Entry 26: The Death of Narrative - Hollywood's Apocalyptic Obsession
Author: Professor Bartholomew Barrington III, Esq.
It is a rare occurrence that I find myself in agreement with Shane, a man who consistently demonstrates the intellectual depth of a garden trowel. Yet, even a broken, illiterate clock is right twice a day. Both he and Tall God share my profound disdain for modern Hollywood's reliance on universal stakes, a phenomenon that has entirely eroded the concept of meaningful storytelling.
There was a time when narrative tension was derived from character. A protagonist wanted something—love, redemption, a sum of money, survival—and obstacles were placed in their path. The stakes were personal. If the protagonist failed, their world ended.
Modern cinema, particularly the bloated, CGI-laden monstrosities churned out by superhero franchises, has completely abandoned this principle. The stakes are no longer personal; they are apocalyptic. The antagonist does not want to ruin the protagonist's life; the antagonist wants to destroy the city, the planet, the universe, or, in the most egregious examples of narrative bankruptcy, the "multiverse."
The Inflation of Consequence
This escalation of consequence is a substitute for actual character development. Writers, lacking the skill or the inclination to make the audience care about the protagonist's emotional state, instead threaten the audience with the destruction of everything. "If you do not care about this man in the spandex suit," the film screams, "you must at least care about the eradication of the galaxy!"
It is a cheap, manipulative tactic, and it fails fundamentally because of a simple truth: We cannot comprehend universal destruction.
We can comprehend the loss of a job. We can comprehend the death of a loved one. We can comprehend a broken heart. We cannot comprehend the instantaneous vaporization of eight billion people. When the stakes are everything, they become nothing. The threat of global annihilation is so vast, so abstract, that it ceases to be frightening. It becomes white noise.
The Invulnerability of the Protagonist
Furthermore, apocalyptic stakes destroy tension because the outcome is predetermined. If the antagonist wants to steal the protagonist's fortune, there is a genuine possibility they might succeed. A story can end with the hero penniless but wiser.
If the antagonist wants to destroy the universe, we know with absolute certainty they will fail. The studio is not going to end a billion-dollar franchise by obliterating reality. The protagonist is draped in plot armor thick enough to withstand a nuclear blast. We are merely watching a spectacular, deafening pantomime where the conclusion is guaranteed.
The Return to the Personal
The greatest stories ever told are small. A man descending into madness out of jealousy. A family tearing itself apart over an inheritance. A detective trying to solve a single, sordid murder. These stories resonate because they are human.
When a film threatens to destroy the world, it is admitting defeat. It is confessing that it has nothing interesting to say about the people living in it.
I must now go and attempt to explain this concept to Shane, though I fear it will be like trying to teach calculus to a particularly stubborn piece of moss.