New Cinema: Hell and Paradise

A few weeks ago, an actress friend of mine told me, somewhere between amused and bewildered, that the fee she received for a film she’d recently starred in was lower than what she’d been paid to wear a designer dress on the night of the Oscars, where she’d been nominated for that very film. This is by no means an exception, and the fees are sometimes exorbitant: I found myself wondering whether the growing dominance of the frame over the painting is now unstoppable, as demonstrated by the comparable prominence of the red carpet over the films themselves and of colourists over critics. This shift in focus risks influencing the very way films are experienced, in an industry shaken by constant seismic upheavals that are altering its character, perhaps irreversibly. I have wondered what significance to attribute to the cataclysms with which two extraordinary films of the 1990s, set in the City of Angels, come to a close: the earthquake in "Short Cuts", which the atheist Robert Altman adapted from several short stories by Raymond Carver, and the rain of frogs imagined by the Catholic Paul Thomas Anderson in "Magnolia". The two directors, who shared a mentor-protégé relationship, imbue their respective endings with a yearning for purification in a world that has lost its ethical bearings and is populated by fragile, lonely characters desperately seeking warmth. Taking as my starting point the imaginary cataclysms created by these two great directors, I have reflected on the artistic and commercial effects generated by the real-life cataclysms currently unfolding, aware that Hollywood prioritises practicality and the logic of profit over any form of moral reflection.

I am thinking, for example, of the advent of artificial intelligence: as early as 2002, Andrew Niccol imagined in "S1m0ne" the relationship between a man and an artificially generated woman, but this reworking of the myth of Pygmalion and Galatea was rejected by the public and underrated by the critics. As the screenwriter of "The Truman Show", Niccol took to its logical extreme the growing difficulty of understanding – in terms of both physical features and emotional sensitivity and intelligence – just how much is genuinely human in a character created by AI. The problems created by this upheaval are also purely industrial in nature: computer-generated imagery can provide a striking and cost-effective solution for sequences requiring lavish sets and thousands of extras, but the astonishing potential offered by this opportunity deals a fatal blow to entire sectors of the ‘dream factory’, undermining its artisanal element. It is now possible to use the stars’ authentic voices in the language in which the films are distributed: an effect of absolute authenticity which, however, brings the dubbing industry to its knees.

The irresistible rise of AI has gone hand in hand with the transition from analogue to digital: around a decade ago, the use of film had virtually disappeared and Kodak was on the brink of bankruptcy, until filmmakers of the calibre of Steven Spielberg, Paul Thomas Anderson, Christopher Nolan, Quentin Tarantino and Brady Corbet chose to shoot their respective works in 70 millimetres, publicly extolling how the structural, almost physical density of film offers greater aesthetic potential: let us not forget that the English term for film is, in fact, ‘film’. Here too, digital technology offers many opportunities, starting with greater photographic flexibility as well as undoubted savings in time and budget: these great filmmakers are not making a conservative choice, but an artistic one. The battle to save film took place whilst the ‘dream factory’ began offering audiences new universes, born – unlike "Star Wars" – not in the cinema, but in comic books. Until just a few years ago, Marvel and DC films were among the few to guarantee consistent and assured success, but after an initial phase in which they were entrusted to directors with strong personalities such as Sam Raimi, they were subsequently directed by anonymous hack directors or rendered impersonal by the project itself: it is also worth reflecting on the two-dimensional nature from which films of this kind originate.

Hollywood has always been dominated by the eternal return of the same, even after revolutions such as the end of silent cinema or the studio system: the dynamics and mindset of the power structure have never changed, even at times when agents began to run the studios, as in the case of Mike Ovitz, founder of the all-powerful CAA (Creative Artists Agency) and later head of Disney. Or when the major studios became part of gigantic international conglomerates with a different core business, and which therefore viewed cinema as just one element of their empire – not necessarily the most important one. Nor has the ruthlessness, the cynicism, the cult of image, or the glamour that often conceals emptiness – if not outright misery – changed; but the formidable professionalism, the energy, the determination to combat disillusionment with enthusiasm, and the ability to create, despite everything, authentic works of art have also remained unchanged.

One of the most powerful and liberating upheavals occurred in the wake of the sex scandals and the resulting emergence of the #MeToo movement, and those caught up in it carried on living right up to the very last moment as if nothing were happening: a month before he was charged and arrested, I saw Harvey Weinstein in person wandering around the Toronto Film Festival with his usual arrogant and contemptuous demeanour. He was aware that the investigations into him were about to be made public, but he considered himself untouchable.

Kenneth Anger’s “Hollywood Babylon” and Selwyn Ford’s “The Casting Coach / The Producer’s Sofa” have recounted how certain practices, serious and unacceptable, have existed in Hollywood since its very beginnings. When discussing ‘sexual extortion’, it must be added that the category of the powerful is not limited solely to producers, but also includes directors and stars. There is a terribly cynical joke circulating in Hollywood – yet one that is absolutely illuminating for understanding the structure of power – which tells of ‘an actress so stupid she slept with the screenwriter’. The Hollywood system is not only cynical to the point of ruthlessness, but also characterised by a code of silence: everyone knows – or at least suspects – everything, yet there is a tacit agreement that certain matters are not discussed. In the case of the victims, this is out of fear; as for those aware of these abuses, it is to avoid upsetting a balance that brings – or at least used to bring – benefits to everyone. Cynicism and the code of silence go hand in hand with hypocrisy, and all this has reinforced the status quo, which was only brought into crisis thanks to the journalistic investigations by the New York Times and the New Yorker that opened Pandora’s box: in this case, it is all too easy to think of the rain of frogs. Crude and vulgar, Hollywood’s most powerful mogul – sentenced to 39 years in prison for extremely serious offences including rape – was also brutal as a producer, a role in which he nevertheless demonstrated undoubted expertise, as evidenced by the numerous awards he has won and the artists with whom he has worked: at the recent Taormina Film Festival, Jane Campion caused a stir by publicly acknowledging this talent. In the wake of the journalistic investigation, two-time Oscar winner Kevin Spacey – who was subsequently cleared of the most serious charges – and other famous actors such as James Franco, Morgan Freeman, Dustin Hoffman, Danny Masterson, Casey Affleck and Armie Hammer, as well as directors belonging to Hollywood’s so-called ‘A-list’, have been accused of sexual abuse: John Lasseter, Bryan Singer, Paul Haggis, Nate Parker and Brett Ratner, director of the recent film "Melania", dedicated to the current First Lady. The allegations have spread to other sectors, such as classical music (Plácido Domingo and James Levine), pop music (Michael Jackson), rap (R. Kelly), stand-up comedy (Louis C.K.), television (Bill Cosby), journalism (Charlie Rose), the culinary world (Mario Batali) and, with Andrew Cuomo, even the world of politics – a sphere also implicated in the horrific Jeffrey Epstein affair. The #MeToo movement took centre stage on the red carpets of major festivals and at award ceremonies, reaching its peak of visibility with a famous speech by Oprah Winfrey that culminated in the phrase ‘time’s up’, which gave its name to an organisation defending women who have been sexually harassed: all of which is entirely justified, and it is worth remembering that in the vast majority of cases, the allegations have been backed up by overwhelming evidence.

These developments have also brought to the fore cases dating back many years, such as that of Roman Polanski, who was convicted in absentia in the US for drugging and raping a minor, and Woody Allen, accused of sexually abusing his adopted daughter Dylan, who was seven years old at the time. This extremely serious allegation, relating to an alleged incident in August 1992, was revived 25 years later by the son he had with Mia Farrow, Satchel, who changed his name to Ronan and took his mother’s surname; she has stated that she conceived him with Frank Sinatra. It is important to take things in order: there is no doubt that Allen acted inappropriately by entering into a relationship – and subsequently marrying – his partner’s adopted daughter, but this does not constitute an illegal act. He was, however, acquitted of the extremely serious charge of paedophilia, which was raised again by Ronan, and in the second trial the judge reprimanded Mia Farrow for turning her children against her former partner. This horrific mess, in which it seems no one is entirely innocent, ultimately casts doubt on the veracity of certain allegations against other public figures, and leaves one suspecting that the irrefutable backlash against decades of intolerable abuse has triggered a wave destined to sweep away everything and everyone – in some cases, even for personal reasons. We have reached the paradoxical situation where actors have disowned having worked with Allen during the 25 years between the scandal and Ronan Farrow’s allegations, going so far as to donate their fees even though nothing new had come to light. The result is that Allen has had all his film, television and publishing contracts terminated; and this, if one believes in the justice system that found him not guilty, is unacceptable from both an artistic and a moral standpoint.

It is worth noting that in France, where even a star such as Gérard Depardieu has been accused of abuse, one hundred women led by Catherine Deneuve wrote an open letter to Le Monde in response to the #balancetonporc movement (expose your pig), in which they argued that, rather than defending women’s dignity, “they were playing into the hands of the enemies of sexual freedom, religious fundamentalists and the worst reactionaries” and of those who believe that women are “children in adult form, asking to be protected”. They went on to say: “One more step and two adults who want to make love will first have to check, via a mobile app, a list of those to be accepted and those to be rejected”, reaching this conclusion: “The philosopher Ruwen Ogien defended the freedom to offend as essential to artistic creation. In the same way, we defend the freedom to harass, which is indispensable to sexual freedom”.

I wanted to quote the letter, which caused outrage, because it highlights how the #MeToo movement has, alongside the necessary punishment of those found guilty, also had a dangerous effect on freedom, including artistic freedom. This risk is even more evident in the most recent upheaval, which has seen the condemnation – here too, entirely justified – of discrimination, particularly on the grounds of race and gender. For decades, we have witnessed unacceptable forms of racism and sexism, and the #OscarsSoWhite campaign – which denounced the meagre presence of non-white nominees – led to a one-third increase in the number of Academy voters, bringing the total to 10,100. The new members were selected with a stated focus on women and minorities, and the fruits of this change were immediately apparent: in recent years, Chloé Zhao won the Best Director award for "Nomadland" and Jane Campion for "The Power of the Dog", after only one woman – the outstanding Kathryn Bigelow with "The Hurt Locker" – had won in the first 94 editions.

Greater attention has also been paid to categories where there are extraordinary female professionals who are absurdly overlooked, such as cinematography, but unfortunately the doubt remains – an inescapable one when it comes to art – that the verdicts are influenced more by claims than by actual quality. In short, what is morally right is not necessarily so from an artistic point of view, and to stick with the examples mentioned, are we really certain that Chloé Zhao was the best director of 2021? How much weight did the despicable incidents of racism against Asians carry in relation to the avalanche of awards won by a minor film like "Everything Everywhere All at Once"? Was Michelle Yeoh really more convincing that year than Michelle Williams in "The Fabelmans" or Cate Blanchett in "Tar"? To what extent did the fact that Blanchett’s character runs counter to the demands of the #MeToo movement influence the decision? Isn’t it rather grotesque to compare the likeable Daniels brothers to a master like Spielberg?

These are uncomfortable questions that anyone who cares about cinema must ask themselves, for cinema – like any form of artistic expression – cannot tolerate restrictions or guidelines of this kind, even if they are born of the best of intentions. The issue becomes even more serious when we consider that, from 2024 onwards, in certain categories – including Best Picture – films must have a quota set aside for minority representation in order to be eligible. This is the point at which noble intentions give way to narrow-mindedness: many Oscar-winning masterpieces would not be eligible today, such as "The Godfather" and "The Deer Hunter". The enormous risk is that films, already heavily watered down in deference to the dictates of political correctness, will be forcibly populated by minority representatives who are unnecessary from a dramatic or artistic point of view, but present solely to comply with this rule. Take a look at the big-budget productions – whether romantic comedies, superhero films or even TV series – and analyse the composition of the cast in terms of race, gender and sexual orientation: it’s all well and good, but the moment it is imposed, a degree of freedom is lost in this instance too.

At present, no production company or studio dares to stand in the way of a rule of this sort; on the contrary, there is a race to be more royalist than the king, but underlying discontent is growing, and a clear sign of this is seen in "Tar", which recounts the mistakes – some of them serious – that lead to the downfall of a hugely successful lesbian conductor: it is significant that the film was not criticised on artistic grounds, but for undermining the integrity of the fight against discrimination.

Finally, the latest upheaval: the decline of cinemas, which began some fifteen years ago, has suffered a definitive – perhaps fatal – blow as a result of the pandemic. The long months of lockdown have accustomed us to watching films at home, aided by increasingly sophisticated screening equipment. Streaming services, which were already expanding rapidly, have capitalised on this trend, prioritising the production of series over films: Netflix, Apple, Amazon, Hulu and Mubi – to name just the most powerful – often outshine the major studios, which have been forced to take remedial action through high-profile mergers, such as Disney’s acquisition of Twentieth Century Fox. Hollywood has responded to the 40 per cent decline by making the cinema experience a unique one that can only be enjoyed in the theatre, starting with picture quality: ever-larger screens, comfortable seats, food and drink options that go far beyond popcorn, bookshops and other amenities. At the same time, it has begun to promote talents with appeal to younger audiences who have emerged from platforms such as YouTube, such as Curry Barker and Kane Parsons, who found success with "Obsession" and "Backrooms". The rediscovery of genres is part of the same strategy, which has identified horror as the most cost-effective, profitable and closely aligned with an increasingly widespread sense of nihilism.

The prevalence of domestic screens over public ones marks a clear reversal of the trend seen throughout Hollywood’s history: starting with Robert Altman, William Friedkin, Sidney Lumet and Steven Spielberg himself, television has always been the place where directors cut their teeth before making their cinema debut, whereas it now appears to be a coveted destination.

We do not know whether the measures devised by the industry will be sufficient, nor whether this is a natural cataclysm or a punishment for laxity or greed; what is certain is that Hollywood appears dazed and incapable of responding with vision. This latest upheaval strikes at its very core: there is no doubt that what we see in our living rooms may be a film – sometimes even one of extraordinary craftsmanship – but cinema consists of sharing, with strangers, an emotion generated by moving images projected onto a screen larger than the viewer. Even if we do not wish to include the use of film stock among these requirements, the absence of any one of these elements leaves us with something that may entertain us, captivate us and even move us, but cinema is something else entirely.