How Conventional Genre Movies Can Save Hollywood

2016 is full of small-scale genre movies like The Witch and 10 Cloverfield Lane that provide the entertainment lacking in Hollywood blockbusters.

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As summer crawls toward an end, moviegoers and critics seem stranded in a malaise. For all intents and purposes, 2016 is shaping up to be an uninspiring year for Hollywood. Although overall box office returns are up compared to 2015, the months since blockbuster season started in May have been riddled with disappointments and outright flops; even hits, such as Captain America: Civil War and Suicide Squad, come with caveats. Once you take quality into account, the situation looks bleaker still. Some might point to indies like The Lobster and The Neon Demon, but those are acquired tastes, easier to admire than to love. Besides, most people don’t have immediate access to an art-house theater.

But there’s a silver lining. With blockbusters growing increasingly bloated and cluttered, I have developed renewed appreciation for genre movies of more humble proportions. 2016 is rich with such hidden gems, from horror (The Witch, The Invitation) to science-fiction (10 Cloverfield Lane, Midnight Special) to Western (Hell or High Water). These films don’t necessarily reinvent the medium or their genres, but they offer something recent tent-poles sorely lack: entertainment.

Like genres themselves, the term “genre movie” is nebulous. Broadly speaking, it refers to any movie that follows the conventions associated with a particular genre, though it’s often treated as synonymous with B-movies, encompassing action, horror, science-fiction/fantasy, Western, and mystery but not romance, which doesn’t have the rigid, marginalized reputation in cinema that it does in literature. In this case, the narrower definition feels more applicable.

Hell or High Water, CBS Films promo

Hollywood productions in the classical era tended to fit into neat categories. Romantic comedies, melodramas, and musicals reigned, while other genres came in cycles – horror in the ‘30s, noir in the ‘40s, science-fiction and Westerns in the ‘50s. By the 1970s, however, a transformation took place. First, the old studio system had collapsed, paving the way for independent filmmaking and auteur directors. Movies centered on actors and driven by emotion faded, supplanted by ones that openly addressed politics and emphasized realism. The ‘70s also marked the origin of modern blockbusters, with Steven Spielberg’s monster thriller Jaws and George Lucas’s space opera Star Wars. Genres previously relegated to serials became the backbone of the industry.

Nowadays, cinema is stratified less by genre than by budget: obscenely expensive action movies, mid-budget commercial comedies and prestige dramas, and low-budget indies. Studios devote an unprecedented amount of resources to making and marketing the first group, operating under a dubious “go big or go home” strategy; movies in the middle group function primarily as counter-programming or awards-bait, and the last group struggles just to be noticed.

Despite achieving mainstream success, though, genre movies haven’t evolved much. Marvel and DC’s superhero extravaganzas are as dependent on stock characters, formulaic plots, and binary morality as your standard John Wayne Western. The main difference is that the former attempt to hide their banality under slick visual effects and hollow nostalgia. If Golden Age Hollywood was defined by movie stars and New Hollywood by experimental narratives, then contemporary Hollywood is defined by brands. Sequels, remakes, and other franchise installments dominate the box office (the only original works currently in the top ten are cartoons about talking animals), luring audiences with familiar names and interminable publicity campaigns.

In this climate, movies like The Witch and Hell or High Water are breaths of fresh air. They have a slightly old-fashioned quality, borrowing tropes and plot devices with pride. The Witch features an “ordinary” family that gets corrupted by a supernatural force. The Invitation is a slasher, so blood will inevitably be spilled, even if it takes a while to occur. Midnight Special pays homage to Steven Spielberg and Stephen King. In Hell or High Water, a lawman doggedly pursues his quarry, leading to a climactic standoff. Yet their predictability only highlights their effectiveness. For one, you can understand what’s happening. Also, they exude confidence, actively working to accomplish a goal instead of going through the motions.

It helps that they have limited budgets and scopes (The Invitation and 10 Cloverfield Lane unfold in a house and underground bunker, respectively). Freed from having to manufacture sensational, trailer-ready moments or explain convoluted mythology, they can actually take time to develop characters and build tension – in other words, to tell a story. Yet, being self-contained, they can’t delay audience gratification for eternity; characters must confront each other, and plotlines must resolve before the credits roll.

Above all, these movies are fun; in a year rife with tragedy and pessimism, escapism feels like a necessity rather than a mere luxury. The final heist and shootout in Hell or High Water is as thrilling as any city-spanning battle sequence, and in Midnight Special, Jeff Nichols crafts edge-of-your-seat suspense while confined to a car. Contrary to what studios seem to believe, we find pleasure not in mass destruction and glib banter, but in credible stakes and meaningful character interaction. It’s telling that TV contains much of the best genre work right now, from Game of Thrones and Fargo to Colony and Stranger Things; even at its most ambitious, the form demands some level of intimacy between viewers and the people onscreen.

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I’m not saying this is enough. I would love to see more genre movies that subvert conventions and explore serious issues. But for now, Hollywood could learn a lesson from its less glamorous endeavors: sometimes, it’s okay to think small.

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