Studio Executives are Failing Film Lovers

Travel with me: It’s January 3, 2013. I’m meeting a boy named Josh for dinner at my favorite Thai restaurant before the 6:15 showing of Life of Pi at the Esquire Theatre next door—a movie that despite being released two months earlier, we still have no problem finding a showing for. We’re the only people in the restaurant, but the movie is sold out, so we hurry through our Pad Thai and rush to the theater, sitting between two solo movie-goers. Afterwards, we walk to Sitwell’s Café, a late-night coffeehouse, and we find a booth at the very back. We spend the next two hours talking about the movie, if either of us liked it, where it ranks for us in Ang Lee’s filmography (Sense & Sensibility being my favorite, Brokeback Mountain his) until the conversation moves seamlessly into our general love of movies: our fondest theater memories, the movies that molded us, that brought us to this very moment.

Two years later, on our anniversary, after dinner and a showing of The Theory of Everything at that same theater, Josh asks me to marry him—in part with a montage of some of cinema’s most romantic moments. I was destined to be with someone who loves movies as much as I do.

Smash cut to today: While my love of film has endured for my nearly 36 years of life, a cynicism about the industry has blossomed within me, driven by the capitalist, self-aggrandizing decision making of studio executives that look to change how we make and watch movies, and not always for the better.

Last week, it was announced that Netflix would buy Warner Bros. in a deal valued at $82.7 billion. At the time of writing this, Paramount has stepped back into the conversation with a hostile offer. Reactions from this merger have rippled beyond the Hollywood hills, where even the most casual movie-goer recognizes the problems within such a deal. There are countless concerns for those from within the industry (as official statements from SAG-AFTRA, the Writers Guild of America, and the Producers Guild of America would suggest), and for those working to bring us our favorite films and television, this deal is truly the difference between working in a field they love or having to make life-changing pivots. I cannot speak to those valid and important concerns. But I can speak as someone who has spent countless hours of his life sitting in a dark theater, surrounded by friends and strangers, marveling at the history I’m participating in.

Netflix co-CEO Ted Sarandos has long shared the belief that audiences (or “consumers,” as he loves to describe us) would prefer to watch movies at home over going to the theater. He claims, also, that this deal would still allow movies to have theatrical releases, though those windows of time would continue to get smaller, before they would then go on to be released on NetWarnBO (just spit balling possible names here). I would urge caution in believing this, for Sarandos is a man who manipulates an atmosphere so that something is made true instead of being true.

In reality, audiences continue to prove that there is a hunger for the theatrical experience. Let’s look at some recent examples. Against a budget of somewhere between $36–51 million, Five Nights at Freddy’s 2 has already made $109.1 million in its first weekend at the box office—a sequel whose predecessor was also a surprise commercial success. Zootopia 2 has made $915 million against a $150 million budget. Wicked: For Good had the best preview screenings of the year and topped the domestic and international box office the first weekend in theaters, surpassing Wicked: Part One and becoming the highest opening weekend for a Broadway musical adaptation. Earlier this year, Sinners outperformed projections in its opening weekend with a $48 million debut and was the best opening weekend for an original script since 2019’s Us. Sinners also garnered that near-impossible feat of word-of-mouth popularity, which helped it maintain momentum at the box office, becoming the first original film since Pixar's Coco to make over $200 million at the domestic box office.

But wait, there’s more! In a 2024 interview, Sarandos suggested that there’s no reason to believe Barbie and Oppenheimer wouldn’t have been just as big had they premiered on streaming services. Disregarding the fact that a weak hypothetical is not reason enough to forcefully change the landscape of the film industry, there’s also no reason to believe this is true. Look at Dune, for example. Upon its U.S. release, Dune: Part One was simultaneously released in theaters and streaming on (the artist formerly known as) HBOMax on October 21, 2021. The film would go on to gross $411 million at the box office against a budget of $165 million. A success no doubt, though not quite the splash it was assumed to make, due to its A-list cast, esteemed director, and beloved composer. But still, a sequel was greenlit, and Dune: Part Two premiered exclusively in theaters (no simultaneous stream drop) on March 1, 2024, and would go on to make $714 million against a budget of $190 million—surpassing its predecessor by hundreds of millions and becoming a cultural phenomenon.

Sarandos’ suggestion that Netflix also releases movies in theaters so there’s no need for alarm ignores nuance. Every theatrical Netflix release is swift, in few markets, with hardly any marketing push, only to then release online for Netflix to point to how much better it’s doing now than in theaters. The first time I saw a trailer for their movie Train Dreams, the film had already been in and out of theaters and was only available near me on streaming. Frankenstein, too. You can’t put every roadblock up to make it as hard as possible to see a film in theaters and then say you have the data to back up that audiences are done with the theater experience. But I don’t want to talk about money and numbers anymore, because it feels gross and movies are more than what they can make financially.

In sociology, there’s this concept of the third place—places that are not home or the office, but public spaces to gather in community with others. They are necessary for a thriving society. The movie theater has been my chosen third place for as long as I can remember. Every birthday since I was 10 has been spent at the theater. As an adult, my best friends gather for the latest releases and spend an hour afterwards standing outside discussing it. On our honeymoon in London, Josh and I saw Arrival twice, and internationally texted our best friends that they had to go see it in theaters before we got back so we could talk about it. Just this past weekend, Josh and our friend Margie went to see Hamnet at a sold-out showing, and the only sound beyond that of the movie anyone could hear was the collective emotion we all felt, soft cries and sniffling noses. As the credits rolled, most of us couldn’t get up, overcome with what we’d just experienced together. Finally, we did, and even in 20-degree weather, the three of us stood outside and discussed as I watched fellow red-eyed audience members head to their cars in heavy silence. I will never forget seeing this movie in theaters.

The theater is more than just a vehicle through which we experience film. It’s where we experience camaraderie and community. It’s the place where I fell in love with my husband, where my friends and family most understand who I am. It’s where the cashier who hands us our tickets tells us, “You both look so handsome!” every time we see her. It’s where we waited for hours before Star Wars: The Force Awakens to get the seats we wanted (years before assigned seating) for Star Wars-obsessed Josh’s birthday. It’s where we would see it again with his parents, who would clap out loud when Rey force-grabs the lightsaber, starting a chain reaction of the entire audience applauding that moment. It's where we would see it again with my parents, where I would look over to see tears well up in my father's eyes at the opening scroll, in awe that we were experiencing this new chapter together. Seeing the theatrical experience as a bygone nuisance that audiences don’t want is lazy, untrue, and reminds me that those at the very top have no interest in art in its fullness.

Earlier I said I couldn’t comment on the concerns of those who work in film about a merger such as this one, so you might be wondering, “Who even is this guy?” True, I don’t work in film. I’m not an industry insider; I’m not a screenwriter; I’ve never been a PA or visited a set. I’m no one, really. Except I am also you. I am someone who saw Whale Rider with his grandparents when he was 12 years old at the same theater where more than a decade later he would go on that first date with his future-husband. I am someone who looks for the theater in every city he visits, every vacation he takes. I am someone who took his mom to see Greta Gerwig’s Little Women for her birthday and La La Land for Mother’s Day. I am someone whose parents call him in the car on the way home from every movie they go to. I am someone who found himself at the theater. I am someone who hopes to see you there soon.