It's everyone's favourite discourse on Film Twitter: where have all the movie stars gone? For some, the first instinct would be to suggest that such a death has been greatly exaggerated — just look at the likes of Tom Cruise, soaring to new heights with Top Gun: Maverick and, this summer, at the helm of a new Mission: Impossible sequel. Further, what are Daniel Craig, Ryan Reynolds, Chris Evans, and younger Gen-Z favourites like Timothée Chalamet, Zendaya and Robert Pattinson, if not bonafide box office draws?
What people are generally lamenting, I suspect, is the current absence of the mid-budget studio movie, at least those not based on existing IP: the first Top Gun, for example, was a product of original inspiration (and a healthy dose of Cold War-era American exceptionalism), and it made Tom Cruise into the enduring star he is today. Tom Hanks, the third most-bankable Hollywood actor according to a recent industry survey reported by Puck, was made famous in the ‘80s by the likes of Big and A League of Their Own, before he migrated to the awardsier hits that cemented his Tinseltown staple status.
Those movies just aren't really made for cinemas anymore, and it's not entirely as simple as to suggest that mid-budget filmmaking has shifted over to streaming. An erotic thriller like The Voyeurs dropping on Prime Video is still rare enough to feel like a moment for the sickos among us; on the theatrical front, Warner Bros. delivered a big-screen double-punch last year when they released The Menu and Don't Worry Darling, original thrillers on modest budgets, both of which were commercially successful and warmly received by critics (the former, there, more than the latter).
As Puck reports, though, that aforementioned survey brings something interesting (and quantifiable) to the table. The movie stars of old are, well, getting old, but they're not being replaced on the Hollywood assembly line by the next generation of top-billers. In the survey, responders were specifically asked which stars would be the most likely to get their bum on a fold-out cinema seat, and of the top twenty picks, only Chris Hemsworth is below the age of forty. Notably, Hemsworth is the only name in the top twenty who rose to prominence in a superhero franchise; the rest, from Cruise to Will Smith, Sandra Bullock and Brad Pitt, benefited greatly from mid-budget star makers.
What is clear is that this generation's big names enter the movie ticket-buying calculus for your average punter far less in the present. Tom Cruise is a solid bet for a good time at the movies because he has had forty years to cultivate such a reputation, growing with every mid-budget hit (think: Rain Man, Jerry Maguire, The Color of Money, A Few Good Men, Eyes Wide Shut), so audiences are naturally more willing to cough up for a movie with his name on it. But movies of that ilk have been largely usurped since the late 2000s by higher-budget bets on existing properties: superhero movies, yes, but also spin-offs, sequels, requels and the whole cornucopia of nostalgia-leeching easy sells. Resultantly, the stars of today have less opportunity to build up their bonafides.
The thing is, if we take movie stars — that impenetrable enigma, witnessed only on the big screen, the red carpet and, occasionally, in salacious TMZ shots — to be mostly a marketing construct, selling us aspirational elegance and escapism in a neatly pruned package, it's no surprise that studios feel less skin in the talent-elevating game. Properties to which we already have an existing relationship sell themselves. This is why Spider-Man has made, and will make for time immemorial, a gazillion dollars at the worldwide box office in every single iteration, be it led by Tom Holland, Tobey Maguire or Andrew Garfield (even The Amazing Spider-Man 2, which killed that planned trilogy, took $709 million). The Marvels and the D.C.s of the world don't need star power. Nobody went to Avengers: Endgame for Robert Downey Jr. or Chris Evans, they went for the crossover appeal of familiar characters coming to blows for the first time in an allegedly cinematic format.
There are other factors, of course. Some argue that prestige TV has filled in the hole left by theatrical adult dramas; before 2008, series of the quality set by Game of Thrones (pre-final season), The Last of Us, Succession and The White Lotus were the exception, not the rule. Just look at how speedily the movie stars of yesteryear are migrating to the small screen; hell, even Harrison Ford has his own Apple TV+ show, whether he likes it or not. Then, of course, there's the domineering nature of streaming, with feature-length Netflicks of varying quality being pumped out on the daily for consumption from the comfort of our couches, no tenner popcorn needed.
Nevertheless, for as long as we remain shackled to the trusted familiarity of existing I.P., the movie star — floating adrift in our endless sea of content — will be deemed surplus to requirements. Chalamet's second big franchise play, set to release later this year, is Wonka, a Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory prequel; while many of us will be curious as to how Hollywood's favourite twink takes on a role once reserved for whimsical geriatrics, most audiences simply liked the original. Pattinson? A generational talent with a wonderful portfolio of outré indies, but now known to most as one of three or four big-screen Batmen. The perennially wasted Margot Robbie has Barbie, which even with the anticipated Gerwigification will be a movie based on toys. For as long as studios insist that movie stars aren't necessary, audiences will thusly respond with their wallets.
