The Empire Strikes Back. The Godfather Part II. Aliens. These are the titles of some of the best, and most beloved, films of all time. The films in question not only managed to greatly impact the cultures into which they were released, but influenced their genres for decades to come. They are all also sequels – films which directly followed up on the story or characters from a previous film. It might then be reasonable to conclude, from looking at these examples, that getting a sequel to a beloved movie can only be viewed as a blessing – right? Well, as you’ve likely already surmised from your own experience with the medium, the answer is a hard no. Unfortunately for lovers of simplicity, this is not a topic on which there is a single ‘correct’ answer. So, let’s discuss it!
What this isn’t
I suppose, before I delve more deeply into this issue, I should define exactly what this article isn’t going to be about. This article won’t be delving into the history of the concept of the sequel – I covered that, briefly, in a previous discussion. It will also not be a treaty on the benefit of crafting new and original stories as opposed to relying on existing concepts and characters – that was also covered in the same article. Finally, this will not be some sort of space for me to vent about my particular negative feelings toward individual sequels toward whom I harbor a grudge – if people want to listen to someone bemoan the failings of Cars 2, the entire internet awaits. [Note: It should be stated that, as a matter of prudence, specific titles and their failings will be used as examples.]
So, with that brief disclaimer out of the way, let’s continue!
A Magical Mix
Movies are wondrous things. Complex in their planning and difficult in their creation, it is almost a wonder that any film manages to exist, let alone be good. And yet they do. The modern world, thanks to the development of the medium into one of the pillars of our pop culture pantheon and the continued rise and availability of professional-grade software and equipment in the public sphere, is filled with a greater number of films than would have been thought possible even a generation ago. Between those played in theaters, released on streaming, or brought straight to home media, there is a greater access to and selection of movies than has even been available to the public. As a direct result of both the quantity of movies, and of the greater accessibility of equipment for – and thus greater diversity of – those making them, the number of ‘good’ movies (this being a very subject term) being made is greater than ever.
That said, for a movie to not only be made, but to be well received, a great many things have to go right: An ingenious idea must be had. A solid and engaging script must be written. Funding must be secured. Talented cast and crew members must be found to fill all the required slots on the team. The production must go well (or at least be able to cope with those times in which it does not). The optimal shots and angles must be achieved. The editing needs to be done with skill and grace. The musical score must not only fit the work but be memorable in its own right. And, after all that (and so much more that has gone unlisted), the public must then see and respond positively to the film. This magical mix of ingredients is both a requirement of making a good movie and something that is not necessarily replicable, even with the same mix of ingredients. It is for just such an occasion as this that the term ‘lightning in a bottle’ was created.
Having the hubris (and I mean that in a good way) to believe that you, or anyone, can seize upon the herculean task of creating something so wonderful and then manage to reproduce it in a way comparable to the last approaches madness. And yet, in many ways, the same could be said of creating any film in the first place. It necessarily takes a degree of madness to create in a medium as difficult as that of film – as such, the fact that so many sequels are attempted should surprise no one. As another old phrase, this one a bit folksier in origin, goes: “You can’t blame a guy for tryin’.”
Why we love Sequels (and Prequels and Spin-offs)
Still, however tempting it might be to place the onus of the existence of sequels on the artist, we cannot lose sight of the fact that a sequel only usually exists as a direct result of our love of the original. As audience members, we love to sit down and be taken on a journey – to spend time with characters we enjoy, to be transported to a different world, or to be surprised and excited by the twists and turns of a good story (preferably all of the above). Not only do such things heighten our initial viewing to something near akin to bliss, they drive us to want to experience them again and again. In many cases, this involves re-watching the film many times (certainly one of my favorite pastimes). That said, no matter how many more details may be noticed, or much more we grow to appreciate the artistry, it is neigh-impossible to precisely replicate that original viewing experience. This is through no fault of the film itself, of course – it’s just that we are now familiar with the story. We’ve seen it before, and thus that true sense of wonder and adventure – of not knowing what comes next – is dampened.
It is no surprise, then, that the rational response is to desire another entry – to repeat that experience and replicate the emotions felt. After all, if you enjoyed spending time with these characters once, it only stands to reason that more time with them could only be a good thing. Much like old friends, we want to get to know them better and see what they will do next. Likewise, if the world created by the original film ignited your imagination, why would you not want to revisit it? Surely there are corners and aspects that have not yet been explored. And finally, if the filmmaker was able to craft a satisfying narrative in the universe once, shouldn’t they be able to do it again? “Where there is a will, there is a way,” as they say.
As a viewer and a fan of a particular work of art, it makes sense to not want to let it go – to accept that is could be ‘over’ or ‘complete.’ Doing so would be admitting that, no matter how great what already exists is, there will never be any more. Much like our complicated relationship with life and death, the finality of the ‘end’ of something sits very uneasily with us. Unlike death, however, as long as the creators and actors are still alive (and sometimes even when they aren’t), there is always the opportunity to reverse the course of fate – to revive a story from the pages of history and bring it into the present. This ideology can be seen far beyond the reaches of film and expands ever deeper into the worlds of television (the recent revivals of Will and Grace, Rosanne (then The Conners), and Mad about You come to mind) and of books (the release of Go Set Watchmen as a late sequel to To Kill a Mockingbird chief among them).
The best sequels are able to capitalize on this desire and craft new and unique narratives that are able to expand on what the original did right. The aforementioned Aliens was able to take both the terrifying design and lifecycle of the xenomorph and the tough-as-nails character of Ripley and use them in a wildly different – but wonderfully successful – way. Where the first film hinged on fear and dread, the sequel was able to scale into an action movie worthy of the best of the genre. It even took the basic concept of the alien and extrapolated the existence and design of the now-iconic Alien Queen. While I could go on and on about the myriad of things this particular film did right (there are so very many), it serves as a wonderful example of how a good sequel can satisfy audiences and subvert expectations at the same time. This sort of craftsmanship is truly a thing of beauty and serves as a shining testament to what the concept of a well-realized sequel should be.
Why we hate Sequels (and Prequels and Spin-offs)
Of course, not all sequels are so skilled. History is littered with films whose follow-ups have had exceptionally short and even reviled careers: Christmas Vacation 2: Cousin Eddie’s Island Adventure, Jaws: the Revenge, Breakin’ 2: Electric Boogaloo, Speed 2: Cruise Control, Son of the Mask, and Spiderman 3 just to name a few. While making a good sequel might be incredibly hard, the path to making a poor one is littered with opportunity. Perhaps the timeline is too short and there is no way to meet the release date without cutting a few (or many) corners, or maybe the budget is slashed far below what might be needed to do it right, or it might just be that a solid idea could just not be found to justify a return – in all of these cases, and many more, the result is a film that (at minimum) fails to live up to expectations. In this way, it might be worthwhile to briefly touch on a few notable failures and examine what they may have done wrong.
The original Pacific Rim is, at least my humble opinion, one of the most visually striking and genuinely cool takes on the kaiju (giant monster) genre ever to have been made. The action was well choreographed and the creatures had weight, the performances were solid and the general concept was unique. While not exactly a box office smash (at least in the US), the film did well enough and garnered a great deal of praise and support from both critics and the general public. This was likely due, in no small part, to the direct involvement of its ambitious and talented director: Guillermo del Toro. However, the follow-up to this amazing film, Pacific Rim: Uprising, managed to squander all of this good will. Gone were the vibrant colors of the city at night: replaced with generic daylight battles. Gone was the cast of unique and interesting characters (except for Charlie Day’s): replaced with a cast of characters so bland that I can hardly remember them. Gone was the heft and power of the monsters and mechs: substituted with floaty (and generic) CGI mobs. This is all besides the failings of the story (which, to its credit, did have at least the basic underpinnings of what could have been a good idea). While I am sure there is plenty of blame to go around, the most obvious flaw in this sequel was not a lack of more interesting tales to be told in this world – it was the glaring omission of del Toro himself. While the first film was clearly a labor of love, this sequel lacked all of the enthusiasm and vision necessary to recapture that spark. This is made all the more disappointing by the knowledge that del Toro originally had plans for a sequel of his own.
In a different genre, The Silence of the Lambs managed to be one of the creepiest and most memorable films to come out of the last few decades. Anthony Hopkins’ portrayal of Hannibal Lector not only earned him academy recognition, but helped garner the film a Best Picture win. It was (eventually) followed up by two subsequent films, Hannibal and Red Dragon – each based on an existing novel staring the character from the original author. While neither film manages to rise to the same heights as the original (Red Dragon is surprisingly well done, though), the sequel we will focus on here is the most recent film to have been made: Hannibal Rising. Like the others, the film is based on an original novel. Unfortunately, both that novel and this film were very clearly made as an attempt to cash in on the then-dormant popularity of the character – a feat made even harder by the aging of the previous star, Anthony Hopkins. As a result, it was decided that the film (and novel) would be a prequel that would give the audience insight into the creation of one of cinema’s most interesting killers. Unfortunately, not only was the origin story less novel and interesting than many were hoping, the new lead actor could never measure up the goliath that was Anthony Hopkins. While it would have certainly been impossible to cast Hopkins in the role, given the age of the character at the time of the events of the film, there was simply no way to avoid the inevitable criticism that followed (especially considering that this was not meant to be a new interpretation of the character – a la NBC’s wonderful Hannibal TV series – but the same one that audiences have come to know and love over the years). In truth, the story of Hannibal Lector (both in film and literature) was over. As damaging as poor casting may have been (nothing against the lead actor), the real nail in the coffin for this movie was the story itself – an unnecessary yarn woven merely to line the pocketbooks of those in charge of the franchise.
Finally, let’s discuss one other film that set the world on fire upon its initial release: Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl. Not only was the unexpected success of this film surprising, it flew in the face of both expectations and cinema trends. Not only had films about pirates been out of vogue for decades, a movie based on an old theme park ride with nary a plot to be found seemed like a recipe for disaster. Mix in a rather unconventional performance by Johnny Depp, and a fairly high budget, and you had the makings of a flop. As we all know, however, not only did the film not flop, it became a near-overnight success. Captain Jack Sparrow (as played by Depp) became an international icon and sex symbol, with the public hardly being able to contain their excitement. Much like The Silence of the Lambs, this film was followed up by two very successful sequels of varying quality (depending on who you ask – in my opinion, Dead Man’s Chest is the most fun of the whole bunch). Again, it is at the creation of the third sequel that we find our primary offender: Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides. This film, made about five years after the previous, attempted to re-invigorate the franchise with an entry almost solely focused on Depp himself (and missing the majority of the rest of the primary cast). While the story can certainly be accused of being lacking in the type of urgency or freshness that drove the originals, the primary nail in the coffin was actually (in my own opinion) the aforementioned decision to make Captain Jack the main character. Where he worked wonderfully in moderate doses as part of the interwoven tapestry that was the original trilogy, the heavy-handed nature of his character wears thin when it is constantly on screen. In fact, this might be the most obvious case of “Too much of a good thing” I’ve ever seen in my life – in a perfect world, you want the audience clamoring for more, not begging for less. This over-correction, both a result of the lack of the rest of the cast as well as an over-estimation of audience affection for – and toleration of – the Captain Jack character, ultimately led to the creation of a particularly lack-luster (and unnecessary) entry in the franchise.
As you can see, even given the very brief summations of the above films, there are a great many ways to get a sequel wrong – many more than I have time to list. Suffice to say, when such sequels are released, the excitement and anticipation of the audience is transformed into disappointment and sometimes anger. They feel betrayed that characters or worlds that they loved could have been mishandled in such a way. In short, it drains the excitement and joy from a fan base.
Conclusion
And thus we reach the ultimate question – to make or not to make. As a fan of a particular film (or even franchise), it’s true that the rewards of a follow-up well-made could be vast – Star Wars wouldn’t be where it is today without the multitude of sequels that followed that original film. The possibility of adding depth and insight into both the characters and world, while also seeing a new and exciting story, is enough to make even the casual moviegoer shake with anticipation. This could be our Empire – that film that (arguably) surpasses the original and gives us things we never even knew we needed. Such a sequel could be the gateway into turning a one-off story into the beginnings of a powerhouse franchise and cementing its pop culture legacy.
A sequel can also tarnish the memory and brand recognition of the original. New revelations about a character could change the way you see them for the worse, or a poor story might feel like a tacked-on addendum. The unique and wondrous world of the original might now feel repetitive or uninspired, or the character arcs could feel like a re-tread of what has come before. Additionally, new viewers might assume that the quality of this less-then-stellar film represents the level of the others and let otherwise good films go unwatched. At the very least, a sub-par sequel might water-down the Je Ne Sais Quoi of the original and remain a perennial “But…” at the end of every recommendation.
While I certainly support an artist having the freedom to continue to explore their creations and send them in whichever directions they so choose, I do hold the (hopefully uncontroversial) opinion that they should do so – optimally – not out of a sense of obligation to audience demands or potential self-enrichment, but out of a passion and love for the necessity of the story being told. If they truly feel that there is more tale to tell, even if it ends up being unable to measure up to the high bar of the original, then I fully support their right to do so. But, as an audience member, I always worry that each new release brings with it as much risk as it does promise – that, particularly for a beloved precursor, this film could be the proverbial fly in the ointment (if not for me, then for others). On the flipside, as a storyteller myself, I can likewise understand the weight of not wanting to bestow such disappointment upon the audience. The cutting edge of making or viewing a sequel, the extreme highs and lows of possibility, is precisely why I think it behooves both fans and creators of all media to ask themselves:
Do you REALLY want a sequel?
Chris
P.S. – A good example of a case where the best sequel is the one left unmade is that of Back to the Future. While the original sequels led to the creation of one of the most beloved trilogies of all time, any potential follow-up (particularly this many years later) could only serve to disappoint. Lucky for us, then, that the ability of the studio to milk this wonderful franchise for all it’s worth remains restrained by the continuing veto-power maintained by Bob Gale and Robert Zemeckis.