Apparently, originality costs extra these days.
In 2025, theaters are being flooded with remakes, reboots and “live-action” versions of beloved animated classics, such as Disney’s “Lilo and Stich” and Dreamwork’s “How to Train Your Dragon.” While such projects can evoke nostalgia and attract wide audiences, the sheer volume of these films—and the simultaneous decline in support of original stories—signals a troubling trend: Hollywood increasingly sidelines creativity in favor of safe, marketable content. This limits the potential for innovative storytelling and mirrors a broader issue across entertainment industries, such as Netflix’s tendency to cancel promising shows before they can find an audience.
One of the primary drivers of the remake boom is the predictability of profit. Established intellectual properties (IPs) come with built-in audiences and proven narratives, making them less risky investments for studios. Even if “A Minecraft Movie” is receiving nothing but hate, it will undoubtedly get attention. A live-action reimagining of a beloved classic guarantees headlines, nostalgic interest, and merchandising opportunities (even if the “live-action” film just jacks up the CGI). This approach reflects Hollywood’s growing reluctance to support original screenplays and films, especially in an era where blockbuster franchises dominate box offices. Financially, it makes sense: people flock to familiar brands. Creatively, however, it signals a stagnation that could weaken the industry long-term.
Original films, particularly those without an obvious IP attachment, struggle not because they lack quality but because audiences have been conditioned to view them as gambles, due to high ticket prices and the inevitability of streaming. When these films get greenlit, they often lack marketing support or are buried under the avalanche of high-budget franchise films. This creates a vicious cycle where originality is viewed as unprofitable, leaving fewer opportunities for unique stories to captivate audiences. Without risk-taking and innovation, we lose the potential for game-changing movies that expand cinematic boundaries.
This trend is paralleled in the streaming industry, particularly on platforms like Netflix. In recent years, Netflix has developed a reputation for canceling shows after only one season. The refreshing “Teenage Bounty Hunters,” a comedy about fraternal twin “bail-skipping baddies” and the ridiculous “Kaos,” 2024’s star-studded contemporary take on Greek mythology, were both canceled after one season—with massive cliffhangers. ARGH!
Both “Kaos” and “Teenage Bounty Hunters” were only given a month (Kaos) or two (Bounty Hunters) before being cut off. Yet they saw little to no advertising, which Netflix heavily relied on for record-breakers like “Squid Game” and “Stranger Things.”
Why? Because success in streaming is measured by immediate engagement, not the gradual building of an audience. If a show isn’t a breakout hit within weeks of release, it’s deemed unworthy of further investment, including advertising. Instant hits like “Squid Game” and “Stranger Things” are rare, and are influenced, in a large part, by the effort Netflix chooses to put into them, and some well-timed TikToks.
In fact, many of the shows we consider classics didn’t see success until well after their first season—“The Office,” “Seinfeld” and “It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia,” to name a few. Much like the remake boom, this prioritization of instant gratification over long-term cultural impact undermines the growth of original, meaningful storytelling.
At their core, films and shows are meant to tell stories, to surprise and challenge audiences with new ideas. When studios prioritize familiarity over creativity, they punish filmmakers for the diversity that makes cinema so magical. Likewise, when streaming platforms cancel shows prematurely, they alienate loyal fans and discourage creators from taking risks.
If studios and platforms continue this path of risk aversion and short-term thinking, we will face an era of artistic conformity, where only the safest ideas survive. We don’t need another shot-by-shot recreation of a classic story, especially not of a perfect animated film, like “How To Train Your Dragon.” We need stories that take chances, challenge us and encourage us to see the world in a whole new way. That’s the magic of cinema—and it’s worth fighting for.
