"There are deeper strata of truth in cinema, and there is such a thing as poetic, ecstatic truth. It is mysterious and elusive, and can be reached only through fabrication and imagination and stylization."
-Werner Herzog
The blacktop is simmering like a skillet beneath the rising heat of the dog days of summer and once again I find myself missing the movies. Not that streaming shit on your goddamn phone but the flickering flame of machine gun cellulite making a cool dark room in some suburban strip mall glow like a ghost trapped in a coal mine. Back in nineteen-ninety-something, escaping reality was still a collective experience. You and your brother and a dozen strangers that were just as bored as you getting together over dangerously over-salted butter popcorn to watch Quentin Tarantino kill just enough people to squeak by with an R rating.
It's all gone now. It's all over. Everything is digital. Everything has been separated from the fragile fingertips of another actual sentient human being by fifty-five layers of synthetic software. Hollywood is dead and Marvel buried it in an empty computer box. Everything has been reduced to a formula, from the tightly focus-group tested plot of another poorly regurgitated superhero saga of good versus evil to the computer generated, greenscreen special effects of an AI animated cartoon with the faces of A-list celebrities pasted to the action. I know I'm a bitter old soul, but it all just reeks of insincerity and inauthenticity, and sometimes I feel like the only curmudgeon under eighty who can't bear to participate in this mockery of something I once loved in the name of nostalgia.
I feel silly, bellyaching about the "good old days" of something that has always been a very contrived industry at best. If I could just truly divorce my morality from my sentimentality, I would say good riddance and welcome the destruction of another evil empire. Hollywood has always been a corporate sewer of sexual predators and military-industrial propagandists, selling a deeply mythologized interpretation of American cultural supremacy to a world held hostage by their commercial hegemony. In the light of cautious Gramscian hindsight, it really was little more than very well-made shit. But every once in a while, some mad genius with a coke habit and a dream would secure a budget for something downright revolutionary and what probably should have been just another narcotic blockbuster became a zeitgeist rattling status quo disruptor.
2001, A Clockwork Orange, The Godfather, Apocalypse Now, Blade Runner, Day of the Dead, Falling Down, American Beauty, Fight Club... The 'wait-a-fucking-minute-how-did-they-get-away-with-that' movie. Sometimes they seemed to come completely out of nowhere, from some career scoundrel who somehow tripped over prophecy on his way to the bank.
That was Terminator 2: Judgement Day in a gun shell. Nothing about that film should have been revolutionary; a bloated, over-hyped, colossal budget, sequel directed by a man who has always been more of a CEO than an artist. But that movie, James Cameron's 1991 Arnold Swartzenegger juggernaut, seems to ring a little closer to Old Testament style prophecy with every passing year. A terrifying portion of it has already come true and the rest seems to be in the process of transpiring as we speak.
Unlike the first Terminator in 1984, which seemed to be very much focused on a distant, barely tangible future, foretold by time travelers to a bewildered young waitress who would someday give birth to a robot fighting messiah, Judgement Day seemed to set its sights on the near future. Sarah Connor, former waitress and "mother of the future" had transformed herself into a luddite guerrilla, every bit as dangerous as any machine and the story Arnold Swartzenegger's new android arrived to tell was one that was already unfolding in Silicon Valley. And it is that story, told in robotic monotone which stays with me late at night, burning holes in my head bigger than any pyrotechnic magic trick.
"In three years, Cyberdine will become the largest supplier of military computer systems. All stealth bombers are upgraded with Cyberdine computers, becoming fully unmanned. Afterwards, they fly with a perfect operational record. The Skynet Funding Bill is passed. The system goes online on August 4th, 1997. Human decisions are removed from strategic defense. Skynet begins to learn at a geometric rate. It becomes self-aware at 2014 am Eastern Time, August 29th. In a panic, they try to pull the plug..."
Change the name Cyberdine to Palantir and the date to 2027 and science fiction begins to feel eerily close to documentary. The rest of the film plays out like a high-octane, Ted Kazcynski fever dream. Sarah Connor targets brilliant technophile computer researcher, Mike Dyson, only to be stopped by the son who would become messiah and his Terminator companion who get both Sarah and Dyson to realize that something far more revolutionary is needed to prevent the apocalypse and an armed assault is launched on the corporate headquarters of a Fortune 500 company.
Even what could have very easily been a cheesy ending syncs in with Industrial Society and Its Future. When the Terminator reaches a level of artificial intelligence high enough to resemble empathy, he realizes that the only truly ethical choice he can make is to destroy himself before some other clever scientist can find a way to justify his replication in reckless pursuit of power through technological advancement.
The most radical blockbusters however turn the cameras on themselves and attack the mass media as a whole and few if any other blockbuster is more radical than 1994's Natural Born Killers. Oliver Stone, already a reputable loose cannon among Hollywood elites, originally took on the Tarantino helmed script about a pair of mass murdering lovebirds who find themselves transformed into celebrities by the tabloids, with every intention of making a fairly conventional action movie. Then he began doing psychedelics and watching the news during the age of O.J. and Waco and decided to do something far more radical.
The result was essentially an arthouse movie with a blockbuster budget; a hallucinogenic journey into the dark heart of the American spectacle. Micky and Mallory Knox become two horrifically abused kids raised on television who become accomplices to the mass media who raised them to be monsters and then turned them into stars. Everything is done in the name of the parallel universe that only exists through the kaleidoscope of the commercial zeitgeist. Acts of shocking violence are interspersed with snippets of Coca-Cola commercials and flashbacks of child abuse. Or to paraphrase Guy Debord, all that was once directly murdered becomes mere representation.
Hollywood hated it for the same reason Sergio Leone once told a young Oliver Stone that they would hate Scarface, because it was about them. The most diabolical villain in a movie about serial killers is actually the tabloid "journalist", Wayne Gale, played brilliantly by a clearly drug fueled Robert Downey Jr., doing his best impersonation of Geraldo Rivera. By the end of the movie, Gale transitions effortlessly from merely covering the crimes of Micky and Mallory to actually engaging in them himself, only to be murdered by the subjects he transformed into Frankenstein spectacles. It was a step too far even for a guaranteed money-maker like Oliver Stone and it was beautiful. Hollywood never forgave him and his career never fully recovered, but Natural Born Killers continues to haunt the spectacle to this day. Its place in the zeitgeist cannot be erased.
Todd Phillips managed to perform a similar trick by hijacking the superhero genre itself with 2019's Joker, in which the titular villain of Batman fame is transformed from an insane mastermind to a shattered manchild failing to be somebody in a grim world haunted by the spectacle of glitzy talk shows and billionaire politicians. Arthur Fleck, played by a neurodivergently inspired Joaquin Pheonix, doesn't actually become the Joker. His crimes and what they come to represent to a Gotham City of lost children are the Joker. Crowds of enraged misfits in clown masks setting the city on fire.
After Arthur is transformed by this phenomenon, he echoes the warnings once delivered by Paul Goodman in his revolutionary study of late capitalist juvenile delinquency, Growing Up Absurd, during his interview with the cluelessly sadistic late night host Murray Frankin (played by Robert DeNiro),
"Have you seen what it's like out there, Mur-ray? Do you ever actually leave the studio? Everybody just yells, shouts and screams at each other. Nobody's civil anymore. Nobody thinks what it's like to be the other guy... They think we'll all just sit there and take it like good little boys. That we won't werewolf and go wild... (Well) what do you get... When you cross... A mentally ill loner with a society that abandons him and treats him like trash?!... I'll tell you what you get!! You get what you fucking deserve!!!"
This is the sermon of the active shooter, a generation of lost boys failed by a society that failed them by turning manhood into something empty and absurd to grow into.
Joker was a huge success, but Hollywood hated it as much as they did Natural Born Killers and they hated its sequel, the gonzo jukebox musical Joker: Folie a Deux even more, only this time the audience hated it too, because Philips and Pheonix explicitly decided to turn the Marvel Studio model of braindead fan service on its skull and presented Arthur Fleck as a victim of the Joker spectacle that he never really had any control over. It was a brilliantly daring gamble to make with another soulless studio's money, but its message was lost on the lost boys who just wanted to live out their phantasy of getting even with the system without every really dealing with their own symbiotic relationship with it.
Regardless, I feel like Folie a Deux was actually a nice way to leave the superhero genre; with a totally unconventional slap in the face, and maybe that's OK. Maybe Hollywood deserves to die as much as Arthur and America do. Maybe the insane matrix of market diversity brought on by streaming is far more conducive to bold artists with inconvenient visions.
But on a climate change scorched afternoon in mid-August, I still miss the movies of nineteen-ninety-something, when a dozen lost strangers could find themselves trapped in a flickering coal mine and ambushed by the collective experience of an unexpected reality two-stories tall.
What a beautiful nightmare... The feral spectacle of an industrial society with no future.
What more can I say but that's life, that's what all the people say...
Peace, Love & Empathy- Nicky/CH
Soundtrack: Songs that Influenced this Post
* Lost Boys by Phoebe Bridgers
* Head Like a Hole by Nine Inch Nails
* Humming by Gracie Abrams
* If You Were the Woman and I Was the Man by Cowboy Junkies
* White Room by Cream
* That's Life by Lady Gaga
* Celebrity Skin by Hole
* Rock and Roll Part 2 by Gary Glitter
* Ghost Town by the Specials
* The Greatest by Lana Del Rey