Commodified Fantasy: The toxic relationship between Capitalism, Creatives and Fandom
I was a huge fan of the Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU). And by huge, I mean scouring twitter daily for news, making analysis posts, and drawing fan art; that kind of huge.
I remember being enthralled after finally catching WandaVision in 2021 post the covid hiatus, believing fully that Marvel was beginning a new phase of experimental creativity, ready to challenge the limits of the superhero genre it operates in. As they released more content with waning quality, I remember holding onto my love for the characters and retaining the hope that maybe, possibly, the studio would stay loyal to the heart of what each one represented.
We’ll get back to that in a bit.
In the foreword to the book The Tales of Earthsea, author Ursula K Le Guin writes about the commodification of fantasy, a product of the constantly shifting landscape of the 21st century, accentuated by the flashing, boundless information readily available to us at the click of a button. She argues that through exploiting the desire for comforting familiarity, capitalism turns fantasy into an industry that “invents nothing, merely imitates and trivialises”.
Her words ring true in considering Hollywood today, seen through the influx of remakes, sequels, and adaptations of IPs that are clearly made with only profit in mind. Where there is a demand, studios rush to satisfy it, leading to sanitised and formulaic films, slathered with an unhealthy dose of nostalgia. It adds to the comforting appeal, after all. This is evident given the sheer number of live-action remakes popping up throughout the years; fourteen are in production at the moment. Most recently, a remake of Moana has been announced, despite the animated film coming out only 7 years ago.
Returning to the MCU, this forms the basis of the infamous ‘marvel formula’ that limits the studio’s capacity to trust its creatives enough to be truly experimental. The ‘formula’ includes a constant need to undercut moments of tension with humour, as well as the presence of a huge superhero battle in the third act of the film or show. This results in visually and tonally unique shows like Ms Marvel losing its coming-of-age charm by the third episode in a return to the ‘safe’ methods that the studio has guaranteed will make money.
The commodification of storytelling further heavily impacts creatives working in such an industry. In addition to restricting their creative freedom, studios bidding to make more profit put them through inhumane working conditions with insufficient pay in order to achieve their box-office billions. This can also be seen as the Writers Guild of America continue to strike against major studios like Disney and Netflix, fighting for things like higher minimum compensation. Studio executives have responded: “The endgame is to allow things to drag on until union members start losing their apartments and losing their houses”.
Supervillains don’t exist solely in superhero media.
It is also the fans who feel the brunt of the effects. In the words of Le Guin, “what the commodifiers of fantasy count on and exploit is the insuperable imagination of the reader, child or adult, who gives even these dead things life-of-sort, for a while”.
Thus, she proposes that corporations capitalise on the very love that fans express towards media they enjoy, allowing them to produce content with less effort, while reaping the same benefits.
The passive consumption of sterilised content leads to an overwhelming increase of demand for variations of the same type of media, flooding the entertainment world with rehashes that oversaturate the industry. The cycle continues as other studios follow in their footsteps, grinding out soulless reboots with the promise of similar rewards.
In a talk, PHD student Jeremy Meckler poses the issue of the loss of ‘true art’ due to the monopolisation of the industry by Disney/Marvel as it narrows the type of stories deemed greenlight-worthy by other studios. This can be seen within the superhero movie industry with the rise of films involving ‘crossovers’ and ‘cameos’ post the success of the Avengers films, such as The Flash (DC) and Doctor Strange and The Multiverse of Madness (MCU).
Director Martin Scorsese expresses the same concerns, criticising the lack of risk and formulaic nature of franchise films as they do nothing to challenge the viewer in a substantial way. He commends the artistry supplied by the creatives, but states that they are held back as the goal of the studios is ultimately to appeal to the masses. This further has a negative impact on independent films as franchise films are treated as ‘events’ and all other types are increasingly unworthy of a trip to the theatre. This results in smaller films being swallowed whilst franchise films thrive.
This is not to say that all franchise films are bad. In fact, the recent critical and financial success of (the absolutely incredible) Spider-Man Across the Spider-Verse is a testament to the fact that you can do both; it is possible to have an insanely well-written studio film that breaks the mould and challenges an entire medium, while still remaining accessible and entertaining. However, in the current landscape, films like Spider-Verse are an unfortunate exception to the rule.
If films are the way in which we experience art and the human experience through it, borrowing a phrase from a blog, “we commodify fantasy at our own peril”.
However, the life-giving “insuperable imagination of the reader” is indeed a testament to the skill and passion that fans hold, which is a beautiful thing in itself. Le Guin’s metaphor states it better than I ever could: “the land outlasts the empires”, and fans will continue to treat their favourite characters with more care and respect than the corporations ever will.
When the MCU falls, the people will be there with their fan art and their 300k-word Avengers found-family fanfics, cheering, mourning, and picking up its pieces.
