wanted the benefit of his insight. “Why do you think Bridesmaids overperformed? Don’t you think it reflects a hunger for originals out there?”
“I think there was some late word of mouth on the picture that the tracking never picked up.”
“But look, Kev,” I shot back, “there were fifteen comments on the blogs this morning about sequel fatigue—these movies that are made for two hundred million dollars that are basically built for international. The movie stars won’t be in them. They realize they’re basically making product. Nobody comes to America to be a star in Russia and China. Who wants to be in that business? Penélope Cruz left Spain to be a star here, not in China. Eventually, these monstrosities of product will become burdensome for the actor to reboot, if not the studio. They will have to turn into Law & Order: a new cast each time, and a product where the title is bigger than the star.”
Kevin smiled. “They don’t need stars in Russia and China. They don’t care about them.”
I started to get it. So they can invent stars for tentpoles, pay them less up front and tie them in to infinite options for sequels, like with Chris Hemsworth in Thor. The franchise is the star and the movie already costs a fortune.
Kevin answered slyly, “I think both of us know that the reason to cast Chris Hemsworth as Thor originally had nothing to do with his numbers internationally.”
And it was clear as a bell. “But now he has huge international numbers that allow him to make the other movies he wants.”
Bingo.
This is what happens when the title is more important than thestar, like with the James Bond franchise. And this is the reason for reboots: If they start over, they don’t have to keep upping the salary of the lead.
Kevin said, “The studios are in the branded carnival business. Their job is to make amusement park rides.”
“Really?” I asked. “We’re in the amusement park business?”
He looked at me as if I were his very slow half sister visiting from Iowa. “Lynda. Never lose yourself. Don’t forget this: We’re in a business. If we can make six-hundred-forty-billion-dollar rides, why would we want to make two-hundred-forty-billion-dollar rides? It’s a business. Widgets.”
I have always known we were in a business, but making “widgets” had never occurred to me. I love movies, and a few $240 million rides had served me fairly well so far. The current contempt for that kind of profit struck me as deeply problematic.
This grand slam sensibility, along with the economic doom that caused it, has swiftly and fundamentally changed the culture we live in here in Tinseltown. I will show how in this section using some hyperbole, though not much.
CULTURE CHANGES OF THE NEW ABNORMAL
Casting in the Old Abnormal
Here’s a bad version that gives a good idea of what changed.
In the Old Abnormal, you could have a really substantial casting fight:
GUY EXEC: I would never fuck her.
HIS BOSS: How old is she? A hundred?
CHICK PRODUCER: (a laugh covering her alarm) I think she’s brilliant. But if you guys hate her . . .
FEMALE CASTING DIRECTOR: (changing the subject) What about Dude Z for the love interest? Marty just signed him for his next picture.
CHICK PRODUCER: He’s hot!
GUY EXEC: He’s so gay!
CASTING DIRECTOR: Do you mean literally?!
GUY EXEC: No, I just mean, like, he’s so gay, like I would never see a movie he’s in.
CASTING DIRECTOR: Let me send you some tape.
Casting in the New Abnormal
STUDIO HEAD: Who have you got for the guy?
DIRECTOR: I’ve been talking with Ray Liotta.
(Everyone stares at him as if he were from Mars.)
PRODUCER: He meant Robert Downey.
INTERNATIONAL MARKETING: He’s worth thirty in Asia alone since Iron Man.
(Studio Head smiles, relieved. Emotionally joins the meeting.)
GUY EXEC: He’s booked for two years. How’s that possible?
STUDIO HEAD: We’ll wait.
(Director sinks in his chair, emotionally departs