The Loss of Something Essential

Every generation leaves something behind, not only in the work it produces, but in the standards it establishes, the stories it tells, and the expectations it passes on. Perhaps part of what we’re witnessing now is the gradual disappearance of a particular kind of craftsmanship, once understood and appreciated as an essential part of the creative process. And perhaps the more troubling question isn’t simply what we’re losing, but whether we’ve even noticed what has taken its place.

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It’s been a particularly sad week for fans of Star Trek. Walter Koenig and Sir Patrick Stewart passed away within a few days of each other. I was taken aback by the latter, as I wrote about in “What We Leave Behind.” But there’s a bigger-picture issue here that I’ve seen a few concerned and observant people address, through tributes and elsewhere.

There’s a certain quality, caliber, and standard of craft that is fading as these generational talents pass on. When someone such as Sir Patrick is gone, what we lose is a kind of talent that seems to be disappearing from screens in particular, though perhaps it also affects the stage. I don’t know, as I’m not privy to that world, nor am I able to visit such places or take in the world-class productions offered on Broadway, at The Old Vic, or by The RSC. What I do know is that when an actor is able to bridge the gap and find their way into television or film, they tend to bring with them something that is woefully lacking in the vast majority of “talent” I’ve seen in recent years, perhaps decades. There’s a seriousness, a commitment, a depth of training and understanding, and an appreciation of the craft that seem to be missing from so much of what passes for acting on screen today. Beyond that, there are broader issues with writing, casting, and the seeming priorities of producers in general. The ideological miasma of a worldwide “progressive liberal” or “woke” signal that pervades modernity has poisoned the well, and its effects are as clear as day. The industry has faltered, and institutions such as Hollywood are collapsing under the weight of their own ignorance and hubris.

And perhaps this is precisely what’s needed.

They can look to the wholesale digitization of the industry as a paradigm shift. It’s true, but we’re decades into it now, so that’s no excuse. The age-old “fix it in post” is perhaps easier, but the hearts and minds of the people making those decisions in those rooms are still influenced by the zeitgeist, the financiers, and the producer clique. That’s the same as it ever was.

They can claim that a novel imposition such as AI is a threat. Perhaps, but as with any of these technological advancements that disrupt the status quo, once the nonsensical and overbearing hype fades away, their utility is simply integrated into the production pipeline, and things carry on largely as they did before. So it’s a bullshit story that this is suddenly the worst-case scenario, when the foundation had been cracking and crumbling for years before this.

The infestation of wokeness and other ideological toxicity is plainly the infection that keeps undermining any rebalancing of the equations. On top of that, a generation of contemptuous, arrogant, seemingly oblivious producers, executives, writers, and directors — who, in my opinion, really have no right to occupy the positions they’ve been installed in — has been running roughshod, rampaging through and mindlessly corrupting, disrespecting, dismantling, and effectively destroying cherished, beloved, and incredibly valuable franchises as if they’re untouchable. Someone decided this was the way things would go. Someone funded it, promoted it, acknowledged it, accepted and endorsed it. The trouble is that when these megacorporations don’t care about losing money, ideology and politics win out. Not the production or the audience. Not the fans, nor the next generation that has just found their way into a series or film franchise their parents fell in love with years ago, only to be slapped in the face with what this generation’s asinine contributions have done to it.

It’s the same in the music industry. It’s the same in literature and book publishing. The kids are finding the classics, the time-tested but not necessarily time-worn, and falling in love with them, primarily because they had soul. Creating them was difficult, sometimes nearly impossible, requiring sacrifice, years of training, countless failures, and, in some cases, extreme hardship. Even then, some struggled to find an audience. It’s not always the case, but we’ve all found gems over the years that pleasantly surprised us, and some of these world-class talents were part of what made them.

Today’s offerings — and again, it’s easy to blame AI or laziness, ennui, or apathy for all the derivative work and filler slop — are easily forgotten, sometimes as soon as their minor blip fades from the radar of anyone who might have been interested or curious about them. Sure, some of that is related to the erosion of our attention spans in recent decades. Some of it is simply the glut of low-quality yet highly promoted content we’re forced to comb through to find something actually worth watching.

Some of it is simply the numbing of the senses that comes from the endless barrage of messaging that tells us what’s important and why we should be paying attention to it.

Regardless, without massive budgets and blanket exposure, it’s very rare that anyone of any quality or caliber gets noticed. So, as is natural, the spotlight falls back on the local scene, the homespun talent, the independents, those who simply keep writing, creating, performing, filming, editing, producing, and publishing — regardless of what the mainstream market and mass-merger, billion-dollar gatekeepers present.

When we lose actors such as Patrick Stewart, Tim Curry, Robert Duvall, Catherine O’Hara, Anthony Head, Sam Neill, and Tom Skerritt, among others — and those are just the losses from this year alone — we lose more and more of an essential ingredient in the grand narrative-making machine: storytellers and scene-stealers who stand for something, who prioritize the importance of story, and who protect the integrity, authenticity, and relatability of their characters. These are artists who have touched the lives of millions throughout their careers, many of whom had entire careers before they ever became famous and established legacies that will long outlive them.

And perhaps my perspective is a little skewed because I’m not exposed to as many films as I used to be. I’ve rarely gone to a theater to see a movie since the bullshit of the lockdowns and worldwide industrial sabotage of 2020. With the proliferation of streaming services, legit or otherwise, there’s also been a shift toward episodic content over cinema. “They” converted us to preferring on-demand, at-home entertainment, and now wonder why traditional venues are collapsing or going bankrupt. I don’t see the ads, trailers, posters, and other promotional offerings that used to filter into my conscious space as they did even a decade ago, and I rarely, if ever, look forward to anything on offer from Hollywood or its ilk. I don’t think I’m alone in feeling that we’ve lost something significant of the spirit of filmdom and entertainment in general over recent decades.

There isn’t any one issue to point at here. It’s industry-wide. It’s generational, and it’s widespread. There are, of course, many great films and shows still being produced, but we have to actively go looking for them, sometimes by narrowing the avenues and platforms we turn to. Everyone knows the feeling of signing on to a service such as Netflix, scrolling around for an impossible amount of time, and still not being able to find anything to watch. Perhaps it’s the paradox of choice. Perhaps it’s the fatigue of being force-fed content that looks impressive and engaging but still manages to inject “the message” and, yet again, sully and sour the experience. We’re gun-shy in a way, because the choice to commit to something novel or interesting can become a colossal waste of time halfway through. We’re already easily distracted, terrible at managing our time, and poor at prioritizing what’s important in our lives. We’re doubly offended when we finally click or tap on something that was marketed as one thing but turned out to be something awful, insulting to our sensibilities, or simply watered down and derivative.

Maybe that’s where this leaves us. We can mourn the passing of these artists, and we should, but we can also recognize what their work represented and refuse to accept that it was some antiquated standard the industry has simply outgrown. There are still people making worthwhile things, often outside the machinery that dominates the conversation and captures our attention, and there are audiences willing to find them.

We don’t need another billion-dollar franchise or another carefully manufactured cultural event. As ever, we need good stories, real, human stories. Stories created by people who know and love their craft, who are willing to sacrifice tremendously for it, and who have the conviction to make something with a little soul. Something that touches us deeply, moves us profoundly, and enlivens the spirit. Something that rattles our cage and shakes us meaningfully to the core.

The rest is noise, and noise, no matter how loudly or expensively it’s amplified, has never been a substitute for substance.

Ars longa, vita brevis