D.W. Griffiths

The making of films is a process often on an industrial scale, and among the thousands of professionals contributing there are dozens whose practice might constitute a solid history of the artform. The great stars and directors are the usual routes into the history of film; but the roles of studio executives, producers, costume designers (Edith Head! Givenchy!), composers of scores, cinematographers and editors would make compelling narratives, too. A history of cinema audiences could also be interesting – ranging from those who are supposed to have fled in terror as a filmed express train came hurtling towards them in the 1890s; to the yobs who slashed the seats in cinemas showing 1950s rock’n’roll movies (but why?

Gore Vidal once sighed that ‘every time a friend succeeds, I die a little’, and there is inevitably a sense that when some idiotic blockbuster makes $1 billion worldwide, our collective intelligence loses a couple of IQ points. It’s a relief, then, when the worst examples of their kind, made at enormous cost to negligible artistic impact, flop hideously: proof that audiences will not fork out for any arrant piece of trash. The most recent high-profile failure of this kind was Todd Phillips’s bewilderingly poor Joker sequel, Folie à Deux, which insulted its audience and thus precipitated its commercial failure.