Lauren Humphries-Brooks
There are few standalone films any more – all come with a sequel waiting in the wings. Pre-planned franchises in turn mean that narrative implications change. The nature of new franchises results in two different approaches as the sequels proceed. Some franchises take on an episodic, ‘adventure of the day’ structure, with little reference back to the previous entries save a continuation of character; films like the Indiana Jones movies operate on this principle. The other approach is the ongoing narrative arc, a la the Star Wars franchise, which opts to continue the narrative threads of the previous films, often developed at the same time as the first film (not exclusively, though: witness the Pirates of the Caribbean films, which suffered from a lack of planning). Planned franchises usually work best if they keep to one approach or the other, but studios are often unwilling to dedicate themselves to untried projects in the beginning, making a planned narrative arc almost impossible.
At the same time, films are sold on the strength of being able to launch a new franchise. Hence, they become a combination of both approaches: they must stand on their own and launch at least a trilogy at the same time. This often results in disjointed, overlong movies that refuse to rest on their laurels as singularities or to develop a strong narrative flow. They are narrative hybrids that give the impression of being uncertain about themselves. The characters seem to be preparing for something, the plots seem to be setting up an idea that will carry the audience slightly past the end of the film. In awaiting the verdict on the franchise, the film finds itself in a nebulous state, and the audience is left with a glass half-full.
The other facet of pre-planned franchises is the claiming of sequel release dates years in advance. This set-up means that the launching of new films, even new franchises, becomes less and less likely. Why opt for something original when you make another Spider-Man? Why put money on a new and untested superhero when you have Captain America 3 waiting in the wings? Once a franchise has convinced audiences to pay for the first film, the wisdom says that the next film will make even more money. Original content suffers because it is not guaranteed to be lucrative, and the industry will suffer because, eventually, there will be nothing original left to reboot. The idea of originality, which many rebooted franchises actually depend on, has begun to filter away. Originality does not guarantee a box office return.
Therefore, audiences suffer in the sense that they are constantly being prepared for “the next instalment” rather than being allowed to enjoy the original release. They are convinced to pay for the next film rather than spending time indulging in universe building, character development, and the plot threads that the first film introduces. Every film is a launching pad not just for a sequel, but for an entire world that the audience must buy into in order to understand. There is no such thing as a casual fan or a casual filmgoer with these movies – there are only mega-fans, only those willing to delve into the minutiae of the franchise and bring all the plot details of the first film into a viewing of the second. Audiences are no longer able to experience a single film from beginning to end – it is an ongoing rewriting and restructuring, with no end; even the beginnings are subject to rewrite once they become “reboots.”
The film industry likewise suffers given the paucity of original concepts married to an unwillingness to risk money on any but a “sure thing.” Eventually, in other words, there will be nothing left to reboot.