Hollywood’s Apathy Crisis Isn’t About Superheroes or Slashers - It’s About Us
This article references: “‘Sinners’ and ‘Superman’ Are Hits, but Superheroes and Horror Movies Are No Longer Box Office Guarantees” by Rebecca Rubin, Variety
There is a telling quote in a recent Variety article analyzing Hollywood’s uneasy summer: “People haven’t stopped loving horror or superhero films, but they stopped loving mediocre entries in those worlds.” That’s from Mike Barstow of ACX Cinemas, reflecting on what the industry now calls “genre fatigue.”
It’s an accurate observation. But it’s also a partial one.
As I read through Rebecca Rubin’s piece on the box office trajectories of this year’s hits and misses – Sinners, Superman, Thunderbolts*, Drop, Elio – I found myself thinking less about the producers or directors, and more about the audience, the people in the seats. Or rather, the absence of them.
The article is built on a central question: why aren’t once-reliable genres like horror and superheroes drawing the crowds they used to? And in answering that question, it does what Hollywood insiders often do – it points to the supply side. Oversaturation. Formula fatigue. The rise and stall of shared universes. The glut of Marvel shows post-Endgame. And sure, some of that is true.
But what struck me, and what’s missing from that analysis, is the unspoken premise that filmgoers are passive consumers of cinema rather than active participants in its cultural life. It’s as if movies simply appear on a shelf and the audience chooses the best fruit. But cinema is not fruit. It’s a living medium, and its future depends on whether we choose to nourish it or let it wither.
Take Sinners, for example. A breakout horror hit that has now grossed over $365 million worldwide – but only after a soft opening weekend. Its success was not preordained by IP, brand recognition, or franchise ties. In fact, its opening weekend numbers were muted precisely because it was original. It wasn’t based on a video game series or a 20-year-old horror classic. It had to earn its reputation the old-fashioned way: by being good. By offering audiences something they didn’t expect. And then waiting. Waiting for word of mouth to do what marketing could not, finally earning it an astonishingly low 6% decline in its second weekend as moviegoers finally rushed out to see what all the fuss was about.
That it achieved this feat is heartening. That it had to climb uphill to do so is not.
The same can be said of Thunderbolts*. A triumph of performance, tone, and character interplay. Doing all this while uniting characters from various lesser-seen Marvel films and Disney+ series, it eschewed bombast for something closer to ensemble drama. Its box office profits were noticeably underwhelming compared to those of Superman, and it deserved so much better. That Superman, one of my favorite films of the year so far, succeeded isn’t the problem. That Thunderbolts* didn’t, despite strong writing and a daring creative direction, is.
Because the truth is that it’s not just studios who have become risk-averse. It’s us.
We say we want originality, but too often we don’t show up for it. We say we’re tired of sequels, but we line up for Spider-Man and skip Companion. We say we want better movies, but so many of us judge them based on brand recognition and marketing, rather than by recognizing filmmakers and creative storytelling. And when we do go, it’s often only two or three times a year – and only for the most recognizable brands.
Now, to be fair: there are many for whom regular trips to the movie theater simply aren’t feasible. The costs add up. Childcare isn’t cheap. Time is limited. Streaming has changed the expectations of availability and access, but ultimately, beyond the initial licensing fee, studios don’t see any additional profit each time someone watches their movie on a streaming service. Even the behavior of fellow moviegoers has turned some people away. Glowing phone screens, people talking during the film, or general rudeness can ruin what should be an immersive experience. When the cinema no longer feels like a sacred space for storytelling, it’s understandable that some choose to stay home. I’m not here to ignore any of those realities or dismiss them.
But I am here to say that if we care about cinema, truly care, we have to start treating it less like a commodity and more like a conversation.
That means going to see something you haven’t heard of just because it looks interesting. That means supporting filmmakers who are trying something new, even if it’s not immediately familiar, and actively following the work of filmmakers you've enjoyed in the past. That means treating a night at the movies not as a luxury reserved for the event film, but as a habit of cultural citizenship.
There is no substitute for the theatrical experience. Horror thrives on a room full of nervous strangers. Comedy needs shared laughter. Drama asks for your undivided attention in the dark. And yet more and more, we only go when we’re certain it’ll be a “sure thing.” But what art is ever a sure thing?
Even the most beloved movies weren’t sure things once. The Matrix? Get Out? Everything Everywhere All at Once? None were guaranteed hits. They became what they are because audiences took a chance.
The Variety article ends on a sober note: “Not all heroes – or villains – are created equal.” But I’d argue the more urgent truth is this: these days, not all audience members are equally curious.
When Jason Blum, producer of some of the decade’s most iconic horror films, says there are simply too many scary movies in the market, he isn’t blaming the genre. He’s saying audiences no longer distinguish between innovation and imitation. We’ve grown numb to variety. And we don’t reward experimentation with dollars.
That’s not a problem Hollywood can solve with fewer releases or more trailers. That’s a problem only we can solve – by choosing to show up.
Yes, the industry needs to make better movies. Yes, studios must stop relying on brand recognition to sell weak storytelling. Yes, horror needs new ideas, and superheroes need depth. But even the best films won’t survive if they’re met with indifference at the box office.
The new Superman was a hit, in part because it dared to be emotionally sincere in a genre that’s grown weary. It’s a hopeful sign. But it doesn’t change the broader pattern: that familiarity is now the price of admission for most people. That we no longer browse the marquee – we search for one title, and if it’s not there, we don’t even make the trip.
I worry what that means for the next Everything Everywhere All At Once. The next Hereditary. The next Whiplash or Arrival or Barbarian. Will they even get a chance to find their voice?
Yes, I’m excited for likely franchise blockbusters like tomorrow's The Fantastic Four: First Steps and Wicked: For Good this November – but I’m just as eager for something like Noah Baumbach’s Jay Kelly, which is receiving a limited theatrical release this November before it hits Netflix, particularly after the deeply human filmmaking he delivered in Marriage Story.
Cinema has always been a dance between art and commerce. But today, the balance is fragile. Studios follow the money. And right now, the money says we only care about Superman, sequels, and nostalgia.
I don’t believe that. I believe audiences are smarter, more adventurous, and more compassionate than that. I believe that we still want to be surprised, moved, and challenged. But belief isn’t enough. We have to prove it. With tickets, time, and attention.
It’s on Hollywood to make good movies, that much is obvious. But even more so, it’s on us to see them.
And more often than not? It really does end up being worth it.