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But What, Exactly, is the Point?
I've discussed both here and on my other blog how Beauty and the Beast is my favorite fairy tale. I've written a gender-swapped version of it. It's my favorite Disney animated film. I've explored and analyzed every angle of it. So how can it be, as advertisements for the upcoming live action remake flood the Internet, that my primary response is grumbling annoyance?
It's important for me to understand this knee-jerk response, because it marks a significant shift for me. Back in junior high or high school, I'm pretty sure I would have been over the moon at the notion of a live action Beauty and the Beast. Now it leaves me cold. It has me asking, "But why? What's the point? What purpose does this serve, artistically speaking? Or from a storytelling perspective?" In short, I have become a snob.
I'm well aware that art cannot be created with only aesthetic ideals in mind. There is an economic aspect that can't be ignored, and that's especially true for the incredibly expensive medium of filmmaking. You have to make money if you want to cover production costs and keep making more movies in the future. But I have become weary, so weary, of films that only get produced because they're sure to make a lot of money, not because they have anything significantly new to offer. Remakes, reboots, adaptations and sequels are frequent offenders in this regard. I'm not dismissing those entire categories as worthless; far from it! Some of my favorite movies are in those categories. Nor do I turn my nose up at something merely because it's popular. But for me, they need to offer more than "Hey, you liked this; now you can see it in movie form!" or "It's exactly like the cartoon, only now there's real people acting it out!" or "Good movie, huh? Let's do the the exact same thing with only slight variations!"
Disney does this a lot. They're very good at it. When they find a formula that works, they use it over and over and over. They're not stupid. That's why the company is so insanely successful -- they basically own half the moviemaking industry. Live action remakes bring in a ready, eager audience. So let's do it for every single beloved animated film until we've drained the well dry. People love the comic book movie scenario -- hero gets powers, struggles, fights villain, saves the day, gets the girl. Let's make a million of them. Ooo, we have Lucasfilm now? Let's remake Star Wars and Empire, the two movies that fanboys prostrate themselves over, again and again and again and again.
I'm aware that this could turn into a pretty ugly rant that will ultimately have me raging for hours against Disney Space Movie, so I'll change direction to something more positive. The great irony about all of this copying of popular formulas is this: the reason the original story or film worked so well and became so popular is because it broke the formula. It was new. It was innovative. It was something we'd never seen before. That's what Star Wars did. Sure, Lucas was drawing upon a wide variety of influences -- Flash Gordon and other serial adventure films, westerns, Kurosawa, Fritz Lang -- but from those sources he created something new, fresh, astonishing. It's been in our pop culture consciousness long enough that it's become familiar; it's had so many imitators and influenced so much that we've forgotten how utterly bizarre it was to 1977 audiences. That's why they were so drawn to it. But it was so risky that up to the minute of release and even for a bit afterward, Lucas still feared it would be a failure. It was never a sure thing.
However, with its unprecedented success, Lucas could go on and make a sequel. But was he satisfied after creating the entire subgenre of space fantasy; content to produce "Star Wars 2: The Sequel"? Not in the least. The Empire Strikes Back, so often considered the best of the bunch nowadays, was yet another wholly new endeavor, breaking new ground in its developing story arcs, stunning revelations and cliffhangers. It wasn't a copy of Episode IV; it wasn't a copy of anything. It wasn't safe. It could have failed. But audiences were blown away again, and it became entrenched in pop culture history alongside the first film.
For some reason, people went into the prequels expecting more of the same. When will they ever learn? Lucas doesn't do that. He's not interested in rehashing. He set out in entirely directions. He'd already explored the idea of desperate freedom-fighters opposing tyrannical rule. Now he wanted to study the fall of a well-meaning but stagnant establishment. And how a good person can be corrupted. And how complacency and inflexible world-views can be just as dangerous as more obvious vices. And so on and so on, raising fresh questions all over again. That's not to mention the continuing innovation of the settings, the costume design, the world-building, the special effects technology. He forged just as much new territory then as he forged with the original territory. But people were so over-nostalgic about the originals, so caught up with superficial things, they missed the heart of Star Wars -- the sense of wonder at strange new worlds.
Oh sure, the prequels weren't flawless. Neither were the originals. But they were bold. They were brave. They took risks. Storytelling without risks is bland, pointless. Cowardly. I have yet to see anything in the trailers for this live action Beauty and the Beast that isn't a beat-for-beat repetition of the original. I love the original. That doesn't mean I want to see it play out exactly the same with live actors. I'd rather just watch the original again. You'll never replicate the joy I felt in the theater 1991, watching the story play out for the first time. And the fact that they keep trying to replicate that joy is really kind of insulting to me. Same with trying to replicate the shock of "I am your father." It's not going to happen. No one was expecting a shocking hidden twist back then. Now every other movie has a super-sekrit reveal about someone's parentage, so we've come to anticipate it. Stop trying to out-Lucas Lucas. He never did that himself. Do something new. Take risks. Disney, of all companies, can certainly afford a few risks. Sometimes they won't pay off. But I'll respect them a lot more than if they only ever take the safe, easy, cowardly route.
I'm fully aware that this is just my grouchy opinion. Most people are delighted with all the remakes and reboots and adaptations and sequels. And it really shouldn't matter to me if these movies are getting made -- no one is forcing me to see them. (Though I take Disney Space Movie's myriad faults very personally and you'll never convince me otherwise). And maybe they'll surprise me. Maybe they've invented a stunning, fresh take that will make Beauty and the Beast new all over again. That just doesn't seem likely.
I can't helping feeling that they're underestimating the audience, feeding them predictable fare when they could be offering something gloriously different, something as weird as giant growling Wookiees or an army of lightsaber-wielding Jedi, except something completely different from that, because that's already been done. Don't just aim for monetary wealth. Dream bigger. The reward will be more wealth than you can imagine. And you can imagine quite a bit.
It's important for me to understand this knee-jerk response, because it marks a significant shift for me. Back in junior high or high school, I'm pretty sure I would have been over the moon at the notion of a live action Beauty and the Beast. Now it leaves me cold. It has me asking, "But why? What's the point? What purpose does this serve, artistically speaking? Or from a storytelling perspective?" In short, I have become a snob.
I'm well aware that art cannot be created with only aesthetic ideals in mind. There is an economic aspect that can't be ignored, and that's especially true for the incredibly expensive medium of filmmaking. You have to make money if you want to cover production costs and keep making more movies in the future. But I have become weary, so weary, of films that only get produced because they're sure to make a lot of money, not because they have anything significantly new to offer. Remakes, reboots, adaptations and sequels are frequent offenders in this regard. I'm not dismissing those entire categories as worthless; far from it! Some of my favorite movies are in those categories. Nor do I turn my nose up at something merely because it's popular. But for me, they need to offer more than "Hey, you liked this; now you can see it in movie form!" or "It's exactly like the cartoon, only now there's real people acting it out!" or "Good movie, huh? Let's do the the exact same thing with only slight variations!"
Disney does this a lot. They're very good at it. When they find a formula that works, they use it over and over and over. They're not stupid. That's why the company is so insanely successful -- they basically own half the moviemaking industry. Live action remakes bring in a ready, eager audience. So let's do it for every single beloved animated film until we've drained the well dry. People love the comic book movie scenario -- hero gets powers, struggles, fights villain, saves the day, gets the girl. Let's make a million of them. Ooo, we have Lucasfilm now? Let's remake Star Wars and Empire, the two movies that fanboys prostrate themselves over, again and again and again and again.
I'm aware that this could turn into a pretty ugly rant that will ultimately have me raging for hours against Disney Space Movie, so I'll change direction to something more positive. The great irony about all of this copying of popular formulas is this: the reason the original story or film worked so well and became so popular is because it broke the formula. It was new. It was innovative. It was something we'd never seen before. That's what Star Wars did. Sure, Lucas was drawing upon a wide variety of influences -- Flash Gordon and other serial adventure films, westerns, Kurosawa, Fritz Lang -- but from those sources he created something new, fresh, astonishing. It's been in our pop culture consciousness long enough that it's become familiar; it's had so many imitators and influenced so much that we've forgotten how utterly bizarre it was to 1977 audiences. That's why they were so drawn to it. But it was so risky that up to the minute of release and even for a bit afterward, Lucas still feared it would be a failure. It was never a sure thing.
However, with its unprecedented success, Lucas could go on and make a sequel. But was he satisfied after creating the entire subgenre of space fantasy; content to produce "Star Wars 2: The Sequel"? Not in the least. The Empire Strikes Back, so often considered the best of the bunch nowadays, was yet another wholly new endeavor, breaking new ground in its developing story arcs, stunning revelations and cliffhangers. It wasn't a copy of Episode IV; it wasn't a copy of anything. It wasn't safe. It could have failed. But audiences were blown away again, and it became entrenched in pop culture history alongside the first film.
For some reason, people went into the prequels expecting more of the same. When will they ever learn? Lucas doesn't do that. He's not interested in rehashing. He set out in entirely directions. He'd already explored the idea of desperate freedom-fighters opposing tyrannical rule. Now he wanted to study the fall of a well-meaning but stagnant establishment. And how a good person can be corrupted. And how complacency and inflexible world-views can be just as dangerous as more obvious vices. And so on and so on, raising fresh questions all over again. That's not to mention the continuing innovation of the settings, the costume design, the world-building, the special effects technology. He forged just as much new territory then as he forged with the original territory. But people were so over-nostalgic about the originals, so caught up with superficial things, they missed the heart of Star Wars -- the sense of wonder at strange new worlds.
Oh sure, the prequels weren't flawless. Neither were the originals. But they were bold. They were brave. They took risks. Storytelling without risks is bland, pointless. Cowardly. I have yet to see anything in the trailers for this live action Beauty and the Beast that isn't a beat-for-beat repetition of the original. I love the original. That doesn't mean I want to see it play out exactly the same with live actors. I'd rather just watch the original again. You'll never replicate the joy I felt in the theater 1991, watching the story play out for the first time. And the fact that they keep trying to replicate that joy is really kind of insulting to me. Same with trying to replicate the shock of "I am your father." It's not going to happen. No one was expecting a shocking hidden twist back then. Now every other movie has a super-sekrit reveal about someone's parentage, so we've come to anticipate it. Stop trying to out-Lucas Lucas. He never did that himself. Do something new. Take risks. Disney, of all companies, can certainly afford a few risks. Sometimes they won't pay off. But I'll respect them a lot more than if they only ever take the safe, easy, cowardly route.
I'm fully aware that this is just my grouchy opinion. Most people are delighted with all the remakes and reboots and adaptations and sequels. And it really shouldn't matter to me if these movies are getting made -- no one is forcing me to see them. (Though I take Disney Space Movie's myriad faults very personally and you'll never convince me otherwise). And maybe they'll surprise me. Maybe they've invented a stunning, fresh take that will make Beauty and the Beast new all over again. That just doesn't seem likely.
I can't helping feeling that they're underestimating the audience, feeding them predictable fare when they could be offering something gloriously different, something as weird as giant growling Wookiees or an army of lightsaber-wielding Jedi, except something completely different from that, because that's already been done. Don't just aim for monetary wealth. Dream bigger. The reward will be more wealth than you can imagine. And you can imagine quite a bit.