Films to Make Your Dad Glad
Why dad-cinema is the antidote for superhero fanboys
Our lives are filled with gentle reminders of the passing of time. A parent’s birthday, or the first blossoms of spring. The retrieval of a winter coat. The buying of new school shoes. And, recently, Martin Scorsese pissing off comic book movie geeks.
This new, biennial tradition began in 2019 when the Academy Award-winning director incited fanboy rage by comparing the Marvel Cinematic Universe to theme park rides. Then came his excellent 2021 essay for Harper’s Magazine, which used the films of Federico Fellini to illustrate cinema’s decline.
And now, in 2023, he’s done it again. Last month, in an interview with GQ, Scorsese bemoaned cinema’s slide into that most evil of media: content.
It is a mammoth interview, in which possibly the most influential living director – sitting pretty at 80 years-old – candidly discuses belonging, loneliness, the meaning of existence, mentorship, his relationship with the studio system, and death.
Yet, what stuck in the craw of the Disciples of Ironman is three paragraphs in which Scorsese discusses their spandex numen. And, sure as Joss Whedon’s quippy dialogue, the soft brains responded.
Social media was awash with backlash, influencers spewing in that breathless, insincere tone messages which can be distilled as:
“Fuck Scorceyse. U see the film where he CGI-ed Al Pacino’s face? srry I want to watch movies from THIS CENTURY. Go watch another boring six-hour Russian film about abortion, Martin”.
Or there is this interaction with film critic John DiLillo:
There is a broader point to be made that, with fascism rising rapidly almost everywhere, such distaste for art which barely differs from hegemonic culture is a terrifying trend.
Beyond this, these trolls are just wrong. They have mischaracterised auteurs[1] and, by extension, cinema itself.
A colleague recently told me they would love to watch Citizen Kane, if it weren’t for the film being three hours long. When I informed them Orson Welles’s crown jewel clocks in at just under two hours - and is thrillingly paced - they were surprised.
There is an assumption that the oeuvre of cinema is solely populated with interminable black-and-white recordings of people weeping or shovelling human by-product. Some of it is. But far from all of it.
In fact, most comic book adaptions lean heavily on cinema’s back catalogue. The Batman is a reimagined 1940s film noir. The Joker repackages the anti-heroes which dominated the American films of the 1970s. Even Spider-Man: Homecoming borrows liberally from John Hughes’s 1980s coming-of-age offerings – although whether these have entered the canon of cinema is debatable.
Cinema does not have to be dour, which is why I find the dismissal of Scorsese so frustrating. There is nothing wrong with escapism, and entertainment. This isn’t the criticism Scorsese is levelling; there is nothing inherently wrong with theme park rides.
The problem is when entertainment comes at the expense of a creative soul, whilst also monopolising the film landscape. This is what the Marvel Cinematic Universe and its imitators have done.
Thankfully, I think I have a solution. If it is untaxing, yet creatively charged films you are after, look no further. For your consideration: dad-cinema.
The best way to define dad-cinema is with reference to the more familiar term which is its originator, dad-rock. Dad-rock, first notably used to describe Wilco’s 2007 album Sky Blue Sky, describes music which is straightforward, palatable, popular, and perhaps slightly uncool. Think of the indie poster boys of yesteryear who now populate pub Spotify playlists: Pearl Jam, Pavement, Foo Fighters, even The Police, or Simon & Garfunkel.
This is the rough formulation of dad-cinema; accessible, quality films which happily leave the wheel un-reinvented. And, while gauging whether an artist qualifies as dad-rock can be tricky, determining a film’s dad-cinema credentials is far simpler.
Let us take Inside Man, Spike Lee’s 2006 hostage-heist film starring Denzel Washington and Clive Owen, possibly the locus classicus of dad-cinema. (For those interested, I have compiled a short list of some of my favourites, to peruse at your leisure). And, if you’ll excuse my amateur film studies, let start with genre.
Dad-cinema is the stuff of spy thrillers, of police procedurals, of war zones, of gangster flicks and, as in Inside Man, of bank robberies. Rarely, there may be political espionage (The Ides of March), whistle-blowing (The Insider), or historical dramatisation (Lincoln), but there must otherwise be the potential of “action”.
These are technical worlds, littered with jargon, and dad-cinema must have reverence for this detail. In Inside Man, someone had certainly done their research on police protocol. Blast shields are held correctly, radio codes are delivered in a professional monotone, service weapons are given their full names.
This exactness contributes to a tenet of dad-cinema: a tone of seriousness. These films must occur in reality, the laws of the physical and practical world consistently obeyed. This is dad-cinema’s key differentiating factor from its cousin, bro-cinema. Inception, with its magical realism, or Fight Club’s hallucinating insomniacs do not qualify.
A dad-cinema film should never be too high-concept, or open to interpretation. This is about things being done, not what they mean. Similarly, there can be no hint of whimsy or camp in these films’ style. Forget the sexy undertones of Out of Sight, or the jukebox satire of Trainspotting; this is filmmaking with invisible stitching. There is no room for playfulness.
Whilst accuracy is paramount, plausibility is certainly not. Would Denzel Washington and Clive Owen’s characters have a sexy face-to-face pow-wow about morality in the middle of a hostage situation? Probably not. Do they? Of course.
Cinema does not have to be dour, which is why I find the dismissal of Scorsese so frustrating. There is nothing wrong with escapism, and entertainment. This isn’t the criticism Scorsese is levelling; there is nothing inherently wrong with theme park rides.
At this point it is worth noting that I love dad-cinema. Of course I do, I am the genre’s ideal demographic. These films deal with serious, imperfect men, who overcome adversity to prove themselves incredibly capable.
Denzel Washington’s character in Inside Man may have taken a bribe from a criminal informant, but my word can he handle himself in a hostage situation. The female voice and agency are, as a by-product, often peripheral. Jodie Foster’s cameo as a political manipulator may well be compelling, but it is a mere ripple in the sea of Inside Man’s under-developed female characters.
Dad-cinema should be watched with this in mind. It may well render the films unwatchable for many, a totally legitimate view. But if you can – and want to –compartmentalise, you’ll find what so many people believe is missing in cinema.
These are films filled with the good stuff: strong lead performances, interesting character roles, high-tension, expertly choreographed set-pieces, all wrapped up in an uncomplicated plot and digestible style. Look at the masters of dad-cinema: Michael Mann, Tony Scott, even Scorsese himself. These men – and they are invariably men – are able to drizzle their films with the unmistakable honey of cinema.
Again, this is why I find the fanboys so frustrating, as if there is no wiggle room between high art and mass-produced content. That is a strawman argument, and its lazy.
Because if its escapism you want, there’s plenty of good stuff out there. Just look for Denzel Washington and a 7.6 IMDB rating. If you do, maybe Scorsese can finally have a year off.
[1] Yes, I know auteur theory is flawed and fails to represent the collaborative art form of cinema, but you get my drift.