Show Me the Money!

I was watching a documentary on The Lord of the Rings film trilogy today. Apparently, the entire project which spanned a period of eight years, cost a preposterous $280 million to make. A lot can be said, mostly positive, about the intrinsic power of cinema to transform one man’s vision into a reality more palpable than any art form has ever come close to achieving. It is a flattering tribute to human creativity to allow such ambitious projects to take off the ground, and when executed with skill and backed up by talent, astound us all with their ability to move us to the deepest reaches of our hearts.

Of course, $280 million isn’t exactly spare change either, not for those campaigning relentlessly to increase funding for AIDS research, or for those who’d like to see that money go into an effective system to combat cross-border terrorism. It certainly won’t eradicate world hunger or facilitate free universal medical care, but $280 million can always offer a helpful push in the right direction - just a little perhaps but to the relief of thousands, if not more. In such times, should filmmakers be held morally culpable for indulging in expensive flights of fancy in a world where many don’t even have the luxury of survival, let alone of imagination?

At the same time, it would be presumptuous on one’s part to support the complete abolition of cash-liberal film making, or any other art form for that matter, in trying times. History has had quite a few instances where a socio-political transformation has often been preceded by an artistic revolution encouraging people to look at the world differently, in a way that couldn’t have been imagined before. Although I’m not sure whether any artistic revolution has ever run up the kind of bill as this one has.

The question that needs to be asked in the first place is whether such lofty aspirations are even the true driving force behind the proliferation of big budget mainstream films that has quite fittingly earned it the stature of a global industry? With the ridiculous amounts that have been spent on films in the past few decades, it’s obvious that filmmaking is no longer an art – it’s a business. The commercialization of art doesn’t necessarily have to herald the death of art, but when a commercial product is strutted around under the guise of true art, is when we should pose the question – is it really worth it?

I have more respect for a businessman who directs formulaic big-budget films with the sole purpose to entertain and fill the coffers of his producers, than an ‘inspired’ filmmaker who will burn crores on an ‘artistic’ or ‘off-beat’ film that would be ripped apart in any Screenwriting 101 class. The colossal waste of resources on a film that bombs its first day at the box office IS morally wrong, and not just in today’s world. There will always be better ways to spend money and resources than to indulge the egos of inadequately talented men.

Then there are those films that can’t quite be termed bad or good, but just plain obsolete or simply a complete waste of everyone’s time. Revolutionary Road for example, revolved around a theme that has already been skillfully explored by Stephen Daldry’s The Hours. I’m not sure if anybody has anything left to depict about the silent oppression of stay-at-home wives in postwar ‘50s American suburbia without repeating themselves, in either theme or emotion. Then we have Watchmen (production cost of $120 million) which did so little of adapting and so much of merely copying the graphic novel panel by panel, it was no wonder that even Alan Moore didn’t want anything to do with it.

To put things in perspective – for every masterful stroke of characterization and special effects brilliance in The Dark Knight ($185 million), we also have films like the five-hour futuristic disaster Waterworld ($250 million) that didn’t have a single saving grace to rescue it from the clutches of box-office doom. If Pirates of the Caribbean (over $250 million) bowled you over with its refreshingly witty take on the fictional pirate archetype, you must have been just as disappointed by Spiderman-3 ($258 million) which evidently couldn’t match up the buzz generated by the previous two movies and drowned in a long list of supporting characters and an overdose of seeing Tobey Maguire hopping all over the place.

In reality, Spiderman-3 was not a film that needed to be made – it was just a lazy attempt to cash in on the interest generated by Spiderman 1 & 2, not to mention a multi-million dollar merchandising deal. Watchmen too hoped to capture an already established cult fan base and ride the bandwagon on the recent trend of adapting graphic novels into films that are more digestible fodder for an attention-deficient non-reading public.

In short, whether you agree with me on the above or not, you’ll surely agree that there will always be those films that you watch and wonder, why was this ever made? But to really let a bad film get your goat, you should instead ask yourself - what could that money have been used for otherwise?

Not all films need to admit a social responsibility, but every filmmaker must accept responsibility for a bad product and be willing to speak up for it. With misplaced notions of their own importance, certain big budget filmmakers dangerously believe themselves to be at the helm of an artistic revolution based purely on a conviction of their own supposed genius.

This is most definitely the case in Bollywood, where a director’s past three consecutive failures are graciously overlooked, keeping in mind the handful of hits he happened to churn out 15 years ago. While vast resources are constantly directed towards the same filmmakers who suffer from an outdated vision and limited scope, a systematic bias entrenched in the industry continues to shut out fresh talent from all the action. What ensues is the violent unleashing of terrible films made by the same filmmakers over and over again, on an unsuspecting yet always hopeful viewing public.

What if every big budget film proposal were to pass through a test for its viability, entertainment appeal, relevance and the skill sets of those involved in its production? Imagine an industry where every filmmaker must continue to prove his capabilities, regardless of the hits he’s delivered in the past; and if he cannot, then make a tasteful exit into retirement. Is this an impractical solution or a terrifying one for those in the business? I would really like to know.


Originally published on PassionForCinema.com