Balancing originality and nostalgia in the modern reboot

The trend of bringing culturally-significant franchises back to screens via reboots that fit within the established canon has created a dilemma: How do you balance originality and fan service? How can you pull off something fresh for modern moviegoers (or TV viewers) while also paying tribute to what came before? How do you not rely too heavily on your predecessors but still honor their legacy?

It’s a tricky tightrope to walk and a task that many argue Star Wars: The Force Awakens ultimately fails. That perspective is understandable. Episode VII is packed with unsubtle winks to the audience that are only exciting because they echo the original trilogy. In one scene, Finn picks up Luke’s training droid from A New Hope and we can practically feel J.J. Abrams' arm nudging us as he says, “eh?” Yet other times, his nostalgia-mining is undeniably powerful. When Han Solo stands in the cockpit of the Millennium Falcon again and John Williams plays up the Star Wars theme for the first time since the opening crawl, it’s a beautiful piece of filmmaking.

We shake our head at one sequence while the other makes us tear up. What's the difference?

Hollywood is still experimenting and finding out what works and what doesn’t, as this idea of incorporating the old into the new instead of just starting over is a somewhat recent phenomenon. But here are a few general rules I'd like to propose for judging the effectiveness of a legacy reboot:

1. The film must say something that no previous entry in the series said.

2. The film must not rely primarily on nostalgia to make an emotional impact. 

3. Callbacks must feel integrated into the movie universe.

Let’s break those down a bit. First of all, the movies must make the case that the franchise needed to be brought back at all. That justification is called for more so than in a traditional sequel because with these reboots, the more time that has passed since the original, the more it feels like the property should have been left alone. As such, there should be some “take” the director provides that adds a unique perspective we never quite got from the previous installments and we don't leave thinking that the film exists mainly to fill out a studio's release calendar. It exists because there was an element of the series that called for an expansion. 

On that front, how does Star Wars hold up? Does it say something that the other movies never did?

Sure it does. It fits in with the saga’s theme of the battle between good and evil being an endless cycle. It paints a portrait of a young, confused, irrational kid who turns to the dark side but is far from the confident leader he pretends to be, a storyline the prequels unsuccessfully attempted. Han Solo's progression into a man willing to risk his life because of his love for his son and Luke becoming a wise, Obi-Wan type figure, are both storylines I now can't imagine not being a part of Star Wars. Even if Return of the Jedi felt conclusive at the time, after watching The Force Awakens, we come away saying, "Of course it needed to be made."

Compare this to another legacy reboot, Terminator Genisys, which similarly mixes the old guard (Arnold Schwarzenegger) with the new guard (Emilia Clarke) in an attempt to breathe life into a dormant brand. Does it add anything? Not really. Instead, Alan Taylor is comfortable recycling familiar beats without much of a take on them. At no point does anyone involved convince us that the world needed another Terminator and it says nothing that the first four did not. It’s completely soulless and if a Terminator fan skipped Genisys, the way they think about the franchise would hardly be any different. Though it provides a few thrills throughout as Terminator fans revisit characters they grew up with, the same effect could be accomplished by just putting T2 back in theaters. 

Secondly, reboots should avoid scenes that only work because of our nostalgia. These might make us applaud during the midnight premiere, but they make for shallow, forgettable films overall. Nostalgia can be a factor, but for this to truly be a worthy movie in its own right that can stand the test of time, it must not be a prerequisite to our enjoyment. It’s not that using our familiarity with other films is a bad thing per se, but what we want to avoid is a situation where nearly all of the emotions we're experiencing are essentially a primal response to seeing something recognizable. If that's the case, the reboot feels like two hours of a director reminding us how great some other movie was instead of how great the movie we’re watching is. It's like a parent forcing their kid to relive their childhood instead of experiencing a childhood of their own. 

On this front, The Force Awakens is a mixed bag. There are a few too many points when the score perks up and the audience is primed to cheer for the appearance of something we loved when were were kids. Hey, it’s Han Solo! Look under the sheet, it’s R2D2! You can hear the pause as J.J. Abrams waits for us to finish our massive standing ovation and viewing The Force Awakens outside of a packed theater environment is like watching one of those unsettling videos that removes a laugh track from a sitcom. At the same time, Abrams wisely never lingers on those beats for too long and a viewer could theoretically walk into Episode VII having never seen a Star Wars film and still find themselves enthralled. When you-know-who dies, it’s gut-wrenching even based just on what we see of him in this film and not only because of original trilogy knowledge. The Force Awakens mostly passes, then, but Abrams may have gone a bit overboard with his fan service. 

Contrast this with Jurassic World, a movie which as a Jurassic Park fan I absolutely adore. But something that is slightly bothersome about it in terms of the movie’s legacy is that the excitement of the last act relies almost entirely on our relationship with the original. When “Rexy” is let loose for the final battle, the only reason it’s a memorable scene is because we already love her. Jurassic World itself hardly gives us any reason to care and if it was my first introduction to the series, I would watch Claire open the cage, see the T-Rex roar, and shrug. So it's another dinosaur. Who cares? As a standalone piece of filmmaking, The Force Awakens rises above Jurassic World. Star Wars gives new viewers a reason to care about the return of an old character, Luke Skywalker, in the final act, not relying 100 percent on what we bring to the theater. Jurassic World does not put in that effort.

Finally, callbacks should be used sparingly and should seem like a part of the fictional universe. At best, winks and nods are cute and help tie the movie into the prior installments, but when done poorly, they totally rip us out of the film as we realize the only reason a scene occurred was to reference something else. Star Wars: The Force Awakens struggles with this, but for the most part it finds a successful balance. When Han Solo says, “I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” it works both as a callback and just as a thing that Han says all the time. When the Death Star is brought up, it’s a callback, but it also helps explain how big of a threat Starkiller Base is. When Han suggests throwing Captain Phasma in the trash compactor, his enthusiasm at being able to turn something from 30 years ago on its head is silly and charming.

On the other hand, as previously mentioned, when Finn picks up Luke's training droid, it’s awkward because it doesn't feel like something that would naturally happen without a filmmaker pulling the strings. Finn practically holds it towards the camera as if to say, "Here, audience, look at this!" When he leans on the Dejarik table and the holographic game pops up, it’s distracting. Finn looks down and J.J. basically puts up a blinking, neon sign that reads, "CALLBACK!" But that’s not enough, because then he goes in for a closeup, too. We get it! It’s the game from the first movie. Move along.

Similarly, there's a moment in Jurassic World when Zach and Gray discover the old Visitor's Center from Jurassic Park. The first time I watched the movie on opening night, I was reduced to tears as the classic Williams theme kicked in and I saw this iconic setting from my childhood covered in vines and dust. It’s effective, but we consciously feel the manipulation and when I removed myself from my initial nostalgia, it struck me that literally all that’s happening here is that the characters are walking through a room. It takes up a lot of time, nothing too interesting is said or done and I’d probably experience the same emotions if Colin Trevorrow just put up a picture of the Visitor's Center on screen. A series newcomer would be puzzled that the film is taking two full minutes to show its characters strolling through an empty building and years from now, when future generations watch all the movies back-to-back without the 20-year break between Park and World, this pandering will be very strange. 

The scene could work better if, say, a character like Alan Grant journeyed through the center and recalled his memories of being there 20 years earlier. That way, it speaks to how much time has passed for him since Park and maybe the screenwriter can use this as an opportunity to explore how the character has changed in that time. It would be like reminiscing about old memories with a friend who was there. Actually, it would be a lot like that Force Awakens moment when Han Solo enters the Millennium Falcon, which is both nostalgic and makes sense on a plot level. But Zach and Grey have no association with the Visitor's Center, so why is the movie they're in lingering on it so much? It's just for the audience and it reminds us that what we're watching is essentially glorified fan fiction made by a Jurassic Park nerd.

Aside from that visitor’s center moment, Jurassic World handles its other callbacks brilliantly because they fit in with the goal of making the park feels like an extension of the original. Mr. DNA pops up, but of course he does, because he was always a part of John’s Jurassic Park vision. Plus, Trevorrow doesn’t give him a closeup and allow the action to halt as we all shout, “Look, it’s Mr. DNA!” We simply see him in a panning shot that quickly moves along. It’s nice, subtle and it doesn’t distract. When we see a T-Rex in its exhibit and a goat chained up, we chuckle and are reminded of the goat-feeding scene from Park, but that’s also just how they feed the T-Rex. These moments alone were enough to get Park fanatics sentimental while not taking too much time away from making this movie its own beast. The more obvious Visitor's Center sequence was not necessary and it's the kind of thing these reboots need to get away from.

And so as the fans who grew up with these properties have been given the keys to the kingdom, this generation of filmmakers ought to be cautious. They want to create a new era of iconic and successful stories that will be remembered for all time, but Hollywood runs the risk of inadvertently creating an era defined by hopelessly clinging to the past. It’s fine to use nostalgia as a tool, but when the obsession with what came before overpowers a reboot's modern contributions, fans who step away from their Thursday-night fervor might find that there’s not much left to embrace and that the industry is simply cashing in on their desire to feel like a kid again.