Nostalgia as a Narcotic
“‘Remember when’ is the lowest form of conversation.” - Tony Soprano, The Sopranos, “Remember When,” Season 6, Episode15
“…don’t you think it’s (nostalgia) quite a powerful narcotic on offer right now?” - James K. A. Smith, The Trinity Forum, “Online Conversation: How to Inhabit Time with James K. A. Smith”
If you’ve smoked cigarettes for any length of time, you can understand how someone could develop a dependence on them. We could say the same for alcohol, drugs, or other substances. But can we make a case for an addiction to nostalgia?
The Merriam-Webster Dictionary defines nostalgia as “a wistful or excessively sentimental yearning for return to or of some past period or irrecoverable condition.” That definition is loaded with potential rabbit trails and almost demands definitions within definitions, or at least a few clarifications, but let’s embrace it at face value. Let’s also simplify it to something more manageable:
Nostalgia is something from my past that gives me comfort.
Nostalgia can manifest itself in many forms: the music we listen to (sometimes embarrassing), the way we dress (frequently embarrassing), and the movies we watch. Retro fashions and music can carry certain levels of acceptability. But movie lovers don’t necessarily have to turn on TCM or revisit the films of their favorite classic film stars to embrace nostalgia. All we need to do is walk into our local theater.
We can look at the top 10 box office winners from 2023 and see what movies Americans have paid to see in theaters. All ten of them are sequels or remakes. Depending on how many years must pass for a film to be considered “nostalgic,” we could make a reasonable case for each one, with the possible exception of John Wick: Chapter 4, based on a character who first appeared onscreen just ten years ago in 2014. Avatar: The Way of Water is the long-awaited (or long-dreaded) sequel to Avatar (2009), so if 14 years is adequate time for nostalgia to develop, so be it. Fast X is 22 years removed from The Fast and the Furious (2001), which seems a reasonable amount of time.
Let’s continue: Creed III is based on characters introduced in Rocky (1976), The Little Mermaid breathes live-action life into an animated film from 1989, and Mario, from The Super Mario Bros. Movie, dates back to 1981. The remainder of the top 10 consists of one movie based on a toy from 1984 (Transformers: Rise of the Beasts) and others derived from comic book characters such as Spider-Man (first appearance in 1962), Ant-Man (also 1962), and the Guardians of the Galaxy, whose characters are, in more ways than one, all over the time spectrum.
Want to look at the first half of 2024? Things look a little better with only seven sequels and remakes: Dune: Part Two, Inside Out 2, Godzilla x Kong: The New Empire, Kung Fu Panda 4, Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes, Bad Boys: Ride or Die, and Ghostbusters: Frozen Empire. (We have some originality with IF, Bob Marley: One Love, and The Fall Guy rounding out the top 10.)
Clearly, American moviegoers are addicted to nostalgia.
But why does nostalgia work for movie audiences? And when is enough enough?
Let’s take a deeper look at nostalgia itself. We often want to recapture a good feeling we experienced 10, 20, or more years ago. But we can’t do it. You and I are not the same people we were 20 years ago. We’re not even the same people we were yesterday. Yet it’s not a question of who we were yesterday or even in decades past. It’s a question of how you relate to your past. We have certain memories of those times when something made us feel good or gave us comfort, but we can’t always trust those memories. It’s not that we’re necessarily lying to ourselves (although that’s possible), but that we’re remembering only part of what actually happened. As philosopher James K. A. Smith discusses in his book How to Inhabit Time: Understanding the Past, Facing the Future, Living Faithfully Now (2022), the problem with nostalgia is not what it remembers. The problem is what it actively forgets.
Usually (but not always) feelings of nostalgia take us back to a time when we were under little pressure, not having to make crucial decisions that affected our lives or the lives of our loved ones, and were generally not faced with stressful situations.
In short, we were kids.
Kids and adults tend to remember the good times, even if we willingly reinvent them or simply suppress the not-so-good times. We like to think we lived through a Golden Age where everything worked perfectly, everyone flourished, and the brotherhood of man reigned supreme, but if we’re honest, we know that didn’t happen. We romanticize the past, and in doing so, we become selective. You could say we’re the editors of our own movies, deciding what to include in the documentaries of our lives and what to leave on the cutting room floor. Our self-edited stories are what we’re left with, and when we’re engaged with the past and works from the past, we’re engaging in an environment we can control.
The people making the big decisions at movie studios understand that. They’re trying to show audiences who grew up enjoying franchise movies that they haven’t forgotten about us when it’s really our money they haven’t forgotten about. In most cases, those executives will play it safe, not upsetting expectations very much. They know what you want, and they’re going to give it to you with no major surprises, curveballs, or bombshells. And not much innovation.
Let’s take as an example Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny (2023), a sequel starring the actor who began playing the lead in that series over 40 years ago. Disney knew that Harrison Ford and his character were both beloved figures, and the combination that brought in close to $2 billion at the box office had one more shot.
Yet the filmmakers understood they would have to take some serious steps in addressing the suspension of disbelief, i.e. an 80-year-old Harrison Ford. The whip doesn’t snap with quite the same sharpness, the punches don’t have the youthful power behind them, and the voice has lost much of its vigor. “It’s not the years, honey. It’s the mileage.”
You can say that again.
But let’s face it, Ford was 80 years old when Dial of Destiny was released. The average life expectancy for Americans when Raiders of the Lost Ark was filmed was 74 years. But people love Ford as Indy, so let’s use some very expensive de-aging technology, shoot most of those scenes in the dark to cover up the fact that the digital shenanigans still look unconvincing, and hope fans will buy it. And let’s also bring back Nazis, a new kid sidekick, physics-defying chase scenes, and some creepy crawlies. And while we’re at it, let’s drop in John Rhys-Davies (then 79) and Karen Allen (then 71).
Yet we need something fresh, so let’s add a new character: Helena Shaw (Phoebe Waller-Bridge), Indy’s goddaughter and an archeologist. (Convenient, right? “Hey,” thinks Disney, “maybe we can keep this thing going!”) Does Helena want to help Jones in this new adventure, or does she have something else in mind? This mystery element is welcome but doesn’t warrant enough interest when stacked up against the massive nostalgia machine that only provides limited wiggle room.
Dial of Destiny as a film took very few risks because the producers knew there was too much riding on the venture. When there’s too much money at stake, we have to give audiences what they want. If we do that, the money will start pouring in.
But it didn’t pour in. Dial of Destiny covered its $300 million budget (which some have speculated was probably closer to $400 million), a showing that easily categorizes the film as a box office dud and a financial failure. As far as the industry is concerned, movies need to make 2.5 times their budgets to “break even.” Dial of Destiny would have needed an additional $750 million at the box office for that to happen.
Willie Scott (Kate Capshaw) in Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom (1984) couldn’t have said it better: “We’re not sinking, we’re crashing.”
While Disney was counting on the nostalgia factor to bring in huge crowds, most people who saw the original trilogy as youngsters are now in their 50s or older. Although it’s not always the case, people in that demographic usually don’t take that many trips to the movie theater.
But why do superhero movies still pack in audiences?
Nostalgia works differently here, and in some ways, not at all. Spider-Man and Iron Man have been around for over 60 years. Captain America, Superman, and Batman, even longer than that. How have these characters remained relevant in our time?
Part of the reason is that the actors playing them are interchangeable. Those movies are more about the character than the actor. Many of these superheroes are masked, so who really cares who’s behind the mask? Other characters are given so much CGI treatment that the actors playing (or voicing) them become a moot point.
But another factor is the characters’ ability to transcend time. You can set your superhero movies in the 1940s, 2024, or 5024, it doesn’t matter. People of practically any age can find an entry point into these universes, either with the comics or movies (or the merchandise). Yes, these characters transcend time, but they also never die. Sure, we’ve seen characters perish occasionally, but there’s usually a resurrection right around the corner, regardless of its believability. Yet if the heroes never die, is there really anything at stake? No, which is why we can argue about how long superhero movies will continue to rule the box office, but that’s another discussion for another time.
The immediate problem with nostalgia in movies is economic. Americans have simply not returned in full force to movie theaters since the pandemic. In 2022, moviegoers in the U.S. and Canada spent $7.3 billion at the box office, 40% less than in 2019. People are staying home to stream their movies and shows. In many cases, you can view a current theatrical release in your home for much less than it would cost to take your family to the movies. Plus, you don’t have to deal with people talking during the film, playing with their phones, and providing other distractions. (To be fair, they might do those things at home, too.)
Compounding the situation, the number of movie venues continues to shrink. Even some avid movie lovers may think, “So what? I can still access plenty of movies without the hassle of going to a theater.”
Yet part of the nostalgia factor comes from a communal movie-going experience, something you cannot replicate on a large scale in your home. Capturing the thrills, horrors, laughs, tears, and applause of a packed theater in your living room or basement just isn’t possible or practical. Perhaps those former times were more memorable when the person sitting next to you wasn’t talking or texting on his phone, surfing the web, or looking up an actor on IMDb. The nostalgia factor is strong, but we also yearn for the social stability we experienced in theaters. We can’t help it, it’s how we’re wired. If we’re not careful, the only places you’ll be able to find such communal movie solidarity will be libraries, museums, and any independent movie theaters you’re lucky enough to find.
Let’s also remember that nostalgia has been around practically forever. I’m sure there was a time when people lamented the fact that loud, ugly, and much-too-fast automobiles replaced horse-drawn carriages, that men from every walk of life wore suits and hats daily, and that radio was clearly the best possible form of entertainment. What hurts is being in the moment when the change occurs and seeing the progression from the way things are to where they are headed. You’re helpless to stop it. When the things we love slip away, all the grasping in the world becomes laughably futile.
If that vanishing act is what we’re facing with movie theaters, it’s unfortunate, but it’s just one compartment on the never-ending nostalgia train. People still pay good money to see rock stars in their 80s, still scour antique shops and eBay for items from their youth, and still seek out decades-old fashions, vinyl records, and Polaroid cameras, so why wouldn’t they pay for movies that play on that same craving for nostalgia?
If nostalgia is our narcotic, then perhaps there’s no cure. And if the suits at the movie studios can’t meet that craving, we’ll always have the original movies if we’ve held on to our physical media, and if we have something to play them on (another argument for another time). Even if we don’t, we’ll always have our memories of those films (as long as our memories are working).
We must also realize that the movies being released now will someday become someone else’s nostalgia. Perhaps part of the cure for nostalgia addiction comes from learning how to appreciate and value what’s being produced today. For some, that will be a tall order, and some won’t be willing to take that challenge. But the movies, as much as they’re often reluctant about taking risks, are also about taking chances. When we decide to step out of our comfort zones, it’s like we’re entering a world where we don’t speak the language, don’t understand the customs, and - scariest of all - a place where we aren’t wanted. Yet good movies are still being made, and going to the movies can still be a communal experience. The majority of the people I’ve encountered are more than willing to invite you to join them.
So hang on to your nostalgia and enjoy it, but don’t become addicted. Now and then, step into something different, something really new. Take a chance, even if most movie studios won’t. Some filmmakers out there are taking risks. Is it too much to ask that our audiences do the same?