Hollywood on Bath Salts: where postmodernism & capitalist realism meet

I went to go see a movie the other night at AMC. I got there a smidge early to watch the trailers in time—pro tip, at AMC, they’re 20 minutes before Nicole Kidman. First, I watch a trailer for the new Beetlejuice, then Gladiator, then The Wizard of Oz. And just before Nicole Kidman can abrasively enter my screen in that way that somehow pisses me off and turns me on all at once, I realize that all those trailers are remakes. Then it hits me: the movie I came to see is also a remake. So as I sit through the dumpster fire that is Joker 2, my mind inevitably wanders, wondering why this is. Why does it feel like every other movie is a rehashed version of something I’ve already seen?

Then I realize, it’s not just this quarter. Just today, there’s news of a remake of American Psycho. They’re doing it in TV too—Girl Meets World, Fuller House (which, honestly, maybe should be lesser), and now Wizards Beyond Waverly Place—what a lazy name. Seriously, almost two decades later, and the best they could come up with was adding a single word? Never mind. What’s been going on? And why is Joaquin Phoenix singing in A minor?

I digress. I walked out of the movie unsatisfied but with a half-cooked theory as to why this is all happening. My plan is to work through that half-baked theory here with you. It’s cathartic for me, and I don’t work well alone.

Let’s start with Postmodernism. Woah, that took a left turn, you might think, and you’d be right. But hey, I’m writing this during the last hour of a 10-hour shift, so I’m driving this paper’s narrative like a drunk driver on bath salts. Back to my point: postmodernism.

Postmodernism—you either love it or hate it, but I’d bet that 90% of people don’t really know what it is. Postmodernism is many things: it’s anti-traditional, skeptical of absolutes, and deeply ironic. But at its core, it’s a new way of looking at old ideas. It challenges us to see things as fundamentally the same, breaking down binaries, hierarchies, and anything that implies one concept or group has a greater status over another. In a postmodern view, the world is essentially a social construct, meaning that nothing is fixed and everything is open to reinterpretation.

This mindset has bled deeply into our society. Culturally, we’re becoming afraid to view anything as truly new or different. Instead, we’re stuck rehashing old ideas because it’s safe and guaranteed. The focus has shifted to reconstructing the past instead of creating a vision for the future. We’ve become so obsessed with reshaping yesterday that we’ve forgotten how to look forward to tomorrow.

Sharp turn, maybe these bath salts were a bad idea. But let’s throw in this idea of capitalist realism into the mix. Capitalist realism is the idea that in a profit-driven system, everything—yes, even creativity, or as I like to call it, early-onset schizophrenia—ends up serving the almighty dollar. We’ve reached a point where it’s hard to imagine anything outside of this structure, where money and financial stability dictate almost everything we make. So in Hollywood, that means new ideas don’t stand a chance. Why gamble on something new when Beetlejuice 2 already has a built-in fanbase? Why risk a fresh story when you know The Wizard of Oz will sell just because people already know it?

This fear of risk takes the stage, and suddenly, remakes and sequels aren’t just a trend; they’re the whole business model. It’s as if every “new” project has to be approved by the ghost of some already-successful film or show, just to make sure it’ll sell. Art becomes a tool for profit rather than a shot at something meaningful.

So here’s where these two ideas fuck. Combine postmodernism’s obsession with reinterpreting the past with capitalist realism’s need for a safe, predictable profit, and you end up with an entire culture that justifies creative stagnation. Movies today are more likely to reproduce, rebrand, and reimagine old stories not just because we love the nostalgia but because we’re stuck in a system that’s reshaped our desires to fit this rinse-and-repeat model.

The broader social structure has reinforced this recycling of old ideas as a necessary, even rational choice. Old ideas, especially the profitable ones, align neatly with the market’s agenda of maximizing profit. And here we are, with creativity taking the back seat in a system that values the safe, the known, the profitable—while we sit back, endlessly watching reruns of yesterday’s stories.

Things aren’t hopeless. Filmmakers like Sean Baker, with his new movie Anora and just an overall impressive unique filmography, give myself and other young people entering this industry where the postmodernist & capitalist realist substrates have taken root, hope. That was a fucking mouthful. They have proven it’s beyond possible to make a movie do what a movie is supposed to do again: ignite hope and give you a semi in the middle of the theater.

I’m tired of these remakes and sequels, and I know you are too. The greatest things come from the unexpected and hit us where we least expect it. We can’t forego the unexpected; we have to lean back into the unknown and be willing to be surprised.

The only movie I want to see another remake or sequel of is Paddington. I love that goddamn bear.