The Hollywood blockbuster is facing a crisis. Forty-two years after Jaws, summer movies now look light years away from Steven Spielberg's modest, efficient thriller. Studios are slavishly throwing hundreds of millions of dollars at any known property (which at an alarmingly increasing rate includes toys) with little idea of what will stick. And then there are the movies themselves, which are so pre-plotted through CGI mapping before a single frame is shot that by the time the final product arrives, we feel lucky to have the smallest glimmer of human spontaneity. Transformers: The Last Knight, in which robots help humans recover Merlin's staff to save earth (actual plot synopsis), has genuinely impressive visual effects and Michael Bay's standard kinetic direction, though critics hate to admit it. The problem is that it's in service of nonsense. The story may as well have been conceived by a 10-year-old after mainlining sweets.
There are many reasons we've reached this point, including the shifting economics of the movie business and the rise of streaming. As ticket sales have stagnated and other movie markets have grown, studios have engineered their tentpole releases to please everyone they possibly can across the globe while offending no one. That in itself isn't necessarily a bad thing, but it has resulted in movies that are made up of basic archetypes and busy spectacle but lacking in any real meaning or human nuance—whether you're watching them in London or Hong Kong (which, incidentally, both get a so-quick-you'll-miss-it shoutout in The Last Knight).
Luckily, Netflix has saved us once again. The streaming giant's latest attempt at disrupting entertainment, Okja (released last Thursday), offers an ideal template for the summer blockbuster of the future. It's multinational in the truest sense: The cast is from South Korea (also home of writer and director Bong Joon-ho), the U.S. (Jake Gyllenhaal with a mustache), and the U.K. (Tilda Swinton). It's a breakneck adventure that moves from a farm in South Korea to a parade in New York City as a girl (Seo-Hyun Ahn) chases after her beloved pet giant pig that's been hijacked by a corporation. The intricately staged and gorgeously shot set pieces would put a smile on the face of Spielberg, Bong's biggest inspiration.
But most importantly of all, Okja has a heart and an original story that's about actual ideas—not cars that can fly through space. It takes on global capitalism in delightfully satirical ways: Lucy Mirando's (Swinton) agrochemical company hoodwinks customers into believing that its genetically engineered giant pigs are natural, organic, and non-GMO, placing the lab-designed animals on farms around the world as part of an elaborate food branding scheme. But when she tries to retrieve the most prized pig, its young caretaker Mija becomes fiercely protective. Then everything goes haywire, leading to a car chase through a tunnel, demolition inside a mall, and the Animal Liberation Front interfering to expose Mirando's lies.
Lest you think this is a thinly veiled lecture about environmentalism, Bong mercilessly skewers everyone in equal measure. Paul Dano is at his best as Jay, the ALF leader who at one point beats a man to a bloody pulp for violating the group's principle of doing no harm. Lucy's pure attention to surfaces (she even personally designs her employees' outfits) undermines the real good her genetically engineered food could do by feeding a starving population. The only one who doesn't come out a hypocrite is Mija, whose love for the pig Okja is the movie's guiding force. Like E.T. and My Neighbor Totoro before it, this is a magical tale that's really about human love, with just as much meticulous attention to its creature, which moves like a lumbering dog even though it was made on a computer.
Not everything about Okja works. Bong (The Host, Snowpiercer) is usually a master at getting performances out of actors that walk the fine line between scarily intense and over-the-top (natural turf for Swinton), but Gyllenhaal as a scientist employed by Mirando is a puzzling misfire. His shtick never really adds up to more than a high-pitched voice that is funny for approximately five seconds. And the pointed comedy won't be for everyone. The movie isn't afraid of offending certain tastes, whether you eat mass-produced meat or overpriced Whole Foods produce.
And that's okay. Movies don't need to please everyone. Netflix knows that Okja will have enough appeal across the globe to make it a relative success on its $50 million budget—the kind of mid-level formula that has basically disappeared from Hollywood. And people will be happy that they can beam it straight to their TVs as soon as it's out, cranky theater chains and cinephiles be damned. As Netflix knows, the future is coming whether we like it or not. Hopefully it looks more like Okja.
