This past Memorial Day, I crammed myself into one of the 10,000 theatres playing Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End to watch a movie that I was certain would be bad. A.O. Scott called the previous Pirates of the Caribbean, "A film with no particular interest in coherence, economy or feeling," yet I remained unswayed. In fact, I left a barbecue before the meat was cooked just so that I could get good seats.
Had I not been warned by A.O, my boss, and virtually everyone at the barbecue, what I did might have been called an act of heroism. Searching for a plot or even a point in At World's End is kind of like digging for fool's gold. I gave up an hour into the movie and started counting eye patches to pass the time. Yet oddly enough, after the film was over, I left the theatre feeling unsettlingly satisfied. The next day, when I opened the paper and saw how much money At World's End made over Memorial Day weekend, I gushed. Suddenly I realized that I never wanted to see Pirates of the Caribbean. What I wanted was to be a part of the biggest opening in Hollywood history. That's the uncomfortable appeal of the modern Blockbuster. The more money it takes in, the more you want to see it.
That may sound odd, but in reality, it's no stranger than rooting for your favorite Major League team. Over the years both have become increasingly colorless and corporate, yet they still manage to attract legions of fans. And what they lack in personality, they certainly make up for in merchandising. I bet your average mall carries more Shrek stuff toys and Spiderman sheets than they do baseball hats.
These days most blockbusters are overblown franchises, but it wasn't always this way. Take Waterworld, for example. Most people dismissed it because of its $175 million budget, a figure that was considered grotesque at the time. What people failed to realize is that the film's premise -- that our ice caps have all melted, as a result of global warming, and the entire world is now covered with water -- is actually quite forward-thinking. Perhaps too forward-thinking. When Waterworld came out, in 1995, Quentin Tarantino was everyone's favorite director and no one knew what a hybrid car was. Pulp Fiction had just been released, Monica Lewinsky was still working at the White House, and people were still wearing plaid and mourning the death of Kurt Cobain.
Most critics thought Waterworld was over the top, and they were right. If the Earth's ice caps melted, only places like Northern Europe, Bangladesh, the Southeast U.S., and main land China would be underwater. In other words, there'd still be plenty of dry land. When viewed in this light, a movie with dead pirates who act like Keith Richards and wander the ocean in search of gold is much more compelling, and certainly one that merits a budget of over $300 million.
What I've learned from all this Blockbuster business is that Waterworld will always be the poor man's Pirates of the Caribbean because you can't put a price on fantasy. Plus, most people would take a Johnny Depp happy meal toy over a Kevin Costner one any day.