The Importance of Disappointment
How seeking assurance is killing cinema's mystery
Last week, at the pub where I work, I overheard one man’s review of Arctic Monkey’s recent Glastonbury-headlining set:
“It was awful. Slow and rubbish. I didn’t know half of it. Why didn’t they play their old stuff? Honestly, it would’ve been better if they played I Bet You Look Good on the Dancefloor for two hours.”
I’m a firm believer in low expectations salvaging imperfect art, but based on our tipsy critic, the inverse is also true. He expected an acne-riddled Alex Turner sing-shouting about Sheffield drink prices. He got some new wave crooning about how good documentaries are.
The man wanted Arctic Monkeys to be the same band they were when he was a teenager; rightly or not, he was angry when they weren’t.
I assume he hasn’t listened to either of the band’s two recent albums. If he had, Turner’s Sinatra homage may have proved more palatable; the evening would’ve turned out nicer.
Instead, this man was left with an emotion we, as modern cultural consumers, rarely face: disappointment.
Picture choosing a movie to watch on a quiet weeknight. With infinite options, it can be a daunting task. First is the endless scrolling, hoping this latest scrounge will turn up a gem countless others didn’t. Chances are you formulate a shortlist. Now the real work begins.
You watch the trailers and preview scenes, scope IMDb for the supporting cast, consult Metacritic and Rotten Tomatoes, peruse some Letterboxd reviews, and perhaps text a friend whose opinion you will disregard. Throw in some unsolicited spoilers, and by the end little is left to the imagination.
With your expectations set and surprises avoided, you make your choice, and enjoy your evening.
New releases undergo similar treatment. Studio marketing wizards plaster social media with images, clips, teasers, interviews and on-set exclusives. This builds hype, but it also performs the same banal purpose as your evening research: it sets expectation.
No matter how good a film – or anything – is, nothing will garner bad reviews like being misled. It’s a common refrain within Hollywood. “The studio got the advertising wrong. They didn’t know how to sell it.” Even if you offer Schindler’s List, seats will empty if everyone was expecting Sex and the City 2.
The result of this expectation-setting, of this desire for assurance, is less mystery, and less excitement. When was the last time there was a zeitgeist-busting, Sixth Sense-type twist? A plot point or pivot which is whispered by those in the know, who urge the uninitiated to go watch, so it can be dissected safely.
Only Get Out or Parasite come close, their popularity growing organically, through word-of-mouth, their initial modest releases saving their mystique from advertising over-saturation.
Besides these two films, nothing in recent memory sticks out. Why? People want to know what to expect. They want to know if there’s a twist, if the dog dies, if the movie will make you cry, if a CGI Andrew Garfield reappears in his spandex. And when you expect an emotion, it’s personal – and therefore cultural - impact is lessened.
Studio marketing wizards plaster social media with images, clips, teasers, interviews and on-set exclusives. This builds hype, but it also performs the same banal purpose as your evening research: it sets expectation.
I understand where this need for assurance comes from.
With life becoming increasingly expensive, and free time an ever-rarer commodity, cinema trips or live music has become a treat, not a hobby. And, with current affairs providing regular proof of humanity’s cruelty, people don’t want to spend two hours being disappointed.
It’s why people prefer to stay home and re-watch television series; it’s comforting, it’s cheap, and it doesn’t disappoint.
Not that there’s anything wrong with watching Gilmore Girls for a third time – in fact I encourage it – but it does have downsides.
I recently watched The Card Counter, Paul Schrader’s exploration of the war on terror and PTSD, starring Oscar Isaac as a soldier-turned-gambler. When it was first released I didn’t have much interest, but, having seen and loved Master Gardner, I thought I’d give it a watch.
The film is… strange. Isaac and co-star, Tiffany Haddish, often appear to be acting in different movies. There’s lots of gloomy existentialism, some mopey journal entries, an exploration of the joys of prison, and you’re finally left with the idea that having faith in humanity is wishful thinking. Cheery.
I didn’t love The Card Counter, but it didn’t feel like a waste either.
At the very least, it gave context to the movies I do love, a contrast to make their joy brighter. Every pit requires a peak, every yin a yang, every Alien a House of Gucci.
And, whilst I was largely unmoved, this was undoubtedly the work of a unique filmmaker, 111 minutes of their vision. I had taken a (minor) risk, and seen something.
It was like sampling a foreign delicacy, something complex, interesting, but not quite to my taste. You wouldn’t eat one meal for the rest of your life; why would you watch just one type of movie?
I’m not advocating foregoing Netflix and studying Luis Buñuel when you get home from work. But, brief variation can only be good.
I also believe we have a responsibility as an audience to occasionally wander from the comfort zone. Studios are more than happy to regurgitate ideas and concepts, to flood the market with entertainment mayonnaise.
We have to vote with our wallets, to keep asking for strange ideas, things we don’t even know we want. Forget Hologram Harrison Ford and the Ghost of Shia LaBeouf. We want risk. We want invention.
And, if it sucks, or we don’t like it, it’s not the end of the world. We can always squeeze in an episode of Gilmore Girls before bed.