What’s up, guys? Jared, here. Today, we’re going to talk about remakes,
or a socially-sanctioned form of collective deja vu. Remakes get a whole lot of flack for being
uncreative money-grabs without an ounce of artistic justification. And sometimes they are just that. But other times, remakes can be monumentally
inventive, deviously effective, or just plain socially relevant. And other times, we get this: "Use your big
boy voice." So, what makes a remake great, and perhaps
more importantly, what makes a remake suck? We have a few thoughts, and a lot of them
have to do with ragging on sh*tty Disney live-action remakes, so don’t pretend you’re not up
for that. Anyway, welcome to this Wisecrack Edition
on Remakes. And, of course, spoilers ahead for movies
you first watched in diapers. We may mistakenly think of remakes as a purely
modern phenomena, born out of some lack of imagination in which film executives can only
sadly paw around their archives for old IP material to exploit. But that’s not quite true. Remakes in literature and music are pretty
much as old as the mediums themselves. Take the German legend of Faust, about a totally
reasonable dude who sells his soul to the devil in exchange for knowledge, fun, and
presumably a lifetime supply of cheese. I mean, what could possibly go wrong? Anyway, over the past four centuries, his
story has inspired dozens of top-notch literature, ballets, operas, plays and more. Each one was kind of a remake, even if it
didn’t come complete with a promotional McDonalds happy meal. In another example, Dies Irae, an old Gregorian
chant that’s been haunting dreams since at least the 13th century – "Dies Irae!"
– eventually got reincarnated into pieces by composers like Mozart, Liszt and Berlioz,
then later into jazz, metal, and so on. Given art’s history of borrowing from and
building on the work of its ancestors, it’s no surprise that the young art of cinema has
been all about remakes since its very infancy. See, the earliest movies were, as you probably
know, printed on film reels. These reels, subjected to light and mishandling
by pimply theatre operators, inevitably started to decay. So, the earliest remakes were actually attempts
to replicate old films before they were lost to the sands of time. Since then, remakes have tended to flourish
in eras of economic strife and anxiety. For instance, remakes like The Island of Lost
Souls, and Huckleberry Finn kept the movie business humming along during the Great Depression. Remakes also tend to get a boost during times
of technological change. Take for example, the 1980s, an era when Americans
spent half their time rewinding VHS tapes, instead of going to the movie theaters. Desperate studio executives went through a
remake frenzy as they tried to get butts in seats. Today, those changes are mirrored by the digital
streaming revolution, which has led many of us to prefer a good Netflix and chill sesh
over shilling out $20 at our local AMC. So, it’s no wonder that we’re living in
a remake revolution. But is it good or bad for cinema, and the
culture at large? We’re going to be looking at it through
the lens of Disney, unquestionably the biggest peddler of present-day remakes. First, let’s look at the anatomy of a Disney
remake: it’s pretty simple. Take a massively popular Disney cartoon. Make it, usually, live action, always with
a generous dose of CGI, and an even more generous dose of celebrities. Lots. Of. Celebrities. Then, add a good, unnecessary 40 minutes of
running time, usually by expanding the film’s exposition, aka the introduction to its world,
characters, etc. For example, the exposition in the original
Cinderella clocks in at about 30 seconds. Now compare that to the exposition in the
2015 remake - which clocks in at a good 19 minutes. You can almost feel the writers struggling
to pad out the story simply because audiences these days generally prefer two-hour long
films. And some of this narrative padding seems to
be an attempt to give Disney princesses more to do than just stand around looking pretty. Which brings us to how these films adapt for
modern audiences. You take whatever was perhaps objectionable
about the original cartoon version - say, that Cinderella and the Prince fell in love
after one dance because they’re both hot - or that Jasmine has no discernible character
arc, or that Dumbo ends with the titular character still working at the circus and PETA would
protest - and then massage it into something a little more politically correct. Take the perplexing choice to make Gaston’s
sidekick Lefou pretty apparently gay for Gaston. First off, whether or not you’re all about
representation in film, it’s an incredibly lazy effort - Lefou is pretty one-note, and
spends most of his time trying to talk Gaston out of wifing up. "Exactly! Who needs her when you've got us?" But beyond that it also feels a bit... Toothless, like an attempt to force your way
into a bunch of viral headlines. After all, the gist of the story is the same:
Beauty still falls in love with the dude who held her father prisoner, then ordered her
to spend the rest of her life in his creepy castle. And her ability to love him despite him not
being very cute becomes irrelevant a moment later when he turns hot. These pandering attempts feel strange when
compared to the obvious other option - that is, come up with some new story ideas. Ultimately this Disney remake recipe yields
a bloated version of the original film that feels uncanny and uncomfortable, like an absurdly
well-funded high school play. "How would you feel about growing a beard?" [Growl] Overall, these films feel like a cynical attempt
to bottle millennial nostalgia in an era when adulting is particularly hard. And worse, these films are ultimately doomed
to fail at doing just that. Here’s why. According to film scholar Anat Zanger, the
motivations of an audience watching a remake is a sort of masochistic desire “to have
the already-known experience repeated," despite the fact that it’s “accompanied by the
presentiment that it never will be.” Basically, we walk into the theater hoping
to be as wowed by Aladdin as we were the first time we saw it as kids. But at the same time, we walk in knowing that
it’s not going to be the same. Bummer! Still, that hope convinces us to spend good
money and time watching our favorite cartoons be butchered. So, what’s really going on when Disney decides
to remake The Lion King? According to film scholar Thomas Leitch, something
very specific to our cultural moment. In the past, an original film from 1931 didn’t
really “compete” with its 1943 remake. Because, come 1944, you couldn’t access
any of those films anyway! It wasn’t until the mid-1950s that you could
start rewatching your favorite films on TV on the couch in your underwear. But in our age of a million streaming platforms,
a remake is forced into direct conflict with its original - Will you pay $2.99 to watch
Beauty and the Beast on Youtube, or pay $15 bucks to go to the theater with a vain hope
that it will be better? As Leitch puts it, today’s remakes have
to balance two opposing claims: “that the remake is just like its model and that it’s
better.” That’s why most remakes make small changes
- in Cinderella, the prince and Cinderella meet up in the forest, thus hopefully easing
our concerns that they fell madly in superficial love after 1 waltz. But these changes have to be both small enough
that they don’t anger audiences who love the original, and significant enough that
audiences don’t feel like they’re watching a carbon copy. And yet, with a film as perfect as, say Beauty
and the Beast, any amount of changes - like a book that acts as a portal to the place
you most want to go in the world - feels unnecessary, unwarranted and raises a lot of weird questions
about the space/time continuum. Leitch goes on to explain that there are essentially
four different types of remakes: 1. The Readaptation - which just means the filmmaker
went to the original source text rather than mimicking previous film versions of the story. This applies to adaptations of Shakespeare
that are explicitly faithful to the text. 2. The Update - This means that the filmmaker
significantly changed the story, as in realigning its cultural, socioeconomic or political meaning. Your prime example of this is West Side Story,
which plants the Romeo and Juliet complex square in the middle of New York City gang
wars in the late 1950s. Or the glorious update to Shakespeare’s
Taming of the Shrew vis a vis 1999’s classic teen flick, 10 Things I Hate About You, which
sets Shakespeare’s story in a then-present day LA high school because, why not? 3. The Homage - These are movies that do not
attempt to directly compete with the original film, but rather function as love letters
to the original text. They also tend to establish a direct intertextual
relation to the original film, that is, making direct references via inside jokes. Good examples include ‘80s films The Thing
and Invaders from Mars, both of which openly pay homage to their 1950s predecessors. Then, there’s the fourth category: The “True
remake.” True remakes essentially don’t change much
of anything about the original text, except by making it “newer” or ostensibly “better." Bear in mind, these categories can be slippery,
but we think Disney remakes qualify as true remakes. Though they’re technically “live action,”
most rely heavily on CGI effects (The Jungle Book does entirely) making them somewhat an
"updated” version of hand drawn animation. According to Leitch, true remakes have a curious
relationship with their older siblings - in that they are inherently trying to replace
them. The mere existence of a live-action Beauty
and the Beast can only serve to make the original animated version less relevant to modern audiences. So, could live action Disney films, if they’re
really well made, ever “outdo” their original? Fundamentally, it seems to us like a question
of visual storytelling - - namely what form of narrative is most effective
at conveying compelling fairy tales, and often, fairy tales prominently featuring talking
animals or fantastical feats of magic. Which mouse would you rather see sew a dress? Which beast would you rather watch throw a
fit? And which lion would you rather watch sing
“Hakuna Matata” I mean, honestly. Which do you prefer? and keep in mind there’s
objectively only one right answer? Now, there’s a legitimate argument to be
made that in remaking say, a black and white film in color it might make the story more
appealing to modern audiences. But are kids these days really that immune
to the charms of 2D animation? The thing is, nobody ever complained that
Disney cartoons weren’t lifelike enough - and that’s the only supposed “problem”
these live-action films can really claim to solve. Disney cartoon characters evoke human feelings
- even if they’re lions or devils or goblins – and they do so because of the stylized
artistry, not in spite of it. Charming moments where lions swing from vines
aren’t life-like, and they’re not trying to be. Of course, no matter how loudly we complain,
facts are facts: Disney remakes make BANK. Take 2017’s Beauty and the Beast, which
made a chill 1.264 billion dollars in the box office, or 2019’s Aladdin, which as
of early July crossed the 900 million dollar mark. The Lion King will undoubtedly ride the Beyonce/Donald
Glover/Seth Rogen/Billy Eichner fan mill to equal success. For the most part, these movies are automatic,
no questions asked goldmines. Of course, there are exceptions, namely Tim
Burton’s steam-punk Dumbo, which, again, nobody asked for. But overall, these movies make a lot of people
a whole lot richer. So, needless to say, Disney remakes aren’t
going anywhere. As of May, there were no less than 16 live-action
or CGI remakes in the works, meaning that other assorted classics like Mulan, Lady and
the Tramp, and The Hunchback of Notre Dame are about to get the same treatment, whether
we like it or not. "Whatever, you'll pay to go see it, f**k you!" Now, are we categorically railing against
remakes? No way. As we mentioned at the top, the roads of film
history have been paved with remakes. But it goes further than that: as writer and
philosopher Umberto Eco put it, “The history of arts and literature is full of pseudo-remakes
that were able to tell at every time something different. The whole of Shakespeare is a remake of preceding
stories.” For example, Romeo and Juliet borrows heavily
from Ovid, a 1st century Latin poet, and his story of the similarly bummed-out pair of
lovers, Pyramus and Thisbe. Eco thus concludes that “‘interesting’
remakes can escape repetition” because “seriality and repetition are not opposed to innovation.” This certainly applies to movies. Indeed, sometimes a really quality remake
can eclipse its original, not only in the public consciousness, but in pure quality. Take Scarface, a 1983 film so beloved in its
own right, you may not have known it was a remake! To be precise, the 1983 version is an “update”
of a 1932 film by the same name, which centers around an Italian immigrant who makes it big
in the bootlegging world of Prohibition-era Chicago. The ‘80s version took the basic story-line
but jazzed it up, centering it around a Cuban immigrant who becomes a hot shot drug lord. Here, we see what feels like a warranted remake
that responds to the changing social dynamics of the country’s immigration patterns, while
still grappling with the same themes of immorality, greed and ambition. Here, changing the cultural context of the
story wasn’t a cheap shot at seeming more inclusive - a la Beauty and the Beast’s
Le Fou having an unnecessary and honestly boring crush on Gaston. Instead, it was a genuinely smart way to evolve
a narrative and speak to the changing American landscape. Also, Al Pacino. "Say hello to my little friend!" Similarly, remakes can feel warranted when
the technology on or off screen has changed significantly in a way that makes the film
objectively more awesome. While Beauty and the Beast employed some gnarly
CGI to make this candlestick talk and haunt your dreams, the technological changes did
not, again in our objectively correct opinion, advance the storytelling, and actually may
have hindered it - Lumiere in the original Beauty and the Beast has expressive eyebrows,
big sleepy eyes, a candle wax cowlick - he is very clearly a man who was transformed
into a candlestick! Lumiere in the new Beauty and the Beast looks
like a creepy gold figurine your grandma keeps on the bottom row of her cupboard. In contrast, the increased capacity of practical
effects in the 1980s allowed for versions of The Fly and The Thing that filmmakers could
only have dreamed of in the 1950s when the originals were made. They literally advance the storytelling by
making for more believable, visceral moments. In a slightly different vein, the 2001 remake
of Ocean’s Eleven felt justified because of all the changes in technology that the
wider world had undergone since the original film debuted in 1960. Not only had weaponry and surveillance technology
changed, but also, cell phones happened. As such, the 2001 film has a plot, and a star-studded
cast, better suited to the times. Then, there are remakes that are celebratory
love letters, pure and simple. Our favorite example of this is the 1989 film
Raiders of the Lost Ark: The Adaptation, a cinematic endeavor by three teenagers to remake
the Indiana Jones film shot for shot. Film critic Jim Windolf describes watching
it “with a double perspective, partly rooting for Indiana Jones to beat the Nazis and partly
rooting for the kids on-screen to pull off each film-making feat." We’d watch this over the new Lion King any
day. We set out to give you a definitive answer
as to what makes a remake valuable, and what makes a bonafide stinker. But as you can see, when it comes to remakes,
there are a lot of fine lines, nuances, unexpected triumphs and totally expected failures. So, here’s our somewhat arbitrary and totally
up for debate criteria: 1. A remake often loves, or at least respects,
its original. 2. A remake must advance, augment, or modernize
its original in a compelling way. 3. A remake must not undo or erase what is most
beloved about its original. Under this paradigm, a film like West Side
Story rocks, and Disney live-action slash CGI films are often stinkers, in that they
are explicitly untrue to the original charms that made their earlier counterparts work. So, what do you guys think? Is the Lion King an abomination, or is there
value in the Ford assembly line production of Disney remakes? What about remakes in general? Let us know what you think in the comments. Thanks to all our patrons who support the
channel and our podcasts. Don’t forget to hit that subscribe button,
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