Author Matthew Heneghan

They say movies are worse now. Too many reboots, too much CGI, too many safe scripts written by people who’ve never been punched in the heart or kissed in the rain. That’s the refrain. And if you’re over thirty and seen the less glamorous side of life, you’ve probably said it too.

Hell, I know I have.

I’ve walked out of movie theaters feeling like I just paid thirty bucks to watch an algorithm run a PowerPoint presentation in 4K. I’ve groaned at trailers for the third Star Wars in as many prime ministerial terms. I’ve winced at digital de-aging that makes my childhood heroes look like wax sculptures of themselves.

But here’s a thought I had the other night, halfway through a rewatch of Jurassic Park and part way through a tea that went cold:

maybe movies aren’t worse now. Maybe we are.

We grew up in the ‘90s. When blockbusters had grit, soundtracks had soul, and even the romantic comedies had enough edge to leave a scar. We were raised on the kind of movies that made us feel invincible—Jurassic Park, Heat, The Matrix, Good Will Hunting, Titanic, Fight Club—a mixtape of chaos and tenderness that defined our adolescence.

But then life happened.

We watched towers fall on live TV. We saw truth become spin, and spin become policy. We watched the invasion of Iraq, and the slow, soul-erasing slog of Afghanistan. We stood six feet apart in grocery stores wearing masks, wiping down apples, wondering if the cough in aisle four was a death sentence.

And through all that, we grew older, and colder.

Movies didn’t change. We did. All of us. We lost something—not because Hollywood got lazy, but because the world did.

And yet… when I see Keaton back in the Bat-suit, or Maverick flying again after all these years, something happens. The cynic in me wants to call it nostalgia-bait. But maybe—just maybe—it’s something better than that.

Maybe it’s an old friend coming home for a visit. Maybe it’s comfort. Familiar faces from a time when the world still felt like it might be kind. When summers smelled like Blockbuster carpets and movie popcorn and teenage freedom.

Maybe, instead of lamenting that nothing’s new anymore, we could try appreciating the fact that something survived. That we survived. Maybe if we stop looking at cinema like a product and start looking at it like memory—like mythology—we’ll find the magic again.

Because the magic isn’t gone.

We’re just too tired to look for it.

But hidden in the crescendo of any good script is the twist—that little bit of movie magic that takes a good story and makes it great. The same is true for life and the way we choose to see it.

We are the directors of our own lives. We may not know the whole script ahead of time—and damn sure we’re the last to know about re-writes—but one thing remains unshakable: that first time seeing E.T. make his way home. Or smiling as the Goonies live forever. The movies of our childhood will never change. Because that was our past. Our glorious, beautiful past.

It’s important to cherish it. Just as it’s equally important to embrace the present and the possibilities of change.

Are movies worse now? Or is the way we think perhaps a little darker than it once was?

I can’t give you the answer.

But what I can do, is buy you popcorn the next time we’re at the movies.

It’s summer, folks. Put the weight of the world down for a moment. Get the extra-large bucket. Splurge and get the gummies too.

And enjoy the show! It only lasts so long.