I was just instructing my gardener on the precise shade of aubergine I expect from next season's petunias when the news reached me, quite rudely, via my assistant’s rather too-loud exhalation. It appears Hollywood has once again graced us with an unparalleled glimpse into its internal machinations, this time concerning the very bodies we are permitted to observe on screen.
The latest pronouncement, delivered with a solemnity usually reserved for declarations of war or the tragic shortage of artisanal truffles, declares that the public’s sudden, quaint fascination with "authenticity" — specifically, the authenticity of human physiques — is nothing short of "financially irresponsible." One must admire the sheer audacity, if not the sentiment. To suggest that a demand for what one might charitably call a 'real' human form is a reckless endangerment to the cinematic bottom line... well, it certainly clarifies matters, does it not?
Apparently, the cost of allowing an actor to appear on screen without first undergoing some digital, or indeed surgical, "optimization" is simply too great a gamble. We are informed, with a gravity that borders on the comical, that billions are at stake. One shudders to think what fiscal ruin a truly un-sculpted shoulder or an un-smoothed thigh might wreak upon a blockbuster production. Perhaps the special effects budget for a single un-flattened stomach could fund a small nation’s infrastructure project. The mind boggles at such extravagance.
Our entertainment overlords, it seems, believe their sacred duty is not merely to entertain, or occasionally, to produce something resembling art, but rather to deliver "aspirational fantasy." Translated from the marketing jargon, this means presenting a reality so far removed from your own that you feel compelled to purchase something — perhaps a new diet book, or a gym membership, or indeed, a ticket to the very film that reinforced your perceived inadequacies — to bridge the ever-widening gap. It is a peculiar sort of aspiration that breeds such a profound sense of lack, but then, perhaps I misunderstand the nuances of modern commerce.
The notion that showing an "unoptimized human form" is a financial faux pas reveals a rather telling insight into how deeply detached the industry has become from the very audience it purports to serve. One almost expects them to start charging extra for scenes featuring actors who consume carbohydrates. We, the viewers, are apparently too fragile, too unaccustomed to the nuances of actual biology, to handle anything less than perfection. Or, more likely, too accustomed to a certain highly curated version of it.
It really does make one wonder what precisely they imagine we're paying for these days.
