I watched a movie last night. I won’t name it, because frankly, it doesn’t deserve the free publicity, and if I told you the title, you’d probably confuse it with the other six movies released this month that look exactly like it. It starred a guy named Chris (or maybe Ryan? Who cares?), it cost $200 million to make, and it had all the nutritional value of a cardboard box soaked in Red Bull.
It got me thinking about the absolute state of the modern action movie.
We’re living in the era of the “Content Sludge.” The genre that once gave us Predator, Die Hard, and RoboCop has been sanitised, digitised, and algorithm-generated into a safe, bloodless paste. We’ve traded the sweat and squibs of the 80s for the weightless, green-screen floatiness of the 2020s, and frankly, I’m sick of it.
The Death of Consequence
The biggest problem isn’t the CGI, although looking at the murky grey soup that passes for a “third act battle” these days certainly doesn’t help. The problem is the lack of consequence.
In First Blood, Rambo is a traumatised veteran pushing back against a society that rejected him. When he bleeds, it’s gross. When he sews his arm up, you wince. In Die Hard, John McClane spends the last thirty minutes of the film limping, bleeding, and looking like he’s about to pass out. You feared for these guys.
Compare that to the modern “hero.” The Rock, arguably the biggest star on the planet, has a contract clause that allegedly states he can’t lose a fight or look too beat up. Vin Diesel looks like he’s made of polished rubber and ego. These aren’t characters; they are action figures being smashed together by a bored child. They fall off skyscrapers, get hit by cars, and walk away with a perfectly groomed beard and a witty one-liner.
If the hero can’t get hurt, there is no tension. If there is no tension, I might as well be watching a screensaver.
The Studio is Rigged
This brings me to the business side of things, which is where the rot really starts.
Making movies used to be a high-stakes game. Producers were the ultimate gamblers. They were the guys in the loud suits standing at the roulette table at 3:00 AM, putting the studio’s entire budget on a weird script about a cyborg cop or a time-traveling killer robot. Sometimes they busted, and a studio went under (RIP Carolco). But often, that willingness to gamble gave us masterpieces. They took risks on directors like Verhoeven and Cameron because they knew the payoff could be legendary.
Today? Hollywood doesn’t gamble. Not really. The modern studio executive treats filmmaking with the cold, joyless calculation of a card counter who has sucked all the fun out of the room. Much like a gambler who’s checked a sister site website for reviews and probabilities before parting with their cash, they understand the game so well that the risk has been significantly mitigated. They aren’t betting on art; they’re betting on algorithms.
They have crunched the numbers and decided that “Original Idea” has a low probability of return, whereas “IP Sequel #7” has a guaranteed floor. It’s cowardly. They’ve turned the cinema into a penny slot machine – flashing lights, loud noises, constant small dopamine hits, but you know deep down the machine is programmed to ensure you never really win. You just sit there, pulling the lever (or streaming the content), watching the pretty colours until your brain turns to mush.
When was the last time a blockbuster actually surprised you? I don’t mean a “twist” villain; I mean a creative choice that made you sit up and say, “I can’t believe they did that.” It doesn’t happen. Because surprises scare the shareholders.
The “Straight-to-Streaming” Wasteland
If the cinema is bad, the streaming landscape is a circle of hell that Dante forgot to map out. Netflix and Amazon have essentially created a new genre: the “Background Movie.”
These are films designed to be half-watched while you scroll through Instagram on your phone. The plots are convoluted yet simplistic (usually involving a MacGuffin called “The List” or “The Drive”). The lighting is flat so it shows up on an iPad screen. The dialogue is purely expository.
There is no texture to these films. They are smooth. They slide off your brain the moment the credits roll. I can quote Commando line for line. I couldn’t tell you a single line of dialogue from Red Notice if you held a gun to my head.
Where Have All the Psychopaths Gone?
Another thing we’ve lost is the “unhinged” director. The 80s and 90s were ruled by maniacs. Paul Verhoeven was smuggling anti-fascist satire into sci-fi shootouts. John McTiernan knew how to frame a shot so you understood the geography of the room. Tony Scott treated the camera like a weapon.
Now, we hand $200 million franchises to guys who made one decent indie comedy, and then the studio “pre-viz” team animates the action scenes before the director even steps on set. The director isn’t a visionary; they’re a traffic cop.
We need the madness back. We need films that feel dangerous. We need the R-rating, not for the sake of nudity or gore (though I’m not complaining), but because an R-rating usually implies an adult sensibility. It implies that the characters might swear when they get shot, or that the bad guy isn’t just “misunderstood” – he’s evil and needs to be thrown off a roof.
I’m not saying every movie needs to be Citizen Kane. I love trash. I have a shelf dedicated to Seagal movies where he sits in a chair for 90 minutes. I appreciate the art of the bad movie.
But there is a difference between “fun bad” and “boring bad.” Road House is fun bad because everyone involved is committing 100% to the insanity. Modern blockbusters are boring bad because they are cynical corporate products.
So, here is my plea to the industry, although I know you aren’t listening because you’re too busy counting the box office receipts from Transformers 9: Stop trying to make everything “universally appealing.” You can’t. When you try to please everyone, you please no one. Give us some grit. Give us some practical effects. Let the hero get punched in the face and actually lose a tooth.
And for the love of God, stop hiring writers who think “well, that just happened” is a punchline. It wasn’t funny in 2012, and it’s certainly not funny now.Until then, I’ll be over here rewinding my VHS copy of Invasion U.S.A.. Chuck Norris doesn’t need CGI. He just needs two Uzis and a denim shirt. That’s cinema.
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