Blockbusters: Please don’t be afraid to be smart

The modern blockbuster has been a staple of the film industry since Jaws first appeared on screens in 1975. At the time of its release, many believed Spielberg had struck upon something new, something big (and I’m not just talking about a 25 foot mechanical shark). Blockbusters are now defined by their huge budgets and the scale of their plot, with critics often lamenting the death of small-budget, narrative-driven films. But why isn’t it possible to have the best of both worlds? Why is it that the directors of blockbusters don’t incorporate stronger narratives and deeper themes into their films?

Primarily, blockbuster films are designed to make money, and the announcement of a blockbuster is inevitable followed by the amount spent on the film, with the most expensive film to date being the somewhat surprising Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides, which cost $378.5 million. The only thing more extraordinary (or morally dubious, depending on your point of view) is the amount these films earn, with the highest-grossing film, not adjusted for inflation, being Avatar, which took $2.8 billion worldwide, despite naming a mineral Unobtainium (which, incidentally, is what James Cameron has found Oscar statuettes to be made of since Titanic).

Directors need to ensure that they make back the money invested in the film, or their films risk being relegated to the list of box-office bombs, where they will share company with films such as The Lone Ranger and R.I.P.D., and it could be this that deters directors from making blockbuster films with more challenging narratives. The problem with this, however, is that it works on two rather arrogant assumptions. Firstly, that audience members are too desensitised by the media, needing an explosion every two seconds to keep them entertained (I’m looking at you, Michael Bay). Secondly, it assumes that audiences are so mentally vacuous that they are unable to follow a plot any more complex than obvious good guys, who may or may not all be white males, fighting obvious bad guys, who may or may not represent non-Western values (I’m looking at you, Ridley Scott). There is a lot of evidence to imply that this isn’t the case. Having said that, there have now been four Transformers films, the last of which amounted to little more than a series of increasingly large explosions interspersed with some racial stereotyping and misogyny. Still, at least Transformers keeps Bay away from making a sequel to Pain and Gain.

Bay-bashing aside, I think that directors fall foul of what I’ve come to term the ‘black and silver car fallacy’. Car manufactures produce an excess of black and silver cars, thinking that’s what the public want, when the only reason the public ‘want’ that colour is because it’s all that’s on offer. What we need is a car manufacturer who is willing to make cars in bisque, vermillion and puce, and coming to the rescue in this rather convoluted metaphor is Christopher Nolan… driving a lilac Batmobile. Interstellar was one of last year’s most anticipated releases, partly due to the success of Nolan’s Batman trilogy and Inception. Nolan’s films stand as an example of how blockbusters can espouse more intricate plots and deeper themes, whilst still making millions at the box-office, with The Dark Knight Rises taking just over $1 billion.

Film critic Mark Kermode argues that, as long as a blockbuster has a newsworthy budget, spectacular visuals, an A List star and isn’t a comedy, it will be successful, and there are very few exceptions to this. Nolan’s more intellectual blockbusters fulfil all four of these criteria, whilst maintaining intricate plots and dilemmas that test the audience. Although I thought Interstellar was a very flawed film, I emerged from the cinema glad that Nolan had tried to incorporate relatively (get it?) complex theories and weave them into the plot in such a way that they were understandable, even if it did end up tripping over its own feet later on the film. So, if this formula works so consistently, why are directors so averse to risk?

On top of the success of films like Interstellar are films like The Grand Budapest Hotel which, although not breaking any records, reached number one at the UK box office three weeks after its release, mainly due to word of mouth. Its success shows that there is definitely a demand out there for more unusual and testing films. I’m not saying that there isn’t a place for blockbuster films; they are entertaining, and it is sometimes nice to go to the cinema and not have to concentrate intensely on the plot. However, there certainly is a place and a demand for more films like Inception and Interstellar, which treat their audiences with respect by incorporating more intricate narratives, grappling with deeper themes, and most importantly, engaging with their audiences on an emotional level.