Thursday, May 22, 2003
Copyright © Las Vegas Mercury

Goldberg: Open letter to Hollywood

By Tod Goldberg

Dear Hollywood,

Sorry to be so long in writing. It's been a hectic year, what with the war, the new season of "Six Feet Under" and my ever-increasing need to attend dinners held in my honor. Anyway, I've got a couple of things I'd like to chat about with you regarding the films you've been making and the sense I have that a fifth-grader with Down Syndrome could create more intelligent/higher common denominator tripe than what you've been prostituting as entertainment.

I'm not usually the type to complain about the hand that feeds me, that houses me, makes my car payment, gives my two agents 15 percent of my earnings and often grants me free meals with Italian development executives. My feeling has long been that my own brand of entertainment isn't all that brilliant either--get 50 monkeys together whose fathers left them at young ages, toss in a mother who nearly died when they were 6, add in a series of crushing psychological relationships and a fetid imagination and you may well end up with any of my novels, short stories or columns--but at least I'm not providing some kind of secret coding in commercials that forces others to fork out nine bucks to see the mess.

You see, Hollywood, I'm convinced it must be that or a Vulcan mind-meld that has compelled me to recently shell out good money to see Anger Management and The Matrix Reloaded and whatever buzz-worthy summer film I'll hustle to this Friday. Perhaps The Matrix was of my own doing because I did enjoy the original, but the actual storytelling of this particular piece of steaming sequel dung does make me think some tomfoolery was at hand. Maybe that's because there is no storytelling. Oh, sure, something happens in the movie--it's an excellent advertisement for the video game and I did enjoy the music video that takes place in Zion--but unless the neurons in your brain are wired like Josh Ellis', it's impossible to make any sense of it.

It used to be that movies had transitions between scenes--you know, Hollywood, bridges in storytelling that connect one moment to the next so that the movie actually makes some tangential sense--and thus if you sneezed or coughed or blinked during the movie, you might still be able to follow it through its course. Perhaps, Hollywood, you could send me a letter outlining just how the 20 scenes that comprise Anger Management actually fit together and then maybe I might see the light.

There also used to be this thing called character development. I know, Hollywood, this is a confusing idea for you. But follow along. If you create characters in your movies that people actually care about, and that have a good reason to be on screen, to fall in love, to kill each other, whatever, you'd be surprised how much more engaging and clever your movies would be. Case in point: can anyone there in the office describe to me the character arcs of any of the new super cool characters in The Matrix Reloaded? Mrs. Will Smith would be a good one to start with, because, best as I can tell, she could have been replaced with a dancing gummy bear and the movie would not have been fundamentally different. Add in Roy Jones Jr.'s star turn as a futuristic Mr. T and you have yourself two characters who have absolutely no reason to exist in this movie, other than to look badass. If you want us to care about them in advance of The Matrix 3: The Bridge to Terrabithia, Hollywood, you sorta need to give us a reason.

Maybe it's all about the seasons. Seems to me that every year about this time I end up feeling this way. I understand that your marketing arm believes the summer months are the provenance of hormone-engorged teenagers, youths so addled with testosterone and estrogen that they have no clear concept of what they're doing at any given time, and thus you roll out films that mirror their minds: mixed-up, nonsequential car crashes that live their lives a quarter mile at a time with no regard for emotions, depth or clarity.

Newsflash, Mr. Hollywood, my brain doesn't turn off when the thermometer goes up. I may now be slightly out of your target audience age (seeing as I'm 32) but that doesn't mean I don't enjoy a good "blow the world to crap" movie. The conceit going into a summer film is that you're just heading to the theatre to be entertained, to escape the infernal heat and to eat some popcorn-flavored butter, but in the process, shouldn't the movie you're watching be a decent approximation of real life at least in some base, elemental way? Blow up the world, I'm all for it, but give me a thread to hold onto, a character to care about and at least one scene where everyone gets naked.

I'm glad we had this conversation, Hollywood. Call me. We'll do lunch.

Sincerely,

Tod