Why Blockbuster Chasing Won't Save Cinema as an Art Form
Hollywood's obsession with hits over artistry threatens the soul of movies. Tom Rothman represents a dying breed of executives who understand both.
Hollywood's obsession with hits over artistry threatens the soul of movies. Tom Rothman represents a dying breed of executives who understand both.
In Hollywood’s endless pursuit of the next blockbuster, something vital keeps getting left behind. Studios pump billions into franchises, sequels, and IP-driven spectacles, all chasing that elusive box office dragon. But there’s a problem with chasing the next high: it won’t save movies as a popular art form.
The blockbuster mentality has become the default operating system for major studios. It’s not hard to understand why. A franchise film can generate returns that a modest drama simply cannot match. But this singular focus on hitting the numbers creates a feedback loop that starves cinema of its most important ingredient: artistry.
Tom Rothman, the head of Sony Pictures, represents something increasingly rare in the modern studio system. He understands the blockbuster mentality inside and out. But he’s also one of the last old-guard executives with a proven track record of backing genuinely great movies that function as popular art.
Think about his filmography. “Titanic.” “Moulin Rouge!” “Once Upon a Time in Hollywood.” These weren’t arthouse experiments or prestige-only projects. They were massive commercial successes that also happened to be works of genuine cinema. They entertained millions while showing us something true about ourselves. That’s the rare alchemy Rothman seems to understand.
The real question isn’t whether the blockbuster mentality will continue producing hits. It almost certainly will. The question is what happens when that’s all we make.
Movies that do more than entertain are the lifeblood of cinema as an art form. They’re the ones that reveal something uncanny about who we are. They’re the ones that make us uncomfortable, that challenge our assumptions, that stay with us long after we leave the theater.
Without those films, the megaplex becomes just another consumption mechanism. Efficient, profitable, and ultimately hollow.
The next generation of studio heads will inherit an industry that’s already heavily tilted toward sequels, franchises, and proven IP. Will they have the courage, or even the inclination, to champion films that prioritize human truth over predictable returns? That’s the genuine uncertainty here.
There’s something almost poetic about how the blockbuster mentality operates as a self-consuming machine. A very hungry megaplex snake, eating its own tail. It keeps feeding on increasingly derivative content, convinced that bigger explosions and more recognizable IP will continue to draw audiences.
But audiences aren’t stupid. They can feel when they’re being served formula instead of cinema. They can sense the difference between a movie made to entertain them and one made to show them something about themselves.
The real tragedy isn’t that blockbusters exist. It’s that the business model has made it nearly impossible to greenlight the other stuff alongside them. A studio head who wants to finance both “Avatar 5” and a genuine work of cinematic art faces enormous pressure to abandon the latter.
There’s reason to hope that Rothman’s sensibility might continue to shape Sony Pictures. But hope isn’t a business strategy, and sentiment doesn’t protect against quarterly earnings calls.
The blockbuster mentality will almost certainly produce hits for years to come. But what happens when those are the only movies being made?