We are living in the golden age of cinematic déjà vu. Every time you open a streaming platform or glance at a movie theatre marquee, chances are you’ll spot something you’ve seen before, either in childhood, adolescence, or even as a meme on social media (look up Slender Man and weep with me). From Mean Girls (but this time as a musical!) to the live-action How to Train Your Dragon (yes, really), remakes of movies have become less of a trend and more of a default studio strategy. So why are there so many movie remakes, sequels, and reboots these days? Why does Disney, for instance, keep remaking movies?
Why are there so many remakes these days: A creative crisis or just good business?
Let’s be honest: there’s no mystery here. Or at least I believe so. Movie remakes are safe bets in an industry obsessed with ROI. Nostalgia sells, as we have seen many, many times. Brand recognition trumps originality. A studio greenlighting a reboot of a known property is like a person choosing a fixed deposit over the stock market for investment. Safe and predictable. Not to mention reassuring.
Why does Disney, the grand emperor of remakes and reboots, keep remaking movies? Because it knows this better than anyone. From The Lion King to The Little Mermaid, these live-action remakes rake in billions, even when they are creatively… well, bankrupt. Why risk an unknown story when you can play “Remember this?” with global audiences?
The Lion King (the 2019 “live-action” remake) is arguably the worst of its kind. It took a vibrant, emotionally rich animated classic and drained it of its soul. What was once full of colour, personality, and musical joy became a dour, hyper-realistic rehash with lions that looked like they wandered in from a BBC wildlife documentary. No sparkle, no feeling, just CGI photorealism masquerading as cinema. If we wanted to see real lions moving their mouths awkwardly, we would go on a safari in Africa (or probably Gujarat). At least there, the drama feels alive.
Take the recent How to Train Your Dragon live-action remake. I went to watch it in a theatre and even enjoyed it to some extent. But there was also a tinge of disappointment. Why? Because it is nearly a shot-for-shot copy of the 2010 animated classic, it adds virtually nothing new. No fresh perspective, no story twist, no reimagining of any kind. Just real humans, real dragons (well, CGI ones), and a vague promise of “realness.” The original already had lots of heart, humour, and incredible animation. The remake feels like a lavish PowerPoint presentation of slides we already applauded 15 years ago.
Remakes that do work
Obviously, not every remake of a film and television show is created equal. Some retellings do truly localise and re-interpret. The Office springs to mind. Just in case you were unaware, the hugely popular US sitcom was actually a remake of the original UK version. While the fans still debate which one is superior (I tend to lean towards the UK one), there’s no denying that the US remake accomplished what good remakes should: it took the tone and the comedy of the original and adapted it into something that was appropriate for American audiences. It’s a stark exception among remakes in that it didn’t just redo the original, it recontextualised it. And that made all the difference.
Similarly, Denis Villeneuve’s Dune, featuring Timothée Chalamet in the lead, is a textbook example of how a reboot can do justice to its source material while updating it for modern sensibilities. Unlike David Lynch’s 1984 cult mess (sorry, purists), the new Dune takes its time, trusts its audience, and builds a world that feels vast, immersive, and emotionally textured. It’s proof that remakes can work — when they are approached with vision, respect, and the willingness to say something new.
The sequel syndrome
It’s not just movie remakes coming out as sequels are also flooding the pipeline. Sometimes they work (Top Gun: Maverick and Paddington 2 are arguably even better than the originals), often they don’t (Hocus Pocus 2 and The Matrix Resurrections). Either way, the thinking is the same: Why build new worlds when you can just extend existing ones?
And now the Gurinder Chadha movie Bend It Like Beckham, a film that changed how the world viewed women’s football (it’s soccer for you Americans), is reportedly getting the sequel treatment. Do we need it? Probably not. Will we watch it? Probably yes. But isn’t it a little sad that the default way to honour a legacy film is by dragging it back onto the field for one more goal?
The irony is the original Bend It Like Beckham was groundbreaking precisely because it was fresh, surprising, and culturally important, particularly for the British-Indian diaspora. The sequel of that movie, unless exceptionally well-written (and sequels are notoriously hard to write well), risks becoming a footnote to its own legacy.
The Jurassic Park franchise is another prime example of this treadmill in motion. What began in 1993 as a breathtaking leap in storytelling and visual effects has been repeatedly milked for diminishing returns. The Jurassic World revival was billed as a fresh rebirth, and to its credit, the first one did bring the dinosaurs back with flair. But by the time we reached Jurassic World Dominion and now Jurassic World: Rebirth, it had become clear the franchise had nothing left to say. Ideally, this should have been the end. But in Hollywood, nothing truly dies (not even cloned dinosaurs). You can bet another reboot is lurking in a lab somewhere.
Should movie or TV remakes, sequels, and reboots not exist at all?
Not necessarily. Some of the most beloved movies and shows are remakes or sequels. Besides what I have already mentioned, Christopher Nolan’s movie Batman Begins (2005) was a remake (or reboot) of the Batman franchise, and the following film, The Dark Knight (2008), was a sequel and is regarded as the greatest superhero movie of all time. But the decision to revisit an existing story should be creative and deliberate, not the outcome of an afternoon brainstorming session between a few studio suits and a market trends dashboard. When driven by artistic intent, a remake can add new dimensions, cultural relevance, or emotional depth. But when the primary motivation is IP exploitation or brand recognition, the result is often hollow, a film (or show) that looks like something you used to love but doesn’t feel like it. The problem isn’t the concept of remaking; it’s how and why it’s done.
(Hero and Featured images: Courtesy of IMDb)
This story first appeared here.