What the Hell Is Wrong with Hollywood?

What the hell is wrong with Hollywood? The question reflects not only today’s sense of crisis but also echoes anxieties that have existed throughout the entire history of film. My journey through Hollywood’s past aims to show that every supposed “end of the movies” has ultimately fueled reinvention and resilience.

On a recent trip to Los Angeles, I was struck by the dour expressions everywhere I went. “This is it!” people said. “Movies as we know them are dead!” “It’s over!” I was shocked by the gloom, because upheaval has been part of Hollywood from the very beginning.

The Early Days: Edison vs. Everyone

It goes back to Thomas Alva Edison. People once insisted, “That light bulb will never replace the hurricane lantern!” Then came the Mutoscope—an early, coin‑operated (5¢) peepshow device (mostly not porn) patented in 1895. It played a one‑minute “flip‑book” movie on a rotating drum of 800 photographic cards. Audiences loved it. And yet, when film projectors arrived, people swore they’d never replace the Mutoscope. (Enter soft‑core porn.)

Then came the “flickers”: films of daily life in Paris, zoo visits, African expeditions, or a train rushing toward the camera—scaring audiences out of their seats. Edison liked the profits but ignored storytelling, even blocking storytellers from using his cameras. Studios sprang up anyway across New York and Pennsylvania, importing European cameras to avoid Edison’s patents. Edison responded by suing everyone in sight.

He believed stories would ruin movies. Not his smartest prediction.

Hollywood Rises

Studios began moving west between 1911 and 1915, seeking year‑round sunshine and escape from Edison’s patent fees. The Nestor Film Company, founded by David Horsley in 1911, was likely the first Hollywood studio. Universal followed in 1915 with a full production city.

Audiences devoured stories. Filmmakers went from simple comedies—Max gets drunk, flirts with another woman, wife catches him, ha ha!—to recreating Roman chariot races, trench warfare on the Somme, and manhunts through the criminal underworld. Film became a universal language: swap out the intertitles, and the world could watch. Producers loved the global market.

Sound Arrives—and Panic Ensues

Everything was fine until Warner Brothers championed the Vitaphone system: sound on disc. It was clunky. A projectionist watched for cue dots in the corner of the screen while a child assistant (pre–child labor laws) dropped a needle onto a record at the exact moment. Jolson sings! The brothers are saved!

Hollywood panicked. Talking pictures would ruin cinema, they said. Artistry would die. All so Al Jolson could sing in blackface.

Audiences, of course, loved it.

Color Arrives—and Panic Ensues Again

Then came color. Critics declared it the death of drama. Technicolor’s three‑strip process (introduced in 1932) created vibrant images but required massive lighting rigs and crews. Its look became iconic.

Kodak’s Eastmancolor (1950) changed everything: a single‑strip, cheaper, easier film stock compatible with new widescreen formats like CinemaScope, Cinerama, VistaVision, and Todd‑AO. By the mid‑1950s, everyone used it.

Then television arrived. “Why leave the house when you can watch free TV?” people asked.

Movies were “over.” Again.

The 1960s–70s: A New Wave Saves Cinema

Film persisted. Kodak’s 5247 stock (1966) was faster and more light‑sensitive, allowing location shooting without blowing fuses. Films grew grittier, edgier, and more adult—cusswords, nudity, and content TV couldn’t touch. This shift saved cinema.

The Godfather arrived. Auteur directors flourished. Audiences returned.

Cable Arrives—Another Apocalypse

Then came HBO. The Motion Picture Association even made trailers warning of cable’s doom. A decade later, cable was thriving, spawning Netflix, Amazon Prime, Hulu, Disney+, Paramount+, and more—five hundred channels—and still nothing to watch.

Pandemic! Strikes! AI! “It’s all over,” they say.

But then came Barbenheimer. Give people something great, and they’ll show up.

Hollywood isn’t dead. It’s just on another bumpy stretch of the same old road.

This Year’s Movies: My Top Picks

I was somehow chosen for the nominating committee of an unnamed award. (There’s still time for them to kick me off, but I’ve already voted. Tough cookies.)

Here are my top four:

1. One Battle After Another

Not bad. Too long. Meanders. Great acting. Leonardo DiCaprio is finally aging into roles that require adulthood. Sean Penn and Benicio del Toro are solid. Teyana Taylor is unforgettable—especially the AR‑15 scene with her pregnant belly exposed. That image will stay with me forever.

2. Marty Supreme

A fast‑rising contender. Marty, the antihero, competes with history’s greatest cads, yet we root for him. Timmy, the lead, has undeniable star power.

O’dessa A’zion is a revelation—pregnant, fearless, and matching Marty’s energy beat for beat. Gwyneth Paltrow returns as a movie star playing a movie star, and she nails it.

Josh Safdie fills the film with unforgettable faces—Sandra Bernhard, Philippe Petit, Abel Ferrara, David Mamet, Penn Jillette, and an unrecognizable Fran Drescher as Marty’s mother. It’s a thrill ride and possibly the most Jewish film since Hester Street.

3. Train Dreams

My personal favorite. It won’t win, but it should. The best cinematography and direction of the year.

William H. Macy nearly steals the film—no small feat when Joel Edgerton is on screen. That man is magnetic. I expect huge things from him.

4. Hamnet

The dark horse. Best Actress feels locked up. Chloé Zhao may take Best Director. I wouldn’t rule out Best Picture.

5. Sinners

In a just world, this would be the first film I mentioned. Why no awards? Probably because it’s a double‑genre film—crime and monsters—and not “arty” like Hamnet.

But what a thrill ride. What originality.

Set in a slice of American life rarely shown so naturally, the film feels lived‑in and authentic. Ryan Coogler remains one of the most inventive directors working.

Michael B. Jordan plays identical twins Smoke and Stack Moore—two distinct, fully realized characters. His performance is astonishing. (And yes, what I wouldn’t give for one weekend with my brain in his body. The trouble I’d get into!)

The supporting cast shines: Delroy Lindo, Omar Benson Miller, Jayme Lawson, Hailee Steinfeld, and Jack O’Connell. But Wunmi Mosaku delivers the best performance in the film—maybe of the year. She deserves every award, including the Nobel Peace Prize.

Final Thoughts

It was a B+ year for movies. I saw more than 70 films, so I sometimes forget who was in what. The Academy should give participation awards. And a “Good Try” award—Sydney Sweeney for Christy, and The Rock for The Smashing Machine. Great efforts that needed just a bit more context.

Jeremy Allen White was fantastic. Amy Madigan—holy mackerel. And Ethan Hawke delivered the best performance of the year. He deserves the Oscar, though Timmy probably has it locked.

Go to the Movies

Go to the theater—not in a weird Nicole Kidman way. See the most collaborative art form the way it was meant to be seen: on a big screen, in the dark, with strangers. I have a seventy‑inch monster on my wall, but it can’t replace that experience.

Hollywood isn’t dead. It’s adjusting—just like I have to adjust my shorts every time I stand up.

(Apologies for the arcane film references. I forget most people have a life.)