Look, I loved Succession . I cried at Aftersun . I think Beef was a masterpiece. But we have hit a wall of self-importance. Not every show needs to be a trauma study. Not every movie needs to be a silent, 70mm meditation on the nature of rust.
Sometimes, you don’t want a metaphor for the soul-crushing weight of capitalism. Sometimes, you just want to see a car explode in a parking lot. This brings me to the glimmer of hope in the darkness. The hero we didn't know we needed. The Mid-Budget Garbage Fire .
Welcome to the state of entertainment in 2024.
The dialogue is flat. The lighting is overlit to the point of sterility. The actors are beautiful people delivering lines with the emotional cadence of a GPS system. Why? Because the algorithm doesn't like silence. The algorithm doesn't like moral ambiguity. The algorithm likes "viral moments" and "second screen content"—shows you can half-watch while doomscrolling Twitter. Met-Art.13.05.01.Grace.C.Amaran.XXX.IMAGESET-FuGLi
You cannot remember a single character's name from the show you binged last week. Not one. Part II: The Prestige Fatigue (The Flowchart Problem) On the opposite end of the spectrum lies the "Elevated Horror" or the "10-Episode Movie." You know the ones. They star Florence Pugh or Adam Driver. The trailer features a haunting piano cover of a Radiohead song. The runtime is 2 hours and 40 minutes. The plot involves a metaphor for grief, but the metaphor is also a space whale.
The only rebellion left is to be a curator rather than a consumer . Turn off the autoplay. Watch the credits. Watch the bad movie and enjoy it ironically, then un-ironically, then sincerely.
What is the worst (best) Garbage Fire movie you’ve defended this year? Drop it in the comments. I will die on the hill of The Lost City . Look, I loved Succession
There is a specific exhaustion that comes from "Prestige Fatigue." It is the feeling of being assigned homework by the culture. You don't watch Oppenheimer for fun; you watch it to participate in the discourse. We have turned leisure into labor.
Why? Because it is human . The algorithm cannot predict the chaos of a truly bad, truly earnest movie. When you watch Fifty Shades of Grey , you are watching the fever dream of a specific author, not a committee. When you watch Cocaine Bear , you are watching a pitch meeting where someone said "What if..." and no one said "That's stupid."
The Overthinker’s Guide to the Pop Culture Multiverse But we have hit a wall of self-importance
We want the movie where a giant shark eats a helicopter. We want the rom-com where the third-act breakup happens over a misunderstanding that could be solved with a single text message. We want the unhinged Nic Cage performance.
Today, we are going to talk about the three-headed hydra ruining your weekend watchlist: The Algorithmic Slop, The Prestige Fatigue, and the glorious return of the Mid-Budget Garbage Fire. You have seen The Slop . It is the Netflix original movie where the premise is great ("A secret agent amnesiac who is also a baker falls for a rival spy who is also a florist!") but the execution feels like it was written by a committee of SEO specialists.