Caribbean in the 17th century.
But dynamic, intelligent movies are no longer the exclusive domain of major productions — streaming services have seen to that. The issue isn’t that kids with iPhones can make near-studio-quality short films — it’s that the under-30 crowd doesn’t want or need near-studio quality to enjoy a “film.” (AI will only accelerate this trend.)
In the 21st century, Hollywood needs to focus on compelling, pristine exhibition — quality over quantity. Studios need to combat the solo-watching experience, and not just with spectacle and death-defying movie stars. Create a reason for people to want to see a movie with strangers in another building, without a pause button — it’s a feature, not a bug.
Theater chains also need to remove advertisements. Yes, it’s ancillary revenue, and even Amazon is putting ads on Prime — but their removal is a differentiator in a world where everything comes with an ad now. People don’t watch ads before a baseball game or concert or stage play — yet — so keep your focus on your product.
Avoid omnipresent movie promotion. Does $100 million in marketing — on buses and TV and billboards and streaming services and website banners and fast-food chains — really boost the bottom line? Ever since 1975, when a great white shark chewed up Amity Island (followed two years later by the fantastic space adventures of a long time ago), studios have been obsessed with opening weekend. But the game isn’t won in the first 72 hours.
Not only are younger generations developing immunity to saturated marketing — it actively devalues the product. It tries to convince moviegoers that they must come on opening weekend, even though they know the film will be streaming online two months later. Modern audiences no longer believe they have to attend the first weekend — spoilers or not — and are willing to let good movies build their own heat. Marketing the hell out of a movie can lead to a massive opening — but it doesn’t guarantee a long theatrical run.
Hollywood needs to make movies outside the algorithm. As noted, Netflix and your streaming arms have got quantity covered — you have to double down on quality. Moviegoers didn’t know they wanted stories about wrangling aliens in South Africa (District 9) or Agatha Christie thrillers with a modern sheen (Knives Out) — but when it hits like Barbenheimer, it hits hard.
This often means trusting filmmakers’ personal visions and convictions — taking a chance on getting an independent hit like Nomadland (directed by Chloé Zhao) as often as producing blockbuster disasters like The Eternals (er, also directed by Zhao). Streaming algorithms are never going to introduce the world to another Orson Welles, Martin Scorsese, or Jordan Peele.
Movies need to be great — but more importantly, so does the experience of going to a movie. Expensive confectionaries, confusing pricing, and endless ads all contribute to the ethos of: “I may as well watch something at home.”
Hollywood has done a wonderful job in physically upgrading their theatres – now they need to focus on the product on- screen.
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