reduce, reuse, recycle

In a time when our country is beset by war, political scandal, and popular unrest, it's good to know that Hollywood is still able to focus on the issues that really matter: namely, its so-called box office slump. A slump in which the film industry makes a slightly less obscene amount of money than usual. Countless articles and exposes have been devoted to analyses and investigations of the slump: why is it happening and who is to blame? Do Americans not want to deal in frivolity in this time of terror and turmoil? What about the effects of piracy? Or, worse, television?

The most common explanation, however, seems pretty plausible: movies have fucking sucked lately. Studios have abandoned original material and are instead churning out remake after remake - pissing off the public in the process.

But, you know, maybe this is a little unfair. Maybe we should cut Hollywood a little slack - after all, it's possible that there is a noble, underlying reason for all this. I mean, Hollywood types are totally progressive and political, right? So maybe we should just consider the possibility that the current repurposing trend is just part of a larger Green initiative, a form of creative environmentalism. Their philosophy is probably something like why waste our precious, diminishing creative resources on new ideas when there are so many old ideas just sitting there, waiting to be reused? It is our job - nay, it is our patriotic duty to protect our strategic idea reserve.

It's possible. And it's actually sort of comforting.

At least until you realize that it would logically follow that it is also our patriotic duty as moviegoers to support something like, oh, I don't know: The Pink Panther.

The sad reality is that the nitwits in charge of coming up with new ideas in Hollywood are lazy-ass, risk-averse motherfuckers. And, so, for the past few years, the moviegoing public has been subjected to crappy remake after crappy remake. The Stepford Wives, for instance, was a totally humorless remake of a cultural touchstone. The Truth About Charlie was about as worthy as successor to Charade as, well, Mark Wahlberg is to Cary Grant. And as for Yours, Mine, and Ours? Consider this: it's not just that one person green-lit that project that's horrifying. Actual dozens of people thought that movie was a good idea.

Television, too, has provided ample fodder for Cro-Magnon cinematic upchuck: Bewitched, The Dukes of Hazzard, Scooby-Doo. Not to mention the big-screen adaptation of Dallas, the latest atrocity-to-be. At this point, I have to believe that it's only a matter of time before some genius studio exec decides to stick Jessica Alba and Vince Vaughn in a feature-length adaptation of Roseanne. With Jamie-Lynn Spears as Darlene, natch.

(If that ever happens, I will give up. Just, you know, on the world at large.)

As underwhelmed as I am, however, on a basic, economic sort of level, I get it. Remakes have an existing audience and an established formula. You may not make as much money with a mediocre remake as with an exciting new original, but, on the other hand, you can only fuck up so bad. Even if it sucks (which it probably will), I imagine that it's unlikely you're going to lose much money. Unless you remake, like, Heaven's Gate. And adjust for inflation.

So, fine. God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know that capitalism isn't going anywhere anytime soon. Go, remake the fuck out of whatever you can get your hands on, Hollywood. But I do have one tiny request: I'd like to see what would happen if, instead of remaking something awesome into something godawful, you might instead focus on reworking movies that, in their original form, left a little something to be desired.

A little something I like to call nitroglycerin.

Hear me out. First of all, nitroglycerin is awesome. Why? Because it explodes. But nitroglycerin is also the cinematic equivalent of an ellipsis: a cheap-ass and slightly contrived way to add suspense. With nitroglycerin, you wouldn't even have to reshoot movies - all you'd have to do is digitally insert a few scary-looking bomb-type things and voila: instant thriller. I mean, the Wages of Fear was a two-and-a-half-hour movie about, pretty much, driving over crappy roads. In any other situation, that would just me another morning commute on the BQE. But they had the good sense to add nitroglycerin, and as a result it is one of the great suspense films of all time.

Here are a few other movies that could benefit from such treatment.

Sleepless in Seattle

Why is Tom Hanks so sleepless? Because he's strapped to a large metal canister, that's why. A large metal canister ... of nitroglycerin. The only thing that can save him now is the love of a good woman. Unfortunately for Tom Hanks, Meg Ryan will have to do. Regardless: can she get to Seattle in time to save the man of her dreams?

Spanglish

A comedy about the ultimate culture clash ... of nitroglycerin. When the Klusky family hired Flor Moreno, they knew they would have to welcome Flor into their home, but they never expected to welcome Flor into their hearts. The only problem is, Flor is pretty much constantly loaded down with nitroglycerin. Because, you know: foreigner.

Too bad Téa Leoni doesn't speak Spanish - will the family make it through their summer vacation alive? Or will they die one by one until only Cloris Leachman remains, left alone with the flaming wreckage of her self-respect?

2001: A Space Odyssey

Film schools and geek-driven video stores across the country would erupt into volcanic fanboy wrath were anyone to suggest tampering with a Kubrick film. That doesn't mean, however, that 2001 can't be rereleased with a few modifications for the audience's viewing pleasure. My suggestion: hook up the moviegoers to a series of movement-monitoring electrodes and, above them, suspend a bucket ... of nitroglycerin. If the audience nods off or looks away, the nitroglycerin falls. No one will ever call the last twenty minutes "gratuitously boring and indulgent" again. (A slightly safer alternative, of course, is just to hotbox the theater.)

Meet Joe Black

Death makes a deal with Anthony Hopkins: no one can die as long as he shows Death the world ... of nitroglycerin.

Or, okay, so, Death falls in love with Anthony Hopkins's robot-daughter, who is really surprisingly realistic given that she's made entirely ... of nitroglycerin.

Oh, fuck it: nitroglycerin can't help this movie. Samuel L. Jackson couldn't help this movie. (Which is, by the way, a remake itself.) This is a movie where the actors will deliver a line and then just, like, hang out for a few minutes before moving on to the next one. I dare you to find a film that will more effectively suck away your will to live. It's like the State of the Union, except you don't have to pause for sycophantic applause, you have to pause for the quiet desecration of your soul.

My Dinner With Andre

Two men sit at a dinner table rigged to an audio trigger, which is in turn rigged to a vat ... of nitroglycerin. If the conversation lags, the entire place is going to blow. Will they be able to continue to dramatize the fragility and preciousness of life - when that very life is in question?

(Due to the suspicion that intellectuals and theater professionals might possibly be somewhat lacking in broad sympathetic appeal, the restaurant will also be filled with toddlers and American flags.)